Chapter Seven
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Adalynn
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Did my mouth have to be full of confection when my latest round of embarrassment hit?
I must be cursed or something. Actually, no.
I’m pretty fine every other day of the year.
I get by decently; my mishaps are minor, and most of them are not witnessed by others.
But here today, in my quest not to be pitied, I created something so far-fetched I will never be able to show my face here again for the rest of my life.
Why, oh why?
Well, I might as well make an attempt to swallow this donut. What a waste of a delicious treat. Damn Ines.
I’m just about to push it down my throat when my dad enters the pink lounge.
And behind him are three tall men, six foot three to be exact, dressed in all black.
Bespoke suits, black shirts, and black ties.
The luxurious fabric only enhances their muscular but lean frames, their shoulders so broad, chests so sculpted, and biceps so big they strain politely inside the sleeves of their jackets.
Oh boy. Am I daydreaming? Like right now? Not the time, Miller. Stop being such a nutjob and see how you can salvage this situation.
I go back to trying to swallow my donut. It’s like going to war with my throat. My dad opens his mouth.
“Family, look who I dragged in. My daughter’s fiancés. In human form,” he adds, his eyes filled with confusion as he looks from my mom to me, silently screaming at us: I thought you said they didn’t exist.
I turn my head to the rest of my family gathered in the lounge for Ines’s stupid Valentine Christmas hustle.
They’ve risen from their chairs in a daze. Ines seems to be malfunctioning, smiling and frowning at the same time. But all their attention seems to be on my dad. No, not my dad. The men with him.
Cove Hollister, whose hair is jet black and short, has bottle-green eyes that ooze dominance in bucketloads. His jaw is chiseled; his symmetry is like cold-cut marble. The scar that runs across his eyebrow surprisingly softens his enigmatic features.
Then there’s Rafe Winslow. While his hair is short as well, it falls in thick, shiny waves, all brushed back with his fingers. His eyes are a tantalizing blue; on the surface the epitome of calm and safety, but deeper, I see the same unpredictability present in Cove.
And Tylan Carver. His hair is silky dark, and a lock falls onto his forehead, giving his stunning features a hue of playfulness.
His gray eyes gleam with a delicious wickedness, as if he wants to explore every part of me to uncover my darkest secrets.
His lips are pulled into a perpetual smile.
He probably breaks his enemies with that same smile.
But again, there’s a hidden edge to him, just like there is with Cove and Rafe.
They’re so incredibly handsome; my heart gallops around my chest like a crazy horse.
My body quivers. My nipples instantaneously start to ache.
Blood seeps into my cheeks and burns as hot as it does between my legs.
Oh dear. I press my thighs together, trying to shoo away the tingle in my clit and also squeeze out the dampness on my panties so it doesn’t exist because what am I doing?
Then reality hits me so hard, I wobble.
The men I claimed to be engaged to are standing in the ranch-style house my family rents for the holidays. But why would they be here?
No one in my family knows any billionaires or even know people who know billionaires. They’re well off but not connected to the elites of the world in any way.
Oh god. Am I the link? Is it because of my lie? Do they know? Oh my god, they know.
The pathetic truth is that one day, four months ago, I had made a run to the supermarket for a late-night sweet treat, my oversized coat hiding my pajamas underneath, when I saw them on the cover of a magazine.
I didn’t even know who they were at the time, but I drowned in their gazes, all three of them. I stumbled head over heels for their chiseled jawlines, the perfect symmetry of their faces, their lips, and the width of their shoulders. Just looking at them made my nipples tingle and my clit vibrate.
I swear it was like I was buying a porn magazine or something. Blood red in the face, I snatched the magazine and added it to my tub of ice cream. I spent my night stalking them online while giving myself brain freeze.
When I woke up the next morning, looking as if I were hungover, reality crushed me like a cookie under a boot. They were the most gorgeous billionaires to roam the earth, and I was me, Adalynn Miller, jewelry maker, bound never to peak.
I kept the magazine to remind me of who I am. As for the ring? I made it out of boredom, without even thinking. Well, maybe the holidays were on my mind, and I created the pattern subconsciously.
Panic shatters through every cell in my being. I freeze up then.
This is so bad. Nothing will save me now. Are they here to charge me with... what? Cease and desist? Defamation of character? Infliction of emotional distress? Falsifying information? Spreading misinformation? I don’t know. Am I going to jail?
My mind swirls with a thousand possibilities of my ultimate demise. But chances are I’ll probably choke to death right before their eyes on the donut I’m still struggling to ingest. If ever I needed a miracle, let me choke on a chocolate donut, please.