11. Liz
Chapter Eleven
LIZ
Oh, my God, that was close. I shake my head and take a long sip of my wine, then tap my cheeks as if to wake myself from this Kent-engagement haze. Then I look at my hand.
Holy shit.
This diamond must be like eighteen carats, maybe more. It blows my last engagement ring out of the water. I take in a deep breath and let out a gusty exhale.
And another thing, why was Kent’s fake proposal more romantic than my ex’s real one? Seriously? Why is it that my real engagement was so imperfect, and my perfect engagement isn’t real? It’s so confusing. And a little overwhelming.
How is this happening? How is this my life right now? And who’s at the door this late?
I hear the echo of a woman’s voice and freeze.
Who is that? She sounds cute. Young—maybe in her twenties.
It’s probably one of his late-night lovers.
I roll my eyes. Ugh. This is my cue to go back to the room, but instead, I engage my eavesdropping skills—doing my best to hear over Ella Fitzgerald’s voice.
“Why don’t you stay with Dash?” I hear Kent say. Who’s Dash?
“Because he and Charles are having a row. It’s too tense at his place,” the woman says, though I can’t quite make out her accent.
Sounds like a British-American hybrid. Steps draw closer, echoing along the hard floors nearby.
“Why are you being so cagey?” she continues as her voice becomes more audible, then she makes her appearance in the living room.
“Do you have a girl in here or somethin—” The intruder stops short at the sight of me, and her jaw goes slack.
The strange woman tilts her head. Her bun wiggles like flan atop her head. I take in the rest of her—thin with creamy white skin and big, golden brown eyes. Physically, we share a resemblance. So, I guess Kent has a type. Of course.
Awkward.
“Oh, hello,” she says. There’s a confidence about her.
Like she’s very comfortable walking around Kent’s penthouse.
Like she’s done it a thousand times. I got the sense that Kent was your typical rich bachelor player, but geez!
There’s nothing like the cold, hard reality of seeing the other woman to freeze a scorching crush.
I almost let myself fall for his London charm, but now we’re back to all business.
“Hi.” I tighten the sash on my robe, folding my arms in. Maybe I should’ve gone to the Motel 6. Or the London equivalent.
“Goodness.” The woman flashes her brightly bleached teeth and swiftly walks toward me. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’m Dahlia, Kent’s cousin.”
Cousin?
Okay, slightly less awkward.
“I’m just in from L.A., and my place is being renovated. So I thought Kent here could put me up,” Dahlia says.
“Oh.” Another house guest? Is there another guest wing? The place certainly seems big enough.
“And you are?” she asks.
“Liz. Liz McKenna,” I say, offering her a handshake.
Her eyes narrow as she takes my hand. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Kent steps up next to Dahlia and places his hands on her shoulders. “Liz is a friend of Kate’s. She was at the wedding in New York.”
Dahlia looks back at Kent. “You too, huh?”
My brow wrinkles. What does that mean?
“I suppose you two have been seeing each other since then.”
“Not exactly,” I say at the same time that Kent says, “Sort of.”
I fold my arms once again. Why didn’t I just run off back to my room and lock the door, pretending this night never happened?
“Well, like I said, I don’t want to interrupt. I’ll just head back to the guest—” Dahlia’s jaw drops again. Only this time, her eyes are bulging out of their sockets, and her gaze is glued to my left hand. “Is that . . .” She steps closer and grabs my hand.
Boundaries, lady!
“Is this Nana’s ring from Prince Edward?” she asks.
“Prince Edward?” I blurt and look to Kent. He shrugs like he doesn’t know what to say.
Shock-faced, Dahlia looks at me, then back at her favorite cousin. “Are you two engaged?”
I press my lips together and wait for Kent to respond.
“Yep.” He makes a face like he’s been caught in a lie and is much more uncomfortable now than when he announced this to his father.
Dahlia drops my hand and her eyes begin to well with tears. “Oh, my God! Engaged! This is so exciting!” She lunges for Kent and wraps him in a big congratulatory hug—a much warmer response than his father.
