27. Liz
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LIZ
Saturday morning arrives. I slip into my leggings and robe, tussle my hair, and wander out to the kitchen for some coffee. Christmas pop music plays while Kent whisks something in a silver mixing bowl.
“What’s going on in here?” I ask.
“You’re awake.” Kent smiles. “Damn, I was going to serve you breakfast in bed.” That’s a pretty sneaky way to get in my bed. I’d expect such a scheme from Kent but making breakfast? That’s a surprise.
There’s a pile of burnt toast on the counter, and then I notice smoke wafting from the oven. “Is something burning?”
The billionaire cook’s eyes go wide. “Bollocks. The bacon.” He practically drops the mixing bowl on the counter and its gooey contents slosh over the side.
Smoke billows out of the oven as he opens it.
Waving his hand in front of his face, he coughs, then grabs a dish towel, removes the smoking pan, and drops it into his oversized sink.
I shut the oven behind him and switch it off.
“Feliz Navidad” plays in the background as he turns to me with his head down. “Shit, Liz, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not much of a cook.”
I can’t help but giggle. How sweet, attempting to make me breakfast after last night.
“You may not be a cook, but you’re certainly a gentleman,” I say and a small smile returns to his unshaven face.
Dressed in his sweats and a white t-shirt, his hair isn’t neatly slicked back as usual but it looks soft and natural—just like my first night here.
Don’t get me wrong, three-piece suit Kent is very shoop-shoop, but there’s something about casual, cook-for-my-fake-fiancée Kent that I like even more. My heart flutters, staring at the freckle in his eye. “Besides, you have other talents.”
Did I just say that out loud?
Now the man is grinning.
Guess I did. Oops!
“Oh, you think so.” He takes a step closer, and for a moment, I imagine him sweeping me up in his arms and making love to me right here in this gourmet kitchen that he has no idea how to use.
But it’s just a fantasy. This whole thing is a fantasy.
A decadent one. So I take a step back. “Why don’t we get dressed and go out to breakfast? ”
Before I know it, our necks are covered in wool scarves, and we’re sipping hot coffee and sampling one another’s dishes at a cozy French cafe. “Mmm, that’s a lot better than burnt toast,” he says, taking a bite of my warm, fluffy cardamom French toast.
“I know. You almost burned down the penthouse,” I tease, and we share a laugh. I wonder if he’s ever taken that risk for another woman.
“That would’ve really ruined Christmas.” Then it hits me. Christmas is the day after tomorrow. I guess time flies when you’re faking it. “Speaking of, since we’re out, would you mind helping me pick out a few last-minute gifts?”
“Sure.”
After breakfast, we head to the West End to spend some of the billionaire’s hard-earned, or inherited, money. Beginning at the luxury stores, we slowly make our way to the more affordable shops, where we stumble on this adorable Christmas store.
“Let’s go in here.” I drag Kent inside with me.
It’s cozy and smells of warm cinnamon and fresh pine.
Displays of colorfully lit Christmas trees adorn the entry.
I’m drawn to a beautiful Douglas fir decorated in white light and silver and gold ornaments.
I take note of its style. This is how I want to decorate next year.
Kent stays by my side as we wander around the rows of Christmas decorations. I spot a beautiful gold nutcracker on a nearby table and pick it up. “Look at this.”
“Very lovely,” he says.
“Are you ready for the ballet tonight?” I ask.
He smooths his hair back, seeming unsure. “I think so. Are you?”
“Yeah, what do you mean? I have a dress thanks to you.”
“Yes, but you do realize this is more than just a ballet. It’s a gathering of London’s high society. There will be press there.”
I swallow hard. “Press?”
“Yes, our engagement will become public after tonight. So we need to put on a good show. Think you can handle that?”
I let out a slow sigh, knowing I don’t really have much choice. At least, not if I want all that he’s promised my company. So I say, “yes.” For SOLIDS.
He smiles. “Good. The board will have no reason to doubt our engagement.”
My phone rings in my purse. It’s Leo. Again.
“Do you need to get that?” Kent asks.
“No,” I say, and quickly silence the call. I want to answer but I can’t. I can put on a show for the board but for my brother? He works in Hollywood. He can smell a bad act a mile away.
Once I’ve admired all of the cute Christmas decor, Kent calls his driver, and the black town car pulls up to the curb. I slide in as the driver stores all of our shopping bags in the trunk.
“I’ll see you back at mine,” Kent says, peeking in the car.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“No, you’re going to the salon.”
“The salon?”
“Yes, Poppy booked you the full service so you don’t need to worry about getting ready for this evening.”
“What’s with the red carpet treatment? Is this ballet really that big of an event?” I ask. Maybe I’m not ready for The Nutcracker.
