16. Nicholas
Chapter sixteen
Nicholas
H oney .
Fiery orange with flashes of molten gold, like it’s been set on fire and tamed just enough to fall in waves. It’s lush, rich, and sweet and so fucking distracting, every movement of it pulling my focus. That’s the only thing running through my mind as I watch my assistant walk ahead of me, her orange hair swaying with each step, while the flashes of paparazzi cameras blind us as we step through the door into the jeweler.
God , I need to get a hold of whatever the fuck it is brewing inside of me every time my eyes find hers.
I’ve been fine for two years. Two solid years of keeping my attraction to her in check, only seeing her as my assistant. But now…
My neck feels tight, my heart pounding against my chest as I glance over at her, wide-eyed, staring at the jewels. Her green eyes are bright with wonder, and I can’t help but feel a pull in my gut.
My lips twitch, unable to hide my amusement at how genuinely excited she is. I haven’t seen anyone this stoked in a long time… Ever, really, since I’ve always been surrounded by people who all come from the same high-society bubble. I like it. A hell of a lot more than I’m willing to admit.
“Mr. Blackwood.” My head snaps from Amara to Mr. Carrington, his grin stretching wider when our eyes meet. “Glad to see you, sir.”
I give him a curt nod. “Thank you for accommodating us.”
“Of course, Mr. Blackwood. We’ve prepared a private viewing for you and your fiancée as per your request,” he says, making Amara’s head snap toward us, her eyes wide.
“You closed this place down for us?” Amara asks, her voice quiet and reserved, making me shiver. Is it possible to be attracted to a voice, because… fuck me . Sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.
“Of course,” I reply with a teasing smile, savoring the way she gulps. “You’re marrying a billionaire, honey .”
Her eyes go even wider at the nickname, and I can’t say I don’t enjoy it. I love how easily I can shock her with just a word. It’s like I’m addicted to that reaction, and damn, I want more. Maybe with her lips on mine next time.
She relaxes once she remembers we need to play the part of the happy couple, and she lets out a soft breath, her shoulders dropping slightly in a way that makes me ache for her.
“Would you care for some champagne?” Mr. Carrington asks, sliding over a tray with two flutes.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching for a glass, my gaze flicking to Amara. She eyes me cautiously, unsure.
She reaches for a glass herself, murmuring a soft, “thank you,” before taking a sip.
I see it in the way she looks around the room, the way she hesitates before moving or speaking. She thinks she doesn’t belong here.
It pisses me off that she feels that way. I hate that she thought changing herself would somehow make me happy. It’s not that I didn’t like the outfit—I liked it more than I probably should’ve—but when she stepped out of her room in that tight, stiff outfit, with that uncomfortable look on her face, I hated it. She didn’t look like Amara. She looked like someone she thought she had to be, and all I wanted was to pull those clothes off her and get her back into those cozy, oversized sweaters that are all her.
My jaw clenches.
I need to get these thoughts out of my head.
I’m her boss.
I’m not supposed to imagine her pale skin, completely bare and exposed. I’m not supposed to fantasize about what she’d feel like in my hands. I’m definitely not supposed to stare at her lips and remember the taste of her kiss.
I clear my throat, forcing myself out of the haze of thoughts when I see Mr. Carrington showing Amara the array of rings he’s laid out for her.
Amara glances over her shoulder, her eyes locking with mine, uncertainty swirling in them. “These are for me?”
I nod, stepping closer until my hand lands on the small of her back, covered by a sweater I can’t seem to get out of my mind. “I thought you’d like to pick out your ring,” I say, catching Mr. Carrington’s watchful gaze. He—like everyone else—doesn’t know the engagement is fake, so while we need to sell it, I also want Amara to feel at ease. “You can pick whichever one you want,” I add, motioning to the display of rings.
She steps forward slowly, her eyes flicking over the diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds. The stones catch the light, each one more breathtaking than the last, but Amara doesn’t reach for any. She just stands there, absorbed in thought, her gaze distant.
I watch her, mesmerized by the way the light hits her eyes, the way her fingers brush against the glass, the little movements she makes when she thinks no one’s paying attention. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to focus on anything else. She’s tying me in knots, and I’m beginning to wonder how much longer I can handle it.
She inhales sharply, shaking her head—like she always does when she’s trying to brush something off—and takes a step back. “No, Nicholas, this is—”
“Necessary,” I interrupt, just for her ears as I take her left hand in mine, my thumb swiping over her empty ring finger. She looks up at me, those green eyes knocking the air out of my chest. “No one will believe you’re my fiancée if you don’t have a rock on your finger.”
Her lips part slightly, processing what I’ve said, and she glances at the rings again before meeting my gaze. Something in her expression twists inside me.
“Excuse me, Mr. Carrington,” I say, glancing at the jeweler who’s watching our interaction. “Could we have a moment alone?”
He hesitates for a beat before placing the display down on the glass table, nodding as he steps back. “Of course. Just call out when you’re ready.”
I nod, relieved to be left alone with her. I need to figure out what the hell’s going on inside this woman’s head. When Mr. Carrington leaves, I don’t let go of her, instead pulling her closer to me. Her gaze meets mine—wide, vulnerable—and I frown at the tightness in her shoulders. “What’s going on, Amara?”
She shakes her head again, avoiding my question.
“I thought every girl’s dream was to be surrounded by diamonds,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, tilting my head.
She lets out a strained laugh, and I hate it. “It is,” she sighs, the smile fading too quickly. “But…” She stops herself, biting her lip.
“But?” I press, needing to know what’s going on.