“It is,” Kent says with a big ‘ole fake smile to go with our fake engagement. This charade has only been going on for a few hours, and already, I’ve got a massive diamond with two of his close family members in the loop.
“I’m so happy for you both!” Dahlia lets him go and turns for me with arms wide open.
“Come here, cousin-in-law!” She crashes into me with a hug.
Cousin-in-law? She squeezes me so tightly that I can hardly breathe.
I shoot Kent a bulged-eye stare over Dahlia’s shoulder as if to say, what in the hell is happening?
She releases me, then smacks Kent on his shoulder. “Why did no one tell me?”
“We . . .” Kent begins, “wanted to wait until we were all together for the holidays. And you know, let Mick’s new engagement get all the attention it deserves.”
“Aw, all the Bonnaire brothers are getting married! What do you think? Double wedding in the spring?” Dahlia suggests, clasping her hands beneath her chin with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
“We’ll see,” he says.
I’ve agreed to a phony engagement. But I’ll be damned if he wants me to make faux double-wedding plans. In fact, no wedding plans. I still have PTSD over my wedding that never happened. So many deposits I’ll never get back.
Dahlia squeals and looks at me. “So cool! Anyway, I would love to stay up and get to know everything there is to know about you, but I’m exhausted from the flight.” You and me both, sister. “I think I’ll head to bed. Maybe we can chat in the morning?”
I flick a glance at Kent. “Sure,” I answer, knowing full well I’ll be up and out of here as soon as the sun comes up.
Dahlia kisses her cousin on the cheek, leaving a deep burgundy mark behind. “Love you!”
“You too,” he says.
“Goodnight!” She waves goodbye, grabs her luggage, and heads toward my end of the penthouse.
My muscles tense. Where is she going? Kent seems to have the same reaction because he rushes to meet her. “Hang on, Liz is already set up in the guest wing.”
Dahlia knits her brow. “In the guest wing? Why?” When neither of us answers right away, she says, “Don’t tell me you two are waiting for marriage. No offense, but that doesn’t sound like you, Kent.”
My faux fiancé lets out a nervous laugh. “Ah, thank you for that. But Liz is just more comfortable with her own space.”
“Well, I’m sure she won’t mind me taking the bedroom. Yours is much bigger anyway,” she says, hell-bent on stealing the only solace I have in this damn town.
Kent trades glances between the two of us. I tighten my crossed arms and tap my fuzzy-socked foot. He better say no. “Of course,” he says. “Liz, why don’t I help you with your things?”
I grit my teeth. “What?”
Kent comes over and begins leading me toward the guest wing. “Yes, Darling. We can’t have Dahlia sleeping on the sofa.”
Why not? She wasn’t invited to stay here. I was!
Of course, I say none of that. I know my role, so I wait until we’ve crossed into the hallway and out of earshot. “Kent, I’m not sleeping in your bed. You have to ask her to leave.” I keep marching toward the bedroom. I’ll lock myself in there if I have to.
“I can’t do that. She’s family,” he says, hushed.
“That may be true, but she’s not going to help you get your promotion at work, is she? No, that would be me. Your fiancée!” I wave my royal diamond-ringed hand in front of his face, reminding him of our deal.
“Exactly, as far as everyone is concerned, you’re my fiancée.
And it looks odd if you refuse to sleep in my bed.
” The moment he utters the words, my bed, my mind conjures an image of the two of us, wrapped up in one another in his luxurious high thread count sheets—laughing, kissing, and . . . I shake the visual away.
There will be none of that.
We make it inside the guest bedroom, and Kent closes the door behind him. The moment it shuts, our eyes meet, and my heart thumps in my chest. I know what it wants, but it’s not getting it. I stomp my foot, breaking our gaze. Back to business.
“I don’t care what it looks like. I’m not sleeping with you!” I say in an angry whisper.
He smirks. “Why not? I thought we were having a good time.”
I see now that we’re not on the same page, and we don’t have the same intentions. “Kent, I’m not here for that anymore. I’m here to do a job. And that job does not include shacking up with you!”
