XVIII
Tori
“J ust put the damn ring on, Victoria.” Syn grabs my left hand.
Quickly, I jerk my hand free and step back. “Did Gemini give you something on the way here? Because it wasn’t candy.”
“The plan was to lie low until tomorrow. Getting yourself suspended a day early means we’re improvising.”
“And improvising means proposing?”
Syn’s eyes narrow. “We need to spend the night here. Right now, my father is at the office, and my mother is in the other room preparing for guests that will be arriving shortly. The only half-decent explanation I can give them as to you being here, is to introduce you as my fiancée, Victoria Anderson. The ring might not be to your taste, but I assure you, the diamond is real. And it’s yours to keep.”
I arch an eyebrow. Given their insistence at me staying at Denali House, I know I’ve got a fight on my hands to stay at my place, or even a hotel—a fight I don’t have the energy for. “And the best solution is for the two of us to pretend to be engaged?”
“Would you rather be engaged to Royal?” Syn’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s something about his tone that almost makes him sound jealous.
Before I can stop myself, I roll my eyes. “Changing my name didn’t fool you. How is it going to fool your parents?”
“Can you trust that I know my own parents better than you? If it makes you feel better, they’ll disapprove of you and insist we break up anyway, before they even find out who you are. Please stop being difficult and put the ring on.”
There are probably worse things than being in a fake engagement to Synclair Keyingham, but at this moment, I can’t think of any.
Unfortunately, I also know that the person who’s going to understand their parents better than anyone is also Syn.
“With such a romantic proposal how could I possibly say no?” I ask dryly as I reach for the ring.
Syn watches me carefully as I slide the ring on my finger, before holding my hand up to look at the ring.
“Remember: for the next two days, we’re supposed to be in love. Try to act like it.”
I drop my hand as a half-laugh, half-snort escapes me. “You know the same applies to you, right?”
Further down the corridor comes the sound of a soft click, but before I can turn to investigate, Syn steps forward. He leans down, his hands snaking behind my neck as he catches my lips with his.
When I let out a startled cry, he slides his tongue into my mouth.
Bringing my hands up between us, I start to push him away, and then I hear the sound of somebody clearing their throat. Instead of breaking the kiss, Syn’s hand gently squeezes the back of my neck, and he continues to push his tongue deeper into my mouth.
Clearly, Syn is a better actor than I gave him credit for, because the way his hot tongue claims dominance in my mouth in a way that actually sends heat pooling between my legs nearly convinces me that he likes me for real.
The person behind us clears their throat again, this time, much louder.
With as much warning as he gave me before he started kissing me, Syn stops. Instead of moving away, he brings his mouth to my ear. “Good girl.” He steps back, smirks at me, and then turns on his heel. “Mother. I didn’t see you there.”
I’ve seen Syn’s mother before. When Cole was arrested, I wasn’t allowed to go to court to support him, but I obsessively watched the news coverage—and given who JP’s parents are, there was a lot of news.
JP resembled his father, but Syn seems to have more of a mix of both parents. From the way her cold, amber eyes are locked on me from behind her wire-rimmed glasses, it’s clear that’s where the biggest resemblance lies.
Syn’s mother is around my height, but with a much slimmer build. Her brown hair, a few shades darker than Syn’s, is pulled back into a low ponytail, without a single hair out of place. Even her thick bangs look like a hairstylist set them this morning.
“For goodness sake, Synclair. I thought you outgrew messing around with the help when you graduated high school.” Syn’s mother folds her arms as she looks me up and down, her eyes lingering on my hair. “How did Mrs. Ortiz let you slip by?”
“Mother, this is Victoria Anderson.” Syn steps back to wrap an arm around my waist, pulling me to him as he does. “My fiancée. Darling, this is my mother, Juliet.”
I force myself to smile as I free myself from Syn’s grip and move over to Juliet, offering out my hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Juliet. Syn has told me so much about you.”
“And yet, I’ve heard nothing about you.” Juliet doesn’t move a muscle.
“That’s because I wanted to make sure it was serious before I brought her home.” Syn once again joins my side, this time, taking my hand in his.
Juliet presses her lips together as her gaze drops to our hands. When her eyes seem unable to bore a hole through the diamond, she walks over to her son, placing her hand on the back of his shoulder. “Excuse us,” she says, although she doesn’t look at me.
Syn let’s go of my hand and allows his mother to lead him a little way down the hall. She stops a distance, I assume is out of earshot, but doesn’t let me out of her sight.
“What game are you playing?” she asks.
Apparently, I was wrong about being out of earshot.
“I’m not playing anything.”
“You know the Greatsons will be joining us for dinner tonight. How do you think this will look?”
Syn cocks his head. “Like I’m in love, and I want to introduce my fiancée to my family.”