“That’s what happens when you’re engaged to a Bonnaire,” he says with a wink. I know he means to be cute but it only highlights that we’re not actually engaged.
“And what will you be doing in the meantime?” I ask.
He flicks his brow. “Finding you the perfect gift.”
I want to tell him that saving my company from ruin is the perfect gift. The man’s already spoiled me enough. Then again, all things considered, we’re pretty much breaking even. “Just get me a really warm pair of fuzzy socks,” I joke, and he leaves me with that rich laugh of his.
Kent wasn’t kidding about the full service. After a facial, mani and pedi, plus my hair and makeup, I get back to Kent’s with just enough time to slip into my designer gown. Estelle left me with a pair of gold stilettos, a matching clutch, and an elegant, but warm, black coat.
I glance in the mirror as I smooth out the dress, catching a glimpse of the diamond.
The last time I wore this dress, I felt like my apparent look-a-like, Rita Hayworth.
But staring at myself now, I feel like myself.
It’s like this dress was meant for me. I have no idea how I ended up here, but it’s a pretty nice life for a self-made girl from Washington like me.
I grab my coat and clutch and make my way out to the main room.
Kent’s standing by the Christmas tree, dressed in a black tux with an actual bow tie.
He sips patiently from a glass of white wine.
Ella Fitzgerald fills the room with her silky voice again, and the red Christmas ornaments gleam in the golden hue of the twinkle lights.
My date turns around and spots me walking toward him. His jaw drops for a moment before he overrides it with a sultry grin. I hold my breath, and grip my clutch to keep my hands from trembling. Why do I get so nervous around him sometimes?
“Wow. Darling, you’re gorgeous,” he says.
My red lips turn up in an appreciative smile, and I smooth my elegant curls that are purposefully placed over one shoulder. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself, Darling.” I step forward and he picks up another glass of wine from the table and hands it to me.
“Cheers,” he says.
“Cheers.” Our glasses clink and I take a sip. Golden apples, sweet pears, and a soft oak finish. “Mmm, Chardonnay?”
“Excellent pallet,” he says, then sets down his glass. “I got you something.”
“Fuzzy socks?”
“No, that’s for Christmas. This is for tonight.
” Kent presents a square, black velvet jewelry box and pops it open.
Inside lays a necklace made up of starlight-like teardrop diamonds with a large center diamond pendant that rivals my engagement ring.
I gasp, nearly choking on my Chardonnay.
Holy crap. I blink repeatedly. These rocks are blinding, and there are so many of them!
“This is for tonight?” If this necklace is for the ballet, what is he getting me for Christmas?
He gently lifts the glistening jewels out of the box.
“Yes, and only for tonight. It has to go back to the jeweler tomorrow.” Kent steps behind me and drapes the opulent piece around my neck.
It’s like out of a movie. He fastens the necklace, and I feel the gilded ice beneath my fingertips, making sure it’s nice and secure.
“I hope you don’t mind a little more sparkle,” he says.
“What? My eyes aren’t enough for you?” I joke, then immediately wish I hadn’t.
“Ooh, so you admit it now?”
Before I can make a quick comeback, that familiar twinkly piano intro begins to play. It’s that song I love so much. The song I love even more after my first night here. It’s “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” Our eyes meet as if we’re having the same thought, or memory, rather.
Kent takes my glass, then takes my hand. “May I have this dance?”
I agree with a nod. There are too many butterflies swarming in my belly for me to speak. Ella Fitzgerald, a romantic slow dance, and more diamonds than I’ve worn in my life? If I’m not careful, I’ll fall for this moment. Or worse. I’ll fall for him.
And no good can come from that.
He slinks his hand around my waist like a gentleman. A suave, sexy London gentleman, that is. We sway to the classic song as I stare at the dimple in his chin. My gaze wanders to his thick eyelashes, and I immediately blush.
Why is Kent so dreamy? That’s what I want to ask, but luckily, I keep that one to myself and instead ask, “Why is it that every time this song plays, you give me a very nice piece of jewelry?”
“What can I say? Ella brings out my romantic side.”
I’ll say she does.
“You know, for a man with no real prospects, you’re kind of a pro at this fiancé fa?ade.”
He spins me around like a little ballerina, then looks into my eyes. It’s almost unnerving. “That’s because when I’m in, I’m all in.”
I hold my breath again, and for a millisecond or two, I wonder if there’s a scenario where he can be all in with me. Holding my gaze, he leans in so close our lips nearly touch. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to be all in on this kiss.
Somehow, I’m still wise enough to know we’d be all in on much more than a kiss. And we’d never make it to the ballet.
“We should get going,” I say, letting him go. “Time to smile for the cameras.”