17. Phoenix
Phoenix
M y gorgeous bride-to-be is fresh-faced this morning. She requires not much makeup to highlight her stunning beauty. She’s all business in a pretty, flowy lilac floral dress that reaches her mid-calf.
My fingers itch to undo the buttons running up the front of the dress to take a peek at what she’s hiding underneath. I have no doubt her body is clad in mouthwatering lingerie.
Her dainty feet are trapped in the same pair of sexy as fuck white high heels with a strap circling her delicate ankles she wore when she barged into my office two days ago to rip me a new asshole.
A little over forty-eight hours ago, we were strangers. Now, we’re planning a wedding. Un-fucking-believable.
“This takes breakfast to a whole other level of perfection,” Michaela says. “Where do you find your chefs? Do you poach them from the top restaurants in the country?” She leans forward and drops her coffee cup on the table.
“We don’t need to resort to such underhanded actions,” I say. “We attract the best and we treat them right. My father lives by this motto. It’s the same for my brothers and me.”
“Hence, your undisputable success.”
“Something like that.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a few long beats.
There’s something about this undeniable pull that’s beyond her unquestionably seductive physical features that jack up my libido.
And it has nothing to do with going without sex for too long.
It’s debatable, but in this case, it’s way more than that.
With other women, the surge of attraction is never this all-encompassing. Not even with Marie-Clémence or Evelyn.
Michaela crosses one leg over the other.
The flash of skin is enough to awaken my cock.
She unfolds her legs and crosses them again.
Tease.
It’s almost as if she can read my thoughts, and she’s determined to test my resolve.
A surge of lust shocks my veins, and my cock throbs.
Fuck. Me.
Every inch of me wants to dive in the warmth between those toned legs.
I gawk, not bothering to hide my appreciation.
Our eyes meet.
Palpable heat snaps the air between us, searing and hot.
After last night’s kiss, I’m not sure how we’re going to survive a sexless, yearlong marriage. I guess I should speak for myself. I’m still unable to read her.
Her pink lips stretch into a knowing smile. “You’re staring.”
“So are you.”
She laughs.
It wouldn’t be hard to keep admiring her like this for the rest of the day, but that’s not why we’re here.
I grab the iPad and hand it to Michaela.
“Look at this. Payne changed his tune.”
“ ‘HAIL TO THE KING: KING K?NIG SOON TO TURN HIS HOTEL HEIRESS FIANCéE INTO A BONA FIDE QUEEN’ ” Michaela reads the headline out loud. “Wow. What a departure from the article he published a couple days ago.”
“Thanks to you.” I point at her.
She beams.
“Since we also played things up for the cameras as we were leaving the restaurant, we struck gold. There are a few other notable articles on us stepping out last night. All good, but nothing compared to Payne’s article, which has gone viral.”
“This is great news, Phoenix. You were worried the media might not buy our story, and they’d take malicious pleasure in poking holes into our romance. It seems they bought it, hook, line, and sinker.”
“I’m relieved they did,” I say. “The publicist is ecstatic. Instead of putting out an official statement with our side of the story, she’s going to let the good publicity do its thing. The less we say, the better.”
“I agree,” she says. “That’s a win for us.”
“It’s a major win because the plan is for us to get married this Sunday.”
Her jaw drops.
Her long eyelashes flutter like crazy.
She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
Her shoulders slump.
The helplessness and worry I read in her gaze is the polar opposite of the fierce determination I’ve seen shining from her translucent green eyes.
“I admit, the timeline is short,” I say.
“Ridiculously short.” Her gaze is filled with anguish.
I nod.
“Is that even enough time?” She worries her lower lip. “Doesn’t it take a year to organize a wedding? Six months at least?”
“So many of our hotels offer wedding services. It’s a matter of pulling together a few key individuals to make it happen in a flash. As for the venue, we’ll get married at Dad’s mansion.”
Wide eyes stare at me in disbelief.
“My life changes in four days.” There’s no way to miss the resignation underlying her words.
I stand up, round the coffee table, take a seat next to her on the sofa, and place a hand over her trembling ones.
“I know I’m pushing hard,” I say. “I thought I had everyone convinced of our love story , but after this morning’s early meeting with the board, I have to press on the accelerator.
One board member in particular isn’t buying it.
Truth be told, the guy hates me. He’s cracking the whip for the board to find a replacement for my father.
If the board isn’t slowing down their mission, neither can I. ”
“I understand.” She nods. “This is what I agreed to.”