“Synclair, you know I will support a relationship,” Juliet says in a way that makes me think it’s the last thing she ever plans on doing. “But trawling the corners of Staten Island for the first hooker you come across is not convincing anyone. You know how important marriage is.”
Looks weren’t the only thing Syn inherited from his mother.
Knowing that if I upset Juliet, that I’ll never be able to go to the party, is the only reason I keep the fake smile on my face and stare absently around the hallway like I can’t hear anything.
“Victoria is not only a student at college with me, but she’s also a member of the Elite,” Syn explains. “She is more courageous and more intelligent than all of the girls at college, and she is more than suitable to be the woman standing beside me for the rest of my life.”
I know that he needs me to stay, but hearing him come to my defense—especially when he sounds sincere and warm for once—makes me feel...
I don’t know how I feel.
Juliet’s gaze snaps to me, then she glares back at her son. “I don’t have time to deal with this. Guests will be arriving shortly. I will have Mrs. Ortiz add an extra chair to the table and hope to god that it doesn’t throw off the balance. But all the spare rooms have been taken, so she will—”
“Be staying with me,” Syn finishes, firmly.
Instead of responding, Juliet looks at me like I’m something that came into her house on the bottom of Syn’s shoe and then walks away.
Before Syn walks back to me, an older Latina woman walks back out through the door Mrs. Keyingham left. She looks older than Syn’s mother, with graying hair swept back into a bun, and fine lines around make-up less eyes. Given the gray dress she’s wearing, my guess is she’s a housekeeper or maid.
“May I take your coat, senor?” she asks Syn in a heavily accented voice.
Without speaking, Syn takes off the long, black, wool coat he’s wearing and practically tosses it at the woman. She drapes the coat over her arm like he handed it to her and then walks over to me.
“May I take your coat, senorita?”
I’m not sure which central or south American country she’s from, but as I only recall a few sentences from my high school Spanish, I hope for the best as I hand over my coat. “Gracias.”
Syn finally walks back to me, completely ignoring the woman. “This way, darling.” He holds out his hand.
There’s no denying Syn is exceptionally attractive, but considering what a dick he is, I’ve never understood the attraction girls have to him. But then again, I’ve never been on the receiving side of his charm until now. Without him looking at me like I’m the most vile person on the planet, and with an actual smile directed at me, I finally see it.
Only, unlike the other girls, I know this is just an act.
And for the sake of appearances in front of the staff—people who, if not loyal to Mrs. Keyingham, are still probably under strict instructions to watch me like a hawk and report back—so, I take the offered hand and allow Syn to lead me upstairs.
Before we lost everything, we used to live in a Brownstone in Manhattan. It had three stories and four bedrooms, and compared to the apartment my mom and I had to move into when my dad left us, it was a palace.
Syn’s home makes that palace look like an average house. There’s nothing about the interior that makes this place feel like an apartment—even a penthouse apartment—except for the views from the windows.
The stairs curl up to the next floor, and to the top of the Christmas tree. Up close, it looks like it’s made of metal—probably real gold—but I don’t care enough to ask Syn. Instead, I continue to follow him down the hallway.
The thick cream carpet continues up the stairs, and my shoes sink into it. Up here, the hallway is lit up by bright lights, but above us, long stretches of glass reveal the darkening sky.
Large paintings of modern art in subdued colors hang on the walls between each door. I’ve never really held an interest in art like this, but I have a feeling they’re all originals—whatever they are.
Syn stops in front of one of the doors and walks in, holding it open for me. This bedroom is large and airy. But it also looks like a room that’s been dressed specifically for a magazine cover. Not really caring about the guestroom, I turn back to Syn.
He doesn’t say anything, but instead of leaving, he closes the door behind us and then walks over to the cream, leather couch under the window, and sits down on it. When I don’t move, he broadly gestures to the room. “We have a few hours to kill before dinner. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”
“Here?”
“If you want a grand tour, I’ll give you one.” Syn doesn’t make any effort to move other than to shrug. “Then you can spend time with my mother if you’d rather not be with me.”
An opportunity to pick my own torture… that’s so generous of him.
“I don’t mind staying in my room. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me,” I tell him with a flat smile.
Syn arches an eyebrow. “You mean our bedroom?”
Following my arms, I snort. “Ha, ha, ha,” I say with absolutely no humor. “Cute joke, babe, but this—” I hold up my left hand and point the large diamond in his direction, “—was only put on because you gave me no other choice, and if I have to act like I like you, it’s only going to be in public. You can head to your room now.”
“This is my room.” Syn settles back into the corner of the couch, crossing his legs as he stretches his arms out and drapes them over the back of the sofa. “Every year, my mother hosts a small get-together. The other guest rooms are full. Which is why I wanted to stay at college one more night.”
“Of course, this is my fault.”
Syn gestures towards the door. “You can leave if you want to.”
The contract might be null and void, but I still can’t leave just yet.
And he knows it.
One more night…