Chapter 5 Callum
Callum
The driver opens Tania’s door first.
I watch her step out onto the sidewalk, all legs and black fabric and red hair catching the streetlights. The line outside the club stretches a block.
Paparazzi outside take photos of us the second we get out of the car. By morning, it’ll be online. Society pages will mention the Locke triplets out with a woman. Speculation will build. The executor will see it.
Evan grins at the bouncer, who waves us past the line without a word. I follow, hand landing on Tania’s lower back because that’s what husbands do.
Her skin is warm through the thin fabric, and her body tightens. But she doesn’t pull away.
The club swallows us whole. Bass thumps through the floor, lights cut through smoke, and bodies are packed tight enough that moving requires intention. Evan leads us through the crowd like he owns the place.
He doesn’t, but he could.
We bypass another line at the VIP entrance. The hostess recognizes us and ushers us up the stairs without asking our names.
Tania’s heels click on the marble, and my hand stays on her back.
A guy near the bar stares too long. Another man turns to watch her walk past. My hand presses firmer against her spine.
Soon enough, people will start to talk about the beautiful redhead who will be with us for the next year. And then we won’t have to worry about our inheritance anymore. That’s the point. This is strategic.
Except my hand still hasn’t left her back, and I’m not thinking about the executor.
The VIP section overlooks the main floor. It has leather booths, a private bar, and enough space to breathe without bodies pressing in from all sides. Evan orders drinks while I guide Tania to a booth near the railing.
She slides in. I sit across from her instead of beside her because I liked how her body felt beneath my fingers a little too much.
Evan returns with champagne and something darker for me. He hands Tania her glass and sits beside her, easy and relaxed.
Not touching, but close.
The music changes, and Tania’s fingers tap against her glass in time with the beat. She’s nervous, and she’s trying not to show it.
“You’ve been to clubs before, right?” I ask, not understanding her nerves.
“Not like this.”
“Like what?”
She scans the room. “Where everyone looks rich.”
Evan laughs. “They’re not all rich. Some of them are just good at pretending. Don’t let them make you uncomfortable.”
I pause. She went to prep school with rich kids and spent years around wealth. But her mom worked at the school, and their free tuition is the only reason she and Ben could afford to go.
I forget sometimes, because Ben’s done so well for himself. Tens of millions. Self-made.
But Tania isn’t used to having money.
“We’re rich,” I confirm. “And you’re our wife now. That makes you rich, too.”
Her mouth curves. “Is that how it works?”
I shrug. “Yes.”
Evan shifts beside her, angling toward the railing to watch the crowd below. Tania follows his attention, and I follow hers.
The dance floor is packed. Bodies moving in rhythm, hands in the air, faces lit by strobing lights.
“You want to dance?” I ask.
Tania’s eyes snap back to me. “Now?”
“We’re here to have fun.”
She tilts her head. “I thought we were here to be seen.”
“We’re doing both.”
Evan drains his glass. “Go. I’ll hold down the fort.” He scoots out of the booth, giving Tania room to exit.
I stand and extend a hand. Tania stares at it for half a second too long before taking it.
Her palm is warm, and her small fingers curl around mine. I pull her up and don’t let go.
Downstairs, the crowd parts enough to let us through. I find a space near the center where the lights hit hardest, and the music drowns out thought.
Tania stands in front of me, uncertain.
I step closer. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
I raise a brow.
Her mouth twitches. “Maybe I’m a little tense.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone’s watching.”
I glance around. She’s right. Eyes are tracking us. Phones are out, and cameras are angled our direction. She’s not used to the attention.
We are.
The Locke name gets recognized. Our faces show up in business sections, society pages, and tabloid gossip.
“Let them watch,” I tell her.
“Right. The arrangement.”
“The arrangement,” I confirm.
The beat drops, bass vibrates through the floor, and Tania moves. Not tentative. Not uncertain. She has rhythm, and I don’t want to take my eyes off of her.
Her hips sway, her arms are loose, and her head tips back. Gorgeous red hair slides over her bare shoulders.
I forget about the cameras.
My hands find her waist, and her body doesn’t tense this time. She leans in.
Her back presses against my chest. Even in heels, she’s small against me.
I’m six-foot-three, and the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder.
My fingers spread over her hips, thumbs brushing fabric that’s too thin to be decent.
Her head falls back against my chest, and I smell whatever perfume she’s wearing mixed with shampoo and skin.
The crowd presses closer. Bodies everywhere. Heat everywhere.
Tania turns in my arms, facing me now, and her hands land on my shoulders. She has to reach up. I’m looking down at her, and she’s looking up at me, and the lack of space between us feels deliberate.
Close enough that I feel her breathing. Close enough that moving another inch would cross a line.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
The song changes. Slower. Heavier. The kind of rhythm that makes touching feel inevitable.
