Chapter Seven
I’ve hardly seen Broven all week. He’s been too busy trying to finish the roofs on the construction site in time, and I’ve had slews of tourists to serve since it’s full-on summer season.
And now I have to close the shop over the weekend. Fangor is going to have no one to complain to, and my regulars will have to survive without their daily scoops. I feel terrible about it, but I can’t back out now. I have to go to that wedding.
Truth is, I’m looking forward to it. Not to Greg tying the knot, of course. I couldn’t care less about that. But having this enormous, attentive orc act as my fake boyfriend this weekend sounds like a fairytale.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way he ravished me earlier this week. Part of me hopes it’ll happen again and part of me is scared it was just a one-time thing for him and he’s already forgotten about it.
The only time I saw him this week was when he popped in on Wednesday to say he had booked us a room in an inn close to the wedding venue.
I closed Daisy’s Scoop Shack an hour ago and rushed home to pack. He’s picking me up around six, so he could be here any second.
I keep watching out of the window for his truck. When he pulls up at the curb of my apartment building, my heart does a funny tumble.
My garment bag and overnight bag are by the door. I grab everything and lock my apartment, then head down the stairs.
By the time I’m outside, he’s already standing next to the passenger’s side and opens the door for me, then puts my bags in the trunk.
The truck is orc-sized, so I’m practically swallowed up by the passenger seat. He gets behind the wheel and starts the car. Now that he’s forced to look at the road, I can stare at him unapologetically. He’s wearing dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
My phone pings with a message.
Well?? You’ve got to keep me posted, Daisy!
I grin.
Oh Willa, he looks absolutely devastating! But I’m not going to text all the time. It’s rude.
Her answer is immediate.
But I want to hear about every little detail.
I shake my head with a smile.
You’ll hear when I get back. Love you!
I slide my phone back in my purse and smooth my dress. It’s a deep rose wrap dress, the kind that’s dressy enough for a rehearsal dinner but not so much that I look like I’m trying too hard.
His eyes flit to mine. “You look beautiful.”
I smile. “Thanks. You look great too.”
The drive to the Birchwood Inn should take about fifteen minutes along the road that snakes around the lake. Broven has one hand on the wheel, and I can’t stop stealing glances at him.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“About seeing all the people who believed Greg’s lie about how he dumped me and I did nothing but cry for weeks while eating my weight in ice cream? A little.”
“They’ll know the truth soon enough.”
Maybe they will. But I wasn’t entirely honest before. I’m not only nervous about the other guests. I’m nervous about spending two full days with Broven.
We still haven’t said a word about what happened in my shop when he brought me lunch, but I’m too nervous to bring it up.
The Birchwood Inn sits back from the road behind a row of birch trees. It’s pretty and exactly the kind of place you’d book for a wedding weekend if you wanted somewhere that felt like Cedar Lake rather than an impersonal hotel chain.
I still don’t know why we couldn’t just drive back and forth, but Broven insisted it would be more relaxing if we are staying within walking distance from the venue.
He’s probably right.
He parks and gets our bags. We check in at a small front desk run by a woman who looks at him with barely concealed fascination and then at me with barely concealed envy.
Ha. She loves orcs too. Some stuck-up fools call them greenies, but most people realize how wonderful orcs are.
“You booked the suite, right? Very good choice,” the woman says.
I frown and look at Broven. “The suite?”
“It was the only room left.”
“But a suite costs a fortune,” I whisper.
“So?” he says with a shrug before sliding his credit card over the counter.
The woman places a key card on the desk. “Enjoy your stay at Birchwood Inn. If there’s anything you need, just call the front desk and we’ll take care of it for you.”
Broven picks up the key card. “Thank you.”
I follow him to the suite at the end of the hall. Broven unlocks the door and lets me go in first. The room’s got exposed beams, a window seat overlooking the birch trees outside, a small sitting area with two armchairs, and… one bed.
Not just a regular, dull-looking bed. No, this one’s duvet is covered in flower petals and has swan-shaped towels adorning the pillows.
“We need to convince everyone we’re dating, so this seems appropriate,” he says when he sees me look at the bed.
“Yeah,” I say, even though no one is going to come in here and examine the romance level of our bed.
I place my purse on the bed, accidentally squishing a few petals.
Part of me knew we would be sharing a bed. People who are in love aren’t going to ask for separate bedrooms.
But now that the moment is here, it all seems so real.
And yeah, it was real when he went down on me too.
But this… this scares me. I’ve had my heart broken before and I don’t know if I’m ready for that to happen again.
Willa says it’s nonsense and claims Broven must be falling for me or he wouldn’t have given me that mind-shattering orgasm, but I’m not entirely convinced she’s right.
Willa’s a hopeless romantic and I’m more down to earth when it comes to love.
“Should we get ready for the rehearsal dinner?” Broven asks, jerking me from my thoughts.
“Yeah, we should.” I set my overnight bag on the luggage rack. “I still can’t believe Greg invited everyone to the rehearsal dinner. Isn’t that normally just for close family?”
“I think so.”
“Knowing Greg, he just wants an audience.”