Over a copious breakfast we shared the basics—family history, where we went to school, favorite color, hobbies, likes, dislikes, allergies—none for either of us—and the list goes on.
Since we shared so many important details when we were on the yacht, we have enough to cover our tracks. With time, we’ll fill in the blanks.
Now, we move onto the more contentious points. I reach inside my jacket for an envelope and hand it to her.
“What’s this?”
“The contract.”
“I see.” She unfolds it.
Her eyes bounce from one line to another as she takes in all the clauses. “Do you have a pen?”
I reach inside my jacket and produce my Montblanc pen.
“Thanks.” She grabs it. “I’m not changing myname.” She crosses out the clause. “Earlier, you hung up before I could contest.”
This woman…
She scans past her monthly cash allowance––fifty thousand dollars.
She skips over the clause giving her a chauffeur on demand and the car of her choice.
She bypasses the clause that allows her to keep her diamond ring.
And it’s like she glosses over the terms of our divorce that guarantees the Villiers Grand Hotel will be hers free and clear three hundred sixty-five days from our wedding day.
Michaela Knight Villiers goes straight for the clause about the last name.
My obstinate queen.
“You’re the only woman in the world who would have an issue changing her name to Mrs.Konig.”
“Why bother going through the hassle of changing my name for one year?” She lifts a stubborn chin. “Not to mention, I don’t want to lose that connection with my mom.” Emotions coat those last words.
“In terms of the hassle, I have people to take care of that,” I say. “You won’t have to chase after documents. That’s their job. Yours will be to sign a few documents. Once we get divorced, I’ll get my team to take care of the paperwork to revert your name.”
Her shoulders slump.
I sigh. “I understand and respect your desire to keep your mother’s last name. What if we compromise on Mrs.Michaela Kennedy Konig Knight Villiers? It’s a bit regal, but you can pull it off. It ensures you won’t lose your name on any official paper and Mrs.Konig won’t sound foreign to your ear.”
She studies me for a long beat.
I arch a brow.
“I can live with that.”
“Good.”
Satisfied, she keeps reading.
Her eyes fly up to meet mine. “There’s a clause about children?”
“Just in case.”
“In case of what?” Her face pinches with confusion. “It’s not like I’m the Virgin Mary. There will be no Immaculate Conception.”
“You and I know the marriage is fake. My lawyers don’t. This is a standard clause.”
“Oh. I see.”
Her attention returns to the contract.
“There’s nothing shady about the contract, but like we’ve discussed before, you need the advice of a lawyer,” I say when she reaches the last line. “Did you find one?”
She lifts her head. “Rhys is working on it.”
“I’ll need the signed contract back by Friday midday.”
“Okay. Where will we live?”
“We’ll stay at the penthouse and we can spend weekends on the yacht or at the Malibu mansion.”
“Okay.”
“Hopefully you’re not a slob,” I say.
She shoots me a death glare. “I’ll have you know I’m a tidy person. Some might say I’m a bit of a neat freak.”
“I’m not surprised.” I give her a onceover. “It shows.”
“You set me up, didn’t you?”
“And you fell for it.” I shrug. “Do you have any other questions for me?”
“One last thing.”
“I’m all ears.”
“What color are your eyes?”
That’s the last question I expected. “Will that make or break our arrangement?”
“It’s not going to change anything, I’m curious.”
“You noticed my eyes, kitty cat?”
She arches a brow. “I’m sure you know your eyes are a unique color.”
“Like my mom, I have hazel-blue eyes. Roman has one blue eye and the other hazel-blue. He has heterochromia,” I say. “And, you’re right, hazel-blue is unique—much more than green eyes.”
“Not bad,” she says with nonchalance.
“Not bad?”
“Okay.” She pauses for a beat. “You have attractive and mesmerizing eyes.”
“A compliment?”
“I’m stating the obvious.”
“You know what else is unique about me?” I lower my eyes to my crotch.
“Err… I’m good.”
I couldn’t resist.
“Speaking of Roman, how’s your brother?”
“He’s doing better.” I rub the back of my neck. “Guilt still eats at me, though.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked the question.”
I exhale. “Two and a half months ago, I sent Roman to the Maldives to determine if we should keep a couple of hotels we have there or if we should sell them. Numbers are one thing but getting the lay of the land offers perspective. It was a productive trip. Within a week of him landing on the island, we made the final decision to sell. Then, he was off to the Seychelles to check up on our three hotels there.”
I have her full attention.