Her hips move against mine. My cock strains against my pants. I shouldn’t be feeling this, but the sensation is not unwelcome.
I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her closer, and her breath catches. I feel it more than hear it. The slight hitch. The way her fingers press harder into my shoulders.
I bend down, mouth near her ear. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?” she asks.
“Pretending.”
She looks up, her eyes finding mine. “So are you.”
I grin. “Who says I’m pretending?”
Her mouth opens, yet she doesn’t respond.
The music builds. Lights flash. Someone bumps into her from behind, and Tania stumbles forward. Her palms land flat against my chest, and now our faces are too close.
Her lips part.
My focus narrows to her mouth. The curve of it. The way her tongue brushes her bottom lip.
I lean in. Not thinking and not planning.
The space between us shrinks. Her eyes drop to my mouth. She’s not pulling away.
A firm hand lands on my shoulder. I freeze.
“Callum.” Evan’s voice cuts through the noise. “Let’s head back up.”
I blink and pull back—the spell breaks.
Tania steps out of my grip, her breathing uneven.
Evan’s already reaching for her hand. “Come on. I’m thirsty.”
She takes it, and he leads her off the dance floor. I follow, watching them closely as they navigate the crowd.
Back in the VIP section, Tania slides into the booth. Evan doesn’t sit.
“I’m getting more drinks,” he announces. “Callum, help me carry.”
It’s bullshit. He’s pulling me away from her. I let him.
We move to the private bar in the corner, far enough from the booth that Tania won’t hear us.
“What the fuck was that?” Evan asks, keeping his voice low.
“Dancing.”
His eyes narrow. “That wasn’t dancing.”
“We’re supposed to make this relationship look believable.”
“Believable. Not real.” Evan glances back toward the booth where Tania sits, then returns his focus to me.
I drag a hand through my hair. Sweat clings to my neck, my back, and adrenaline is still spiking through my system. “I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” I bite out, annoyed that he’s interrogating me like he’s our father.
Evan crosses his arms. “Because from where I was standing, you were about two seconds from kissing her.”
“I wasn’t going to kiss her.”
“Bullshit.”
I don’t deny it again because he’s right. I was going to kiss her. And she was going to let me.
Evan exhales, frustration leaking through his easy exterior. “We promised Ben we’d take care of her. Not take advantage of her.”
The words hit like cold water. We promised Ben.
Ben, who trusted us. Ben, who allowed his sister into this arrangement with us, because he believed we wouldn’t cross that line. Ben, who would kill me if he knew how close I just came to touching his sister in ways that are miles past appropriate.
Guilt sinks into my core, and I scrub a hand over my face. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right.”
“It won’t happen again.” And I mean it.
Evan’s expression softens. “It’s not just you. She’s—” He stops talking and thinks about his next words. “She’s easy to want. All three of us feel it, but we can’t act on it. Not like that.”
“I know.”
He studies me for another few seconds, then nods. “Good. Let’s get a drink and reset.”
We order at the bar—whiskey for me and something clear for Evan. I down mine in two swallows and order another.
Tania appears beside us, hair tousled, breathing still uneven. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect,” Evan lies smoothly. “Just needed a drink. You want another?”
“Sure.”
The bartender pours champagne, and Tania accepts it without looking at me.
Her nervous energy is back. She knows I almost kissed her, and she knows Evan pulled me away. She knows it got too real.
We head back to our table. Tania sits between us this time.
Evan keeps the conversation light and easy, defusing the tension with jokes and observations about the crowd below.
I don’t talk much. I’m too busy processing what just happened.
The guilt sits heavy in my chest, mixing with frustration and something darker I don’t want to name.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted more than that. And the only reason I didn’t was that Evan stopped me.
An hour later, we’re back in the car. Tania sits between us, her thigh brushing mine every time the driver turns a corner.
I don’t move away. Neither does she.
Evan talks about the night as if it were exactly what we planned. Fun. Easy. Successful.
Tania nods along, laughing at the right moments, but her attention keeps drifting to the window.
When the car pulls up to our building, the driver opens Tania’s door, and she steps out without waiting for me to follow.
Upstairs, the penthouse is dark except for the light Silas left on in the kitchen.
Tania kicks off her heels in the entryway, and the sound echoes through the space.
“Goodnight.” She keeps her eyes down.
“Goodnight, Red.”
She disappears down the hallway to head to her bedroom upstairs.
“You good?” Evan asks.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?” He doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him.
“I’m sure.”
I head to my room, close the door, and strip off my shirt. The city glows beyond my windows, thousands of lights stretching into the distance.
I can still feel her hands on my shoulders. Her breath against my neck. The way she didn’t pull away.
And if I had any choice in this situation, I would have taken her home and peeled that dress off of her to find out what sounds she makes when she’s not pretending.
But I didn’t have a choice. Because Evan was right. We promised Ben.
And I almost broke that promise.