Thirteen
THIRTEEN
LUCAS
I spent my entire Friday morning making calls and preparing the necessary documents for our marriage. Thankfully, everything seems doable. Although Leora's long-stay visa is not yet secured, I’m confident that it will be obtained before her ninety-day visitation period ends. The visa requires various documents as evidence, such as proof of accommodation (my apartment) , proof of financial means (which I’ve taken care of by arranging her new job and salary) , and proof of marriage (will be obtained tomorrow) . The remaining details will be handled by my lawyer.
As I’m reviewing some finances, I come across a purchase from a jewelry store—the rings, I suspect—but I do a double take at the amount as it doesn’t make sense.
A knock on the door interrupts me.
"Come in!" I call out.
"My apologies, Mr. Ayoub," Camille says as she enters my office. "Miss Davis is here and she claims to have?—"
"Let her in." I interrupt. Leora strides in with confident steps, wearing a pair of tight jeans that look painted on, and for a split second, all I want is for her to spin around. She holds a small bag in her hand, but something else catches my attention. Something small around her finger.
"Are you kidding me?" I mutter under my breath.
"Hi, fiancé," Leora greets me with a sarcastic tone.
I immediately point to the shiny object on her ring finger. "What is that, Leora?"
"Oh, this thing? It's the engagement ring you bought me. Isn't it cute?" She smiles as she brings her hand up, showing off the ring.
"It would be cute if I could see it," I retort, feeling the familiar knot start to build in my stomach. No one can see her wearing a ring like that. She’s going to ruin everything before it even starts.
My irritation grows when she doesn’t answer. "I'm waiting for you to pull out the real one."
She seems unfazed by my frustration. "It seems this ring is doing wonders to your ego."
I try to maintain my composure. " Leora , you need to buy another ring. I told you to get a good one."
"Well, Lucas , you weren’t the one buying the ring and I like this one—it's simple," she insists.
"Keep the same design but make it bigger. That ring on your finger looks to be less than half a carat," I counter.
"That’s because it’s point-two carats," she corrects me. I want to drag that ring off her finger and throw it out the window.
"Even worse," I snap.
"Lucas, the ring is not going to be the dealbreaker. If anything will, it's your behavior."
This back-and-forth is unfamiliar to me, and I'm not sure how to respond. Typically, people don’t challenge my decisions or engage in such ridiculousness. It's as if the usual script I'm accustomed to is being rewritten, and I find myself navigating uncharted territory.
"Leora, just go exchange the ring for another one you like, but bigger," I say through gritted teeth. "Or I'll send Camille to pick one out for you."
"You're such a control freak, and it’s not a good look on you." She sneers as she places the bag on my desk. "I'm not getting a new ring, and I think what you meant to say was . . ." She stands taller, her hands on her hips, before she starts talking, in a mocking tone. "Thank you so much for getting the wedding bands, Leora. Thank you for also buying yourself the engagement ring I should have bought. I mean, it’s the least I could do after being an asshole." With that, she turns around and heads towards the door. My eyes immediately go to her round ass. At least I have something nice to stare at.
Deep breaths Lucas, you aren’t married yet and you can’t scare her away.
"My uncle wants to take us for dinner. Be ready at six," I say as I try to calm myself down.
"Yes sir," she salutes me over her shoulder.
I stare at the door as it shuts behind Leora. I haven’t been this frustrated with a person in a long time and that’s saying something. She bought that ring with the sole purpose of going against my request. It's like she's daring me to call her out on it—almost as if she enjoys pushing my buttons. And yet, even with how much she drives me crazy, there's something about her that draws me in.
Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or the fire in her eyes. Or maybe it's the way she challenges me, refusing to be controlled. Whatever it is, I can't deny that I find myself thinking about her more often than I'd like to admit.
