13. Silas
Silas
I’m knotting my tie when Tania walks past my open door.
She doesn’t pause. Doesn’t stop. But the dress catches my attention before I can continue with my tie.
It’s dark green and backless. The fabric clings to her hips, and her red hair is swept up, exposing her neck.
My hands freeze on my tie.
She disappears down the hallway, heels clicking against the hardwood floor, and I force myself to finish the knot.
Focus.
Tonight is just a fundraiser; it’s a Thanksgiving charity event with heavy press coverage. It’s an important public appearance where we can show off our wife.
Our fake wife, I remind myself. I pull the tie tight and catch my reflection in the mirror. But I know the lie doesn’t work anymore.
I reach for my cufflinks, and the memory hits me before I can stop it.
Two days ago. Late afternoon. I was walking past the laundry room on my way to the gym.
The door was half-open. I should have kept walking. I didn’t.
Callum’s head was between Tania’s thighs. She was perched on the dryer, legs spread, with one hand fisted in his hair. Her head was thrown back, mouth open, and she made sounds that make me hard every time I think about them.
I stop. Shake my head.
I slide the cufflink through the hole and force my breathing to slow. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
She was wearing one of Evan’s shirts. Unbuttoned. Nothing underneath. Callum’s hands were on her hips, holding her in place while his mouth worked her over.
I watched for three seconds. Maybe five. Then I left. I backed away before either of them saw me. I haven’t looked at that dryer the same way since.
The second cufflink slides into place, and I grab my jacket to head downstairs, where voices drift up from the living room.
Evan and Callum are already there with Tania. Evan is adjusting the clasp on her necklace, fingers brushing the back of her neck. She tips her head forward to give him better access. Callum’s hand rests on her lower back possessively.
They don’t react when I enter.
After the night they both fucked her, they stopped hiding that this is no longer a fake relationship for them. I can’t make them stop. I tried. And I can’t tell Ben about it. They’ve really put me in a terrible position.
I check my watch. “The car is here.”
The drive to the venue takes fifteen minutes through traffic that’s heavier than usual for a weeknight. Tania sits in the back between my brothers, and I take the front seat because, unlike my brothers, I still have respect for Ben’s wishes.
Through the rearview mirror, I catch Evan leaning close to say something that makes her laugh, and I force myself to look away.
The photographers are already waiting when we pull up.
Flashbulbs explode the second the driver opens the door. Tania steps out first, and I follow, offering my arm. She takes it without hesitation.
Callum and Evan trail behind us, close enough that the cameras catch all four of us in the same frame.
Questions get shouted from the press line.
“How’s married life?”
“Is it true you’re all—”
I ignore them and guide Tania up the steps. Her hand tightens on my arm.
“Mr. Locke! A smile for the camera!”
I stop, turn, and pull Tania against my side.
She fits perfectly. Small. Warm. The dress is backless, and my palm lands on bare skin. I keep my face neutral, but my hand tightens on her waist.
“Show us a kiss! Just one!”
I’m about to decline, but Tania tilts her face up.
She studies me with those blue eyes.
And I realize: refusing her in front of fifty cameras would raise more questions than just doing it.
I bend down. I intend for the kiss to be brief. Chaste. Camera-friendly.
But her mouth is soft and warm. She makes this tiny sound—half-sigh, half-surprise—and my hand slides higher on her back, fingers spreading.
The kiss deepens. I forget where we are.
Her lips part, and her free hand comes up, resting against my chest.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I pull back.
The cameras go wild. My pulse is going wild. I can still taste her. And I’m hard, which is a problem, because of all the cameras.
Fuck.
I stand behind Tania, guiding her ahead of me to hide my arousal as best I can.
The noise from the ballroom hits us immediately—voices layered over string music, champagne glasses clinking, and polite laughter from clusters of people.
Silent auction tables line the walls, a string quartet plays near the bar, and servers circulate with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Tania stays close for the first hour. We make the rounds together. Shake hands. Smile for photos. We all introduce her as our wife, and no one blinks.
Then Evan pulls her onto the dance floor, and I’m left standing near the bar with a drink I’m not touching.
I watch from across the room. His hand is lower than it should be. Not inappropriate. But lower.
She laughs at something he says. He leans in, mouth near her ear, and whatever he whispers makes her cheeks flush.
Callum appears beside me, loosening his tie. “You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“Same thing.” He signals the bartender. “Whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender pours, and Callum takes a drink.
On the dance floor, Evan spins Tania, and her dress flares. When he pulls her back, his hand settles on her hip.
Callum follows my gaze. “You know he’s sleeping with her, right?”
I don’t answer.
“They’re not exactly subtle.” He takes another drink. “Neither am I, for that matter.”
My grip tightens on my glass.
“You’re the only one pretending this is still fake,” Callum continues. “And you’re bad at it.”
I turn to face him. “We made a promise to Ben.”
“We did.” He finishes his whiskey and sets the glass down. “But Tania didn’t.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond and heads toward the auction tables.
I drain my drink in one swallow. The burn doesn’t help. I set the glass down harder than necessary and head for the balcony doors.
The cold air hits me the second I step outside.
I pull out my phone and dial Ben’s number before I can talk myself out of it.
It rings once. Twice. Then I hang up.
Calling him would require an explanation I don’t have.
I open my messages instead.
Me: Paparazzi asked for a photo. They pushed for a kiss. Wanted to give you a heads-up in case you see anything online.
I stare at the screen, and three dots appear.
Ben: Thanks for letting me know.
That’s it. No follow-up. No questions.
I don’t know if that’s better or worse.
I pocket my phone and stand there for another minute, letting the cold clear my head before heading back inside. The gala continues without pause—speeches about gratitude and giving, auction results announced to polite applause, more champagne, and more handshakes.
I’m standing near the silent auction tables when I see Tania excuse herself.
She heads down the hallway toward the restrooms. I follow before I can stop myself.
The hallway is empty. Quiet. The noise from the ballroom is muted behind closed doors.
I catch up to her halfway down.
“Tania.”
She stops and turns.
My hand catches her elbow. “Where are you going?”
She motions toward the women’s bathroom.
Oh.
I step closer, and I’m close enough now that her face tilts up automatically. She doesn’t back up and doesn’t look away.
My hand lifts, and I brush her skin along her jawline. Her lips part. I lean in. She doesn’t move and doesn’t breathe.
My mouth is an inch from hers when her hand presses flat against my chest, not pushing, stopping.
“Silas.” Her palm is warm through my shirt. “I want this.”
I freeze.
Her palm moves from my chest to cup my face. “But do you?”
The question takes me by surprise.
“Because I feel guilty, too.” Her hand slides down, drops away. “Ben is the closest person in the world to me. Keeping this from him makes me feel sick. But I’m not going to give up my happiness to please him.”
Is that what I am doing? Letting someone else dictate my happiness?
No. This is about being loyal to a friend.
I take a step back. She watches me retreat.
“That’s what I thought. But if you’re ever ready—”
She doesn’t finish the thought. She just turns and walks away.
I stand there in the empty hallway until the sound of her heels fades completely.