She lifts her head, finally meeting my eyes, and exhales softly before shaking her head. “I’ve thought about this for a long time,” she starts, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping to the rings. “Getting proposed to. Getting married.” She sighs, a deep, heavy breath, and I feel it in my chest. “I thought it would happen sometime soon, and I was so excited for it,” she admits. “And now, the first time I put a ring on my finger…” She pauses, her voice wavering. “And it’s all fake.”
Her eyes close, and I can see the tension in her face, the sadness she’s trying to hide. I don’t know what to say at first, unsure of how to make it better. So, I don’t. I stay silent, just holding her close, hoping that my presence can offer some comfort.
“I always thought I’d have a small wedding,” she continues. “Nothing big or over-the-top. Just a few people. Family, friends. A simple, intimate ceremony.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says it, her fingers tracing the smooth surface of the display of rings, the sadness in her eyes slicing through me like a knife. She’s thinking about her ex. That asshole who didn’t deserve her, who couldn’t give her what she needed, who left her feeling empty.
“I wanted ducks.”
I furrow my brow. “Ducks?”
She nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I wanted a small pond with ducks, in the fall breeze with leaves falling, and peonies everywhere.” Her shoulders drop. “I know it sounds silly compared to what you’re used to,” she glances up at me, “but that’s what I’ve always imagined.”
I feel a twinge in my chest at her words. I want her to have that. I want her to have whatever she wants.
I pull her a little closer, gently squeezing her hand. “That doesn’t sound silly at all,” I say, my voice low, trying to offer some comfort. “It sounds beautiful.”
She looks up at me then, her eyes glistening just slightly. “Maybe someday,” she murmurs, her voice quiet.
“Maybe someday,” I echo, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I hope I don’t overstep,” I say, “but from what I remember of your ex, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be willing to give you what you just explained to me.”
She laughs, but it’s a low, bitter sound, one that cuts straight through me. “No, you’re right,” she admits with a heavy breath. “He wasn’t.”
I want to say something else—something to make it better, to fix the look in her eyes—but she continues, and my chest tightens at her next words. “Maybe that’s why he cheated.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, but I can’t tell if it’s the thought of her ex or the way she says it that gets to me the most.
“Maybe I pushed him too much,” she continues. “I shouldn’t have talked about wedding plans so much or shown him the folder I made for ours. I should’ve known better.”
I don’t think—just act. I step closer, my hand reaching out before I can stop it, my palm gently cupping her face. She looks up at me, startled for a second, but I don’t back away . I can’t.
“Don’t,” I say, my voice hard, the words coming out more intense than I mean. “Don’t you dare lower your standards for some bastard who wasn’t willing to give you what you wanted.”
She gulps, her skin warm against my hand. I can feel the tremor in her. “You deserve more than that, Amara,” I continue. “I have no doubt in my mind that there’s a guy out there who’d fall flat on his face just to give you everything you want and more.”
Her breath catches. I see the tiniest flicker in her eyes, the softness in her gaze as she stares at me. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I can tell I’ve gotten through to her. And god, I want her to know just how much she deserves better than the way she’s been treated.
I hold her hand in mine, my thumb brushing against her bare ring finger. I can’t stop myself from saying it, even though I’m not sure I should. “For what it’s worth, I may never understand your idea of marriage, Amara. But I’m grateful you’re my first fake wife.”
Her lips twitch. “First, huh?” she teases.
I shrug. “Who knows? There may be other deals I need to close after you and I are done.”
Her smile falters just a little, and I hate myself for reminding us this will be over someday. She lets out a hollow laugh that makes my stomach twist. “Yeah.”
Needing to do something—anything—to distract myself from the look in her eyes, I glance down at the rings, tugging Amara with me.
“Pick one,” I tell her, her hand still in mine as I rub her empty ring finger once again. “Don’t worry about anything else but picking your dream ring.”
She hesitates, glancing up at me with that look of disbelief. “Any ring?”
I nod. “I’ll even let you keep it once this is done.”
Her eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”
I lift my shoulder. “I won’t have a need for an engagement ring once we’re done, Amara. You keep it. Wear it, sell it, whatever you want to do.”
Her brows furrow slightly as she processes my words. “But what about when you get married in the future?” she asks. “Won’t you need it then?”
The question hits me harder than I expected. I never saw myself getting married, and while this isn’t real, Amara is the only person I see myself ever giving a ring to.
My jaw tightens at the thought of a future with anyone else. I step closer to her, our bodies now an inch apart. I let her hand go, my fingers trailing up to her chin, and tilt her head back so she meets my gaze. “If I ever do get married in the future, I won’t be giving her your ring.” Her eyes widen, her breath hitching as she looks up at me. “This one is yours , Amara,” I say. “Only yours.”
She gulps, her eyes locked on mine, the moment stretching on longer than I’m comfortable with. When she finally glances down at the rings, her fingers graze the display, her touch so delicate, and she stops on a simple ring—an oval diamond with a gold band. I tilt my head slightly, studying her expression.
“Is that the one?” I ask her.
She nods, tapping the glass. “I think so.”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I clear my throat, standing straight, calling Mr. Carrington back in.
He immediately launches into a detailed explanation about the diamonds and metals used, but honestly, I couldn’t care less. My focus is entirely on Amara, on the way she looks at the ring, the way her smile grows as the jeweler takes it out of the display and hands it to her.
She examines it carefully, her pretty lips curling into a smile that could light up a room. Her eyes widen as she falls more and more in love with the ring. God, her smile is something made by the angels, directly for me.
When she hands the ring to me, I take it with steady hands, my heart hammering in my chest. I lift her hand slowly, sliding the ring onto her finger, my eyes never leaving hers. The moment it slides into place, my heart bangs against my chest and I know that something between us has shifted.
This might be a fake engagement, but my attraction to her is anything but fake. I want her. Bad. And I’m already wondering how the hell I’m going to spend the next four hours in the car with her, never mind the next three months.