Chapter 2
PAIGE
And just like that, I’m married to the King of Luxury. The man who secretly bought shares for years through unnamed trusts and just recently exercised all of that power.
I’ve never handled the feeling of being caught particularly well.
I’m a runner. And I want to run now, standing there beside Raphael Montclair in a tailored suit, talking in low tones to his lawyer and that man with the scarred eyebrow.
This whole thing took less than five minutes. Mather & Wilde is not my uncle’s anymore. My lawyer will notify him of the transfer of shares later today, and the company is safe.
I tug at the silk knot at my neck.
It’s hard to breathe. I hate it when that happens. Sitting in my emotions is my least favorite thing in the world. It’s why I work so hard to never sit still. It’s why I fake confidence at every turn. Sometimes, I even manage to fool myself.
I hope my parents would understand why I did this, if they were still here. They loved the company just as much as I do before their accident. And after their funeral, the company became my home.
Rafe is still talking to his friend. He hasn’t introduced me, and judging from their low, quick tones, it’s not necessarily a nice conversation.
Fantastic.
A young man steps up to us. He’s holding a professional camera in one hand and is wearing a too large suit jacket and a crooked smile. “Hi,” he tells me. “Ready when you both are.”
This addendum was part of the negotiations. Our wedding was to be profiled in The New York Globe. A single page, complete with a few images and a note about the quiet, intimate ceremony. Thank God they didn’t send a reporter, too, who could report just how much it resembled a battlefield.
“We’re ready,” I tell him, and turn to Rafe. “Shall we?”
His friend looks at me with eyes I can’t make out. He looks familiar, somehow. The kind of face I’ve probably seen in the media before.
Rafe nods. “Let’s get this over with.”
We follow behind the photographer, out of the small room and down a long corridor. He looks over his shoulder at us. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” I say.
The photographer’s smile doesn’t wane. “The booking I received said you wanted a few pictures inside the courthouse atrium and out on the steps. Let’s start here, by the large doors…”
Rafe and I stand side by side in silence.
The photographer’s smile fades, and he lowers his camera. “Um… could you stand closer together?”
Rafe’s sigh is so faint, I think I’m the only one who hears. But he steps closer and puts a hand on the small of my back. It rests there, a warm, pressing weight. It’s the most uncomfortable touch I’ve ever felt.
“Just a few minutes,” he mutters in my ear. I wonder if he can feel my disgust.
I hope so.
I paste a smile on my face and look straight into the camera. The photographer snaps a few new pictures, and someone walking by in the distance calls out. Congratulations!
“That’s beautiful,” the photographer lies. “Let’s move to the steps and get some more dynamic shots, too. I would love to see you laugh, smile. Maybe drink champagne together. Let’s capture that happiness!” He turns and starts walking in the direction of the doors.
“Kill me now,” I mutter beneath my breath.
Rafe gives a dark chuckle. It’s the most emotion I’ve seen out of him since his expression changed when he first saw me enter the courthouse.
At least he’s not gloating.
He could be doing that, but I might punch him if he did.
“I considered it,” he says, “now that I have the shares. But I don’t like messes.”
I glance at him. “Funny.”
“A compliment, Wilde? Thank you.”
“We’re not kissing for the camera,” I tell him.
My insides are knotted tight, and my voice comes out sharp.
His hand on my back was enough. Standing here with him, posing, brings out memories I don’t want to revisit.
Having to play all those tennis tournaments after my parents died to not lose the scholarship.
Posing next to my trainer, smiling wide, wanting to run from the yawning hole inside.
I’d inherited shares in a company… not loads of cash.
Rafe’s voice lowers. “We’re not kissing off camera either.”
I roll my eyes. “As if I’d ever let you.”
The photographer stops us halfway down the stairs, out in the warm, New York summer air. He waves us forward. “I want you both right here. Yes, like that. Can you angle slightly more toward your new husband, Mrs. Montclair?”
“I’m still Wilde,” I tell him.
The photographer nods quickly and holds up the camera. “Sorry, my bad. Get in closer, please… Look at each other.”
“Good. Because this is just an arrangement,” Rafe says. His hand is back on my waist, and his face is close to mine. “And not a permanent one.”
“We’re on the same page there.” I smile up at him, like I’m deeply in love. “You forced us into this corner.”
“By buying shares that your uncle had to put on the market? Hardly,” he mutters. This close, I catch a whiff of his cologne. My hands hang still by my sides. I should do something with them. But touching him…?
“You did it under a false name.”
“It was legal.”
“A gray zone,” I say.
“And you sold out your only living family for a chance to gain co-ownership of the company,” he says. “I’m not accepting judgment from you.”
The photographer clears his throat. “Uh, guys? Maybe you could look a little bit… happy?”
Rafe’s lips curve at a corner. “Can you do that, Wilde? Can you look happy to have me as a husband?” His hand is still on my waist. It’s warm through the thin silk of my ivory dress.
“I’m not that good of an actress,” I tell him sweetly.
“Try. It’s part of the deal, and one you requested.” He looks down at the many inches separating our bodies. “You could try touching me.”
“You wish.”
“Maybe you’d rather stand out here for another twenty minutes to get a usable shot, but it’s my time you’re wasting,” he says. “Put your hands on my chest. On my shoulder.”
I put my palms flat on his chest, against the expensive fabric of his suit jacket, and don’t look away from his eyes. They’re an irritatingly deep green color. It would be so much easier if he didn’t have to be handsome on top of being ruthless, egotistical, and power-hungry.
“Happy?” I ask him.
“Ecstatic. Now smile for me, Wilde, and we can call it a day.”
I look into his eyes and give a slow, sweet smile. I imagine it’s not him I’m looking at. No, I’m looking at a pair of puppies playing in the park. Rolling around in the dappled grass, sunlight overhead. I imagine the ocean outside my hometown on a stormy day.
I smile at him like he’s my favorite person in the world.
His jaw tightens and his eyes flick down to my mouth.
“That’s it!” the photographer says, and the camera snaps. Click, click, click. I can’t feel Rafe’s heart beating beneath my palms.
Maybe he has none.
“Perfect. Yes, just like that. Could you lean in a bit, sir? Like you’re whispering a secret in her ear?”
Rafe’s mouth presses into a tight line. But he does what he’s told, which must be unusual for him, with being one of the world’s most powerful and influential businessmen. He leans in past my cheek, hidden from view of the camera.
His stubble brushes my skin. “Want to make a bet?” he asks.
I pause, my hands still on his chest. His voice is low, almost intimate, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down my spine.
“What?” I whisper through my smile.
“The divorce clause in our marriage? You’ll be the one to ask for it long before me.”
“Never,” I grind out behind my smile.
Rafe pulls back to meet my eyes. There’s a glint of triumph there that makes my stomach drop. “Think you’ll stand being married to a man you hate?”
“It’ll be easy,” I say. “You don’t know the first thing about me, so you have no idea what you’re in for. I bet I’m going to drive you out of your mind.”
“You’re welcome to try.” He stays there for another long moment, face uncomfortably close, before stepping away. His hand falls away from my waist.
“We’re done,” he tells the photographer.