After a grueling session at the gym—my attempt at cooling down after my discussion with Leora—I make my way back home. My penthouse apartment overlooks the beach and the city, offering a breathtaking view. I grab a cold bottle of water from the kitchen and take a long sip, relishing the refreshing taste. As I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows that stretch from here to the living room, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. I take another long drink, feeling the cool liquid soothe my parched throat, before I make my way to my bedroom. The muted gray and blue tones create a soothing atmosphere, and the king sized bed dominates the room, inviting me to rest.
But the true gem of my bedroom is the balcony overlooking the ocean. As I step outside, I feel a gentle breeze caress my skin, carrying the salty scent of the ocean. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is a symphony for my ears, and all my worries and stress fade away. It's my favorite part of the apartment—a sanctuary within a sanctuary.
Will Leora like it?
My own thoughts surprise me. I've never been one to fret over someone's opinion so much. Leora's a tempest herself—a whirlwind of opinions, and a force that seems unstoppable. She challenges me, questions me, and for some reason, that's unsettlingly attractive. Every jab, every witty retort serves a purpose. But I've seen enough in life to know that letting someone in, and allowing them to get to know you, often leads to pain. And I've had my fair share of that, which is why I won’t be letting her in.
Still, the thoughts gnaw at me. Will she be comfortable? Will she feel at home? Will she warm up to me?
It's not like I care about her approval—not really. The arrangement is what it is, and we both know it. We're bound by a contract that has nothing to do with emotions. But her comfort, strangely, matters to me in a way I'm not ready to admit.
I've spent a lifetime perfecting the art of detachment, keeping everyone at arm's length; everyone except for my uncle and Liam. It's how I've survived and maintained control. Leora, though, she's like a chink in my armor, a crack that lets the light in. And it both infuriates and intrigues me.
I shake my head, dismissing the thoughts as I stand up. This apartment is just another piece in the elaborate puzzle that is our arrangement.
I head to the ensuite bathroom and step into the glass-enclosed shower. When I finally step under the hot water, I let out a groan of relief as I wash away the tension. I lather up my body wash, enjoying the way the scent fills the room. Before I get the chance to relax, Leora pops up in my mind and all I see is her ass in those jeans. My body reacts immediately, and I push away the urge to touch myself to thoughts of her. Instead, I turn the lever to cold and stand under the freezing water, cursing her. The shock jolts me out of my thoughts.
Why can’t I get her out of my damn mind?
This is ridiculous. I've always prided myself on being in control, on being able to compartmentalize emotions and physical desires. But ever since Leora entered the picture, it's like a switch has been flipped. I can't seem to escape the way my body reacts to her presence—the subtle quickening of my heart rate, and the distracting twitch of my cock. My thoughts wander when I should be focused on more important matters, lured away by the magnetic pull of her presence.
She’s been annoying me at every stop—I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way, dammit.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the cold water beating down on me. It's a sharp contrast to the heat that had been building within me, a reminder that I need to regain control. This situation, this arrangement—it's difficult enough without adding unnecessary complications. Leora might challenge me in more ways than one, but I can't afford to let her affect me like this.
I turn the water off and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry myself. As I stand there, I make a silent promise to myself: I won't let thoughts of Leora distract me. I'll keep up the act, maintain the distance, and ensure that this arrangement remains strictly business. Because getting tangled up in emotions and desire would only complicate things further, and that's the last thing I need.
After my shower, I get dressed in a dark blue Armani suit and a simple white button down. I check my reflection in the mirror; my curly hair looks unruly per usual, but I don't bother trying to tame it. According to some, it's part of my charm. My mum was one of them; she always used to let my hair run wild, insisting it showcased my wild spirit.
I slip on a pair of brown leather shoes and make my way to the living room, grabbing my keys and phone on the way. I step out of the elevator and into the parking lot, heading towards my car—a sleek black Mercedes-Benz, and unlock it with the press of a button.
Around the rearview mirror hangs my mother’s rosary; it's white and gold, and I touch it just like I always do before starting the car. The engine roars to life, and I navigate my way through the busy streets to pick up my new fiancée. Pulling up to the hotel, I see Leora waiting outside.