Broven says nothing, but the look on his face says everything. I find it amusing that he doesn’t like Greg, and he hasn’t even met him yet.
We both freshen up and head back down to the truck. The venue is only a few minutes away, so we could’ve easily walked, but I’m wearing heels and don’t feel like torturing my feet before the night has even begun.
The closer we get to the venue, the heavier my stomach feels. This is it. The moment of truth.
The estate sits at the end of a long driveway lined with lanterns. The building is all white stone and tall windows, with the lake glittering behind it. Cars are already parked along the gravel in neat rows, which is good. I don’t want to arrive first.
Somewhere in there is Greg. And about a hundred people who think I spent weeks crying over him and am still pining for him. I know thanks to the looks of pity I still get, years after breaking up with him.
My hands twist together in my lap.
Broven reaches over and takes one of them, wrapping it in his completely.
I look down at our hands. His thumb moves across my knuckles, slow and steady, exactly like that night outside The Anchor.
“We have to be convincing, remember?” he says when he sees me look at his hand.
“Absolutely,” I say, ignoring the fact that no one can even see us holding hands right now.
Broven parks his truck at the end of a row of cars. Through the windshield, I can see people walking toward the estate in pairs and small groups, all dressed up.
I recognize some of them. Greg’s college friends. His sister. A couple I used to have dinner with when Greg and I were still together, back when I thought we were all friends.
I take a deep breath.
“Ready?” Broven asks.
“No,” I say with a nervous laugh.
He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’m here with you, Daisy. You don’t need to be scared or nervous.”
“You’re right,” I say, and some of the tension in my shoulders melts away.
He comes around and opens my door before I’ve even gathered my purse. When I step down, he offers me his arm like we’re attending a ball instead of a rehearsal dinner, and I gladly take it.
Walking next to him changes everything.
I’ve imagined this evening a hundred times. In most versions, I walk in alone and feel everyone’s eyes on me, hear the whispers and watch people lean toward each other with that look of poor Daisy on their faces.
This is definitely not that.
People are looking, alright. But not with sympathy or pity. They’re looking at the hot seven-foot orc in a crisp white shirt with me on his arm, and all I can do is smile proudly.
A woman I vaguely recognize from Greg’s office actually stops walking mid-step to stare at us.
“Everyone’s staring,” I whisper.
“They are,” Broven says, sounding pleased.
The path curves around a fountain toward the entrance, where staff dressed in black are holding trays of champagne. The estate is even more impressive up close. The old stone and climbing roses are gorgeous. I bet this place costs more for one weekend than I make in a season.
It’s very Greg, though. He always did like things that are expensive. The more dollar signs attached to something, the more he wanted to have it.
“Daisy?”
The voice comes from my left, and I know who it belongs to before I turn around.
Greg.
“You came,” he says, sounding incredulous.
I plaster on a smile and nod. “Of course I came! Wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.”
He side-eyes Broven and frowns.
“And this is my boyfriend,” I say, and grab his arm tighter.
Greg’s eyes travel up. And up. And up.
“I’m Broven. Thanks for inviting us.”
He extends his hand. Greg takes it, and I watch his fingers disappear entirely. The handshake lasts a beat longer than it should, and when it’s over, Greg flexes his hand at his side like he’s checking nothing’s broken.
“Greg. I’m the groom.”
“I know who you are,” Broven says.
That’s all. No congratulations, no nice to meet you. Just I know who you are, delivered flat and even, and somehow it causes butterflies to tumble over each other in my stomach.
Greg clears his throat. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone, Daisy.”
“You did send an invite for me and a plus one, right? So why wouldn’t I bring my boyfriend?”
I say it lightly, sweetly even, but it lands exactly where I want it to because Greg’s face contorts.
“Right. Well.” He glances over his shoulder toward the entrance. “Charlotte’s around somewhere. You should meet her. She’s been dying to know who—” He catches himself. “She’s lovely. You’ll like her. Charlotte’s amazing and gorgeous. I can’t wait to marry her.”
Ha! She’s been dying to know who Daisy is. That’s what he almost said. Which means Charlotte has heard about me, courtesy of Greg himself.
Broven’s hand comes to rest at the small of my back and he places a kiss on the top of my head, his tusks brushing over my hair.
“I’m sure we’ll meet her tonight. Enjoy your evening, Greg. We sure will. Right, honey?”
Broven lets out a grunt. “Before and after, yes.”
We walk past him toward the champagne, and I count to ten before I let myself smile for real.
“You okay?” Broven asks.
“That,” I say, taking a glass from a tray, “was the most satisfying forty-five seconds of my entire year.”
“It was?” he asks in a low voice.
I can feel my cheeks turn pink. “There was one other moment that tops everything else.”
He locks eyes with me. I’m sure he knows I’m talking about the orgasm he gave me in my shop.
He gently tips my chin up and inhales deeply, his eyes flashing with longing. Then, he dips down and brushes his lips against mine before sealing my mouth with his. His tongue pushes my lips apart and he deepens the kiss.
When he lets go, I feel dizzy, but in a good way. I swear to God, if this is all fake, he should become an actor.
He’d win an Oscar without even trying.