“Fine. I won’t sleep in the bed with you,” he relents.
“No, you won’t. And you won’t sleep in the same room as me either.”
Kent lets out a frustrated grunt. “All right, all right. I’ll sleep on the sofa in my office. You can have the bedroom all to yourself.”
Now, that’s better.
Since we’re in agreement, I begin snatching the few things I took out of my suitcase and place them back inside. “You need to get me a hotel tomorrow night.”
“What? No. As long as Dahlia’s staying here, you have to stay here too.”
“What? That is not part of the deal,” I say, waving around the bra I flung off earlier.
It catches Kent’s attention, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.
We’re alone in a closed bedroom, and I’m not wearing a bra.
I suck in a quick breath, panicked, and quickly stash the thing in my suitcase, burying it beneath my tops.
Kent blinks a few times and shakes his head, bringing himself back to the topic at hand. “The deal is to be a convincing couple. It makes no sense to have you at a hotel. You’ll stay with me until the board votes me in.”
“Then get her a hotel tomorrow,” I demand.
Kent drops his shoulders and rolls his eyes.
That’s right, buddy. This penthouse isn’t big enough for all of us.
“I will see about having Dahlia make other arrangements, but I need you to be flexible. For both our sakes.” He gives me a wide-eyed look as if to remind me just how much he’s planning to do for my company.
It’s not technically blackmail. But it sure feels like it.
“Fine. I can’t believe this is happening.” I stomp around the room in my fuzzy socks, shut my luggage, and wheel it out of the room. I start down the hall with Kent on my heels. “Where am I going?”
Kent charges forward, seeming pretty miffed about all of this. He’s not the only one. “Right this way.”
I follow him back through the hallway. The diamond on my finger catches the light, and I look at it again. I never thought I’d ever wear a ring this beautiful but I can’t even enjoy it. I can’t enjoy any of this—not even Kent.
Remember, Liz. There’s an endgame here. It’ll all be worth it in the end.
We pass through the main room where Dahlia’s patiently waiting on the couch, sipping from Kent’s glass of wine.
“All yours!” Kent says.
“Thanks!” She raises her glass and then takes another sip. I roll my eyes, and we continue toward the opposite end of the penthouse.
At the very end of the hall, there’s a dark door that’s cracked open. Kent pushes his way in. “Here you are.”
I step inside and immediately begin gawking around.
The room is incredibly spacious. So much so that if I let Kent stay here, we could easily avoid each other.
There’s a large king bed dressed in silky gray linens.
The room is illuminated by a series of low lamps on the grand nightstands and various stylish sconces throughout.
The view here is just as expansive as it is in his main room beyond the Christmas tree.
The windows perfectly frame the lit Tower Bridge in the background. It’s like a dream.
“What do you think?” he asks with a proud look.
“This will do,” I say, but what I really want to say is, can I stay here until I leave London? Talk about a place of solace.
“Good,” he says. “Shall I go fetch our wine glasses so we can finish that drink?”
“I’m pretty sure your cousin finished yours already.”
“I have more.”
“Well, I don’t. I think I’m done for the night,” I say, parking my suitcase next to me.
“You sure?” he asks, but I don’t immediately answer. My mind is very staunchly and wisely refusing any further contact with Kent. But my body . . . Well, it just wants to be near his.
I hate this. I hate when my heart and mind are at odds. But if I listen to my body and let him stay, something will definitely happen, and it will absolutely make matters worse.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I answer finally.
“Fair enough.” He drops his head, then walks toward the door. I press my lips together as I watch him leave, careful not to say another word. I can’t give him any excuse to stay another moment.
He looks back from the threshold, his hand on the doorknob with a look that’s begging to stay. So I reply with a firm look that refuses. Finally, he leaves and shuts the door behind him. The moment it clicks, my shoulders drop, and I rush over to lock it so he can’t get back in.
I blow out my cheeks with a sigh.
This isn’t over. It’s just begun.