Let’s get this evening over with.
I get out of the car and walk towards her, feeling a surge of pride and possessiveness as I take in her appearance: her black dress hugs her curves in all the right places, and the sight of her toned legs draws my attention more than I care to admit. Her brown hair cascades in waves down her shoulders, and there's a glint of determination in her green eyes, a reminder that she's not one to be underestimated.
"Leora," I say with a nod. "You . . . look good." I shift uncomfortably, my attempt at a compliment falling somewhat flat. "I mean, it's a great dress."
She raises an eyebrow, the tension between us palpable, but she replies with a tight smile, "Thank you, Lucas. You're almost charming tonight."
I ignore her jab at me, my eyes drifting to her lips as she speaks; they look sinfully full. They’re painted a shade of pink that complements her complexion perfectly. She must have been a siren in a previous life, luring men into the deepest of waters before drowning them.
I don’t think she’s aware of how much of an effect she has on the male population, considering she’s completely oblivious to the hungry look coming from one of the hotel's doormen. He’s practically undressing her with his eyes, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
Instinctively, I wrap my arm around Leora’s waist and glance towards the doorman once more, my expression hard, a silent warning: She’s with me . He quickly averts his gaze, suddenly finding something fascinating on the marble floor.
Exactly.
"What are you—" she begins, clearly taken aback. But I don’t let her finish.
"Let’s go," I say firmly, my voice leaving no room for arguments.
I guide her towards the car, my arm still wrapped protectively around her. There's a surge of possessiveness within me that surprises even myself. I can't stand the thought of someone else eyeing her that way when she’s supposed to be my fiancée.
I open the door to the passenger seat and when she steps closer to me, before lowering herself into the seat, I can’t help but lean in slightly to smell the sweet scent of her perfume— vanilla . I close my eyes before closing the door and making my way to the driver's seat.
Her soft voice surprises me, and I turn my head to look at her.
"Are you sure about this?" she asks, motioning between us with her hands. "About this whole thing?"
My mind races. Would anyone be sure in this situation?
"No," I say truthfully, before turning the key in the ignition.
"Me too." I can feel her eyes on me as I drive, but I don't look at her. The weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air, questions I don't yet have the answers to. Yet, I can't help but wonder what she's thinking.
Will she be able to pull this off?
Will she convince the others in the restaurant that what we share is real?
Will I?
My uncle chose this restaurant because he knew a few of the stakeholders would be here tonight.
Tonight is about us making our public debut.
The questions swirl in my mind as we pull up to the restaurant. I step out of the car and make my way around to open her door, but apparently Leora is in a hurry. She's halfway out of the car by the time I reach her, my hand extended. Her shoulders tense, and a furrow forms in her brow before her eyes meet mine, and she takes my hand.
"You don’t have to do that," she says sweetly, like she’s not used to being treated this way, and that bothers me. I was raised to take care of the women around me, and more than that, I want to treat her that way.
"Yes I do." I offer her a stiff smile. Her gaze lingers on mine, searching for something, and, for a brief moment, the air is charged with something I can’t explain. The moment seemingly passes as she nods and steps fully out of the car, her hand still in mine.
As we step into the restaurant, Leora subtly links her arm through mine, one hand gripping my bicep, and the other lightly resting on it. I feel her weight shifting towards me, as if trying to make our body language look natural and intimate. It's a small gesture, but it's enough to make me feel a bit nervous and unsure of what's to come.
When we spot my uncle, he's wearing his usual black suit, a stark contrast to his white hair. I feel her grip on my arm tightening. She’s nervous.
He greets me with a warm smile and then his eyes land on Leora. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this enchanted by someone.
"Hello, dear."
I watch as she raises her hand slowly, unsure of what to do. He takes it and leans in, giving her three kisses on the cheeks—a Lebanese custom that I will have to teach Leora. It’s one of many customs I will have to teach her if she’s to play the part of my wife.
As we take our seats at our usual table, Leora sits down next to me with my uncle on the opposite side.
