48. Maeve
MAEVE
The next few days pass in a haze of family activities—and a ridiculous amount of incredible sex.
I never imagined having this much sex in my entire life, especially not the kind that’s consistently this mind-blowing.
I didn’t think experiences like this happened to someone like me.
It still feels surreal, like I’m living in someone else’s fantasy.
And yet, in other ways, it feels overwhelmingly real.
I can sense all four of us feeling the weight of time passing, like there’s a countdown timer embedded in our chests.
We’re all acutely aware that this arrangement isn’t permanent.
More than that, we know if we’re careless and any rumors surface, it’ll destroy everything with Silver Start.
The pressure is constant and suffocating.
Whether the men successfully close this deal or not, everything will end once they meet with the CEO. Mr. Traditional Values himself. There won’t be any reason to continue this charade much longer after that meeting.
Which means we have to make the most of every moment we have left together.
My body is definitely discovering new types of soreness, but I couldn’t care less.
The men have become incredibly creative at finding ways to make me come apart without actual penetration when I need recovery time.
One afternoon, I go down on all three of them in sequence, switching back and forth between them, refusing to stop until I’ve made each of them lose control.
It’s exhilarating, discovering all these different ways we can worship each other’s bodies.
I had no idea sex could be like this—not just pleasurable, but playful and intense and consuming all at once.
I didn’t have extensive experience before this, and I can definitively say that Liam was never this skilled or enthusiastic about anything physical between us.
To say this isn’t what I expected when I agreed to this fake engagement is the understatement of the century.
I’ve started catching myself staring at my reflection more often.
I used to actively avoid mirrors except when necessary to make sure I looked presentable.
Just because I wasn’t the most beautiful person in any room didn’t mean I couldn’t put effort into my appearance.
But now I find myself studying my body, trying to see myself through the eyes of these men who seem to find me irresistible.
Learning to see myself through new eyes.
That’s exactly what I’m doing one morning a few days before Christmas, examining my naked body in the full-length mirror.
I have small bruises on my inner thighs and lower stomach, along with some faint pink marks on my backside and light scratch marks around my ribcage.
Nothing visible to the outside world, of course.
While everyone would naturally assume any hickey came from Ford, I want us to maintain some class.
I definitely don’t want George whatever-his-name-is from Silver Start getting flustered because he can’t handle evidence that an engaged man regularly sleeps with his fiancée.
My stomach flutters with excitement as I catalog all the evidence of what the guys and I have been doing together.
These little claims they’ve marked on my skin.
Some of these marks I remember exactly which man gave them to me, and when.
Others are lost in the blissful haze of pleasure when they happened.
Both concepts thrill me in ways I never expected.
When I return to the bedroom, Ford is gone, but there are several items on the bed that definitely weren’t there when I left. Specifically, a stunning dress, an elegant pair of low heels, and what appears to be expensive jewelry.
My breath catches as I move closer to examine everything—then I notice small notes attached to each item.
“Yours,” each note says in Ford’s distinctive handwriting, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to suppress my grin. That cheeky bastard. He’s clearly teasing me about marking all my food as “mine” in the office refrigerator, as if that had ever actually stopped him from stealing it anyway.
The jewelry is gorgeous—a diamond necklace with a sapphire centerpiece, the diamonds arranged to create the effect of flower petals, plus delicate dangling sapphire earrings.
I’m certain Gabriel selected these pieces.
They’ll complement my eyes beautifully and coordinate perfectly with my engagement ring.
My fake engagement ring that I’ll have to return very soon.
A thick lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard around it. Foolish girl. I knew better than to get attached to any of this. I could allow myself to get used to this kind of treatment, but I won’t. I can’t afford to.
I take a steadying breath as I set everything down. I’ll change into it all in a few minutes, but I want to make a proper entrance when the men see me. It’s probably silly, but they went to all this trouble to get these beautiful things for me. I want to show them off properly.
I go searching for Ford to thank him for the dress and tease him about finally learning what doesn’t belong to him. I can hear his voice as I approach, and I follow the sound—he’s in the makeshift office the men have commandeered for their work during this trip.
I let my excitement about seeing him override my common sense. I know he’s obviously talking to someone, but I don’t pause to consider who he might be speaking with or why until I open the door and step inside to find him on a phone call.
Ford notices me immediately and I freeze like a deer caught in headlights.
“Of course, George,” Ford says automatically, his tone respectful but slightly deferential in a way I’ve never heard from him before. It makes me want to roll my eyes at whoever has the audacity to make Ford Kingsley kowtow to anyone. Ford commands every room he enters—he doesn’t defer to people.
Then the name George registers and my stomach clenches painfully. That’s the Silver Start CEO with all the traditional values. The man who’s the entire reason we’re performing this elaborate charade in the first place.
Interrupting any of Ford’s business calls is forbidden under normal circumstances, but with this particular person, it’s catastrophic. I grimace and start quietly backing toward the door, but Ford raises his hand to stop me.
“I’m sorry, George, but I’m going to have to cut this short. My future wife needs me—and it is the holidays after all. Family comes first.” Ford pauses, listening to whatever George says in response, then chuckles warmly. “Thank you for understanding, sir. We’ll talk soon.”
He ends the call, and my stomach does a complicated flip. My future wife . It’s complete fiction, obviously. But hearing those words still sets off several butterflies flapping in my stomach.
“You don’t need to say things like that,” I point out, trying to keep my voice light. “I’m never actually going to be your wife.”
Ford’s expression flickers with something that might be annoyance for just a split second, and I wonder if he’s actually upset that I interrupted his call.
But then it disappears and he says evenly, “It’s strategic to emphasize how family-oriented I am.
You should hear this guy on the phone—he’s the definition of pompous and self-important. ”
“Gross.” I make an exaggerated face just to make Ford smile. “Thank you for the dress, by the way. Unless Gabriel picked that out along with the jewelry.”
“No, that was all me. How did you know the jewelry was Gabriel’s choice?”
“Gabriel understands fashion—he would have selected something more haute couture like that first dress he bought me. Plus jewelry is more his specialty in general. The dress also has a leg slit, and you really seemed to appreciate that detail about my other dress.”
“It’s almost like you know me well or something,” Ford says, his ice-blue eyes glinting.
“After two years of being your executive assistant, I would certainly hope so,” I quip, although that’s not entirely accurate.
I do know him extremely well from our professional relationship, but I also feel like these past few weeks have taught me ten times more about who he really is than the previous two years combined.
“Do you like the dress, then?” Ford asks, cocking his head to one side as he studies my face.
“I love it,” I promise.
“Then why don’t you go put everything on and show it off for us?” he murmurs suggestively.
The fact that he says “us” instead of just “me” makes my stomach flutter. I still worry occasionally about jealousy, about potentially driving a wedge between the men, but so far that hasn’t been an issue. They all seem comfortable with this arrangement.
Maybe that’s simply because they all know I’ll be gone soon, out of their lives for good.
I head back upstairs and put everything on.
The jewelry is elegant in its understated sophistication, and the dress drapes beautifully—a lighter blue than the sapphires so the gemstones still make a stunning statement.
The fabric is expertly tailored to flow gracefully around my curves, showcasing the quality through the material itself rather than flashy embellishments.
Simple but undeniably elegant, just like the jewelry.
The shoes, however, are different. They have only a modest heel and appear to be crafted from buttery leather with the most exquisite embroidery I’ve ever seen.
These shoes are definitely worth showing off.
There’s a playfulness to them that makes me think immediately of Hayden—I’m certain they’re his contribution.