Before we even have time to order our food, I notice Michel Beaumont—one of our investors—making his way over to us. He's a middle-aged man who exudes sleaziness and I barely tolerate him. When he reaches us, his beady blue eyes immediately scan over Leora's form, and it pisses me off. I feel a protective instinct flare within me as I mentally prepare to fend off any of his unwanted advances.
I reach below the table to find her hand, quickly intertwining mine with hers. With Michel’s gaze still locked on Leora, I place our intertwined hands atop the table in a display for him to see. Leora's eyes widen in surprise as she looks at our interlocked hands.
"Lucas." He nods towards me and then towards my uncle. "Antoine." He returns to staring at Leora, and I feel her tensing up next to me.
"Who is this beautiful lady?"
"My fiancée, Leora," I answer.
"She’s also our new Marketing Manager," my uncle adds, and I immediately know it's the wrong thing to say to Michel.
Michel's gaze lingers on Leora, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as if he's relishing a secret amusement. "Fiancée, you say?" he drawls. "Well, Lucas, you've certainly got yourself a catch. But didn’t Antoine warn you not to mix business and pleasure?" His eyes travel down to her breasts, and Leora shifts in her seat, a subtle unease causing her to play with the hem of her dress as Michel's gaze becomes intrusive.
"Tell me, dear ," Michel continues, "do you have any experience in the business world? Or are you just a pretty face for Lucas to show off?" His words are loaded with implication, and I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Leora's hand tightens around mine. She opens her mouth to respond but I beat her to it
"Actually, Michel, Leora has extensive experience in this field. That's why I decided to hire her." I turn my face toward Leora, a warm smile playing on my lips as I gently lift her hand. The soft texture of her skin and the delicate intertwining of our fingers send a reassuring warmth through me. "She’s not only qualified but also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen." My lips graze her hand, a subtle touch that raises goosebumps on her skin. When I raise my gaze, our eyes meet in a silent exchange. Her green eyes are soft and there’s a small smile on her lips. A smile that tugs at something within me.
"I see that the lady can’t speak for herself." It’s spoken like a dare, his words laced with condescension. The low hum of conversation in the upscale restaurant becomes a distant buzz as Michel's words hang in the air, creating an uncomfortable hush around our table.
Leora’s expression tightens, a mixture of indignation and resolve flashing across her features.
"I’m quite capable of speaking for myself, and while I appreciate your interest, my value as a professional has nothing to do with my physical appearance." Michel's smirk fades as Leora's words sink in. She pauses and looks at me, the softness in her eyes morphing into determination.
"I'm here because I love Lucas and believe in the work we're doing together , " she adds. Leora's hand tightens around mine, a subtle yet powerful show of solidarity. I can't help but feel a surge of pride as I watch Leora confidently finish scolding Michel.
Atta girl. I'm relieved to see that her fire isn't solely reserved for me.
"Well then, I suppose I'll have to take your word for it. But I must say, I'm intrigued." He lingers for a moment longer before finally turning to leave, his gaze still fixed on Leora.
"Good job." I lean in to whisper in her ear, unable to resist inhaling her delicate vanilla scent. She smells divine.
As the adrenaline settles, her body relaxes and her eyes widen as she comprehends the significance of the encounter.
"Was that rude? I shouldn't have spoken like that. Is he going to see through this entire charade? Did I just jeopardize your business?" She fires off questions without taking a breath in between, her words a rapid cascade reflecting the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind.
"No, no. You handled him perfectly, dear," my uncle interjects, a proud smile stretching across his face.
Leora hastily releases my hand. A chill replaces the warmth of her skin, so I quickly return my hand to my side
"Did I overdo it with the whole ‘love’ thing?" she asks, her uncertainty written across her face.
"No, that was great. Bravo." My uncle chuckles. "I guess you'll have to keep up the act of being madly in love with Lucas from now on," he teases, leaving us to grapple with the unforeseen consequences of our performance.