Chapter 2 He’s Gay
HE’S GAY
I don’t adjust my boobs in my dress like Mom insisted.
As for my nipples, they’re on display in a way that I don’t like.
If the sun hadn’t been stolen by some random clouds when Mom came over, I wouldn’t be nipping and self-conscious as a result.
I take that back. Any attention to my boobs makes me nervous.
In my mind, people see the size of my chest compared to the rest of me and think, poor girl. If only her boobs were smaller or her hips were wider.
Pippa always told me, “Men prefer an hourglass to a spoon. Being top-heavy will work against you.”
So I learned to conceal them as best as I could.
Mom knows this, which is why she took my sweater, but I refuse to push up my boobs like she wants. Instead, I leave them smooshed in the dress and work my long hair over my beaded nipples. There. If I keep my arms at my sides, my boobs will stay stuffed down, appearing smaller than they are.
Ready, I turn toward Lachlan and frown. He’s gone. A second ago, he was there, right there by the champagne fountain. He was there before Mom and I stood.
I scan the spacious backyard. About fifty or more women and men, mostly men, mingle in groups. I don’t see a tall man in a steel blue suit anywhere though.
Did he go to the pool house to use the bathrooms? Both are at the back of the estate. This area is on the side of the house, near the orangery.
He could have gone there, I suppose, but men don’t often feel the need to stroll through a greenhouse that grows oranges. It’s more of a lady’s thing, and my favorite place to read.
With my arms at my sides, I stroll toward the pool house around the corner. The crowd thins the closer I get. People I recognize from previous parties smile at me, but no one waves me over to talk to my relief.
I stop outside the two bathrooms meant for guests and swimmers. Inside, the pool house has a large living space, full kitchen, and two-bedroom suites that accommodate guests who want privacy from the main house.
After waiting several minutes and watching women come and go along with one man, I decide I was wrong. A surge of panic shoots through me. What if he left?
Mom will scold me for not trying hard enough, and Dad will blame me for his leaving.
Maybe I should call Adelaide and take her up on her offer to let me move in. To what end, though? I can’t live off her forever. And who’s to say Dad won’t try to ruin her life too for harboring his traitorous daughter. I can’t do that to her.
Lachlan is my only hope to break free from my dad and to obtain my dream.
Buzzing sounds near my ear and a huge bee flies close to my face. I squeal and swat at it as I run toward the pool. I’ve had a fear of bees ever since I was stung by a nest when I was five. My entire face swelled.
Swat, swat.
Squeal, squeal.
Rip.
Oh no!
I freeze long enough to notice two things. The bee is gone, and the side zipper to my dress ripped from my armpit to my hip. That’s what I get for trying to make my boobs smaller in a tightly fitted dress.
In a panic, I hold the material together as much as I can and race for the pool house, praying it isn’t locked.
I don’t even glance around to see if I’ve caused a scene, I just run. The door handle turns, and I enter in a flurry. My heels patter on the tiled floor on my way to the bathroom that’s behind the kitchen.
Stopping in front of the mirror above the sink, I assess the damage. It’s bad. Side boob galore. Safety pins wouldn’t stand a chance.
A tall figure appears in the doorway.
I scream and jump. My hip bumps into the stone counter. Ow. Dammit. I rub the tender spot where a bruise will no doubt form.
Lachlan stands at the threshold, watching me with those aqua eyes, the scents of oak and musk stirring the air.
I’ve never stood this close to him. I would take the opportunity to check out his perfectly chiseled features, but my gaze drifts south to his bare chest. Firm pecs meet six pack abs that are romance book cover worthy.
His biceps bulge with sculpted strength.
He’s more muscular than he appears in clothes.
But what steals my attention is the large Celtic tattoo over his pec.
Another tattoo with writing in a foreign language covers his ribs on that same side and disappears in back.
With his clean-cut, polished image, I never would have expected tattoos. I lick my lips as I watch his sculpted chest move with his breathing.
“Emery,” he says my name in an intimate way, as if he’s said it a hundred times.
I glance up at Lachlan’s face, my lips parted, my body heating from the sight of him and the sound of his deep voice. The kind of voice that draws romance readers to audiobooks.
“Why are you here?” His gaze lowers as if he’s just noticing my ripped dress and exposed side-boob. His eye twitches. “Who did that to you?” Rage sounds in his voice. His English accent is there but not prominent.
It takes me a moment to answer, his question and anger confusing me. “I did this. There was a bee. I fought it, and my dress ripped.”
“You fought a bee?” he asks as if I’m ridiculous.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “It was a big bee.” My gaze drops to his chest again. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“Astute.”
I blink. Did he just mock me? My defense to people picking on me is to act like a snob, so that’s what I do.
I plant my hands on my hips and lift my chin. “What are you doing half-naked in my pool house?”
His jaw flexes. “Your father insisted I stay here for the weekend.” He doesn’t sound happy about it either.
Because he’s not. He’s a pawn in my dad’s future business plan just like I am.
He doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry him.
Talk about awkward. The men dad introduced me to in the past were so self-absorbed they acted as if they were doing me a favor.
Lachlan has zero interest in me whatsoever.
The least I can do is cover up my grotesque boobs.
“Would you happen to have a jacket I could borrow? I won’t make it back to the house to change without my top half falling out of this dress.
” Like an idiot I gesture to my boobs where the lack of support from the material has them spilling out of the top and side, my nipples a mere half inch from full exposure.
His gaze narrows on my breasts before sliding down the entire length of my body in an excruciatingly slow perusal. If he likes what he sees, nothing shows on his stern features. If anything, he looks angry. His nostrils flare, and his lips press together.
I’m no stranger to being checked out. I’m not saying I’m the beauty my sister is, but I’m far from a troll, yet Lachlan looks like he detests every inch of me.
Maybe I was right before, and he is gay.
Clearly, he has issues toward women with how he behaves around them. Even though Mom said he has no shortage of dates, they could all be fake to cover his secret.
This could work in my favor, but I need to take a different approach than what Mom suggested. Flirting is unnecessary. I need to appeal to Lachlan’s business-minded nature.
Hope blooms inside me over this could-be relationship.
I fold my arms under my boobs, unintentionally shoving them way up and meet Lachlan’s fluorescent gaze. “We’re both here today to appease my dad, correct?”
He arches a brow. “Your point?”
“You have your reasons for this union. My father does too, but I’m not seeing the benefit for me. We’re obviously not a good match.”
“What gives you that impression?” he says with an edge.
“For starters, I’m practically topless and you’re not fazed at all.”
“Hmm.” He rubs the manicured scruff on his chin, but his gaze stays on my eyes without so much as a glance at my breasts.
His reaction makes me even more confident in my theory. Lachlan is gay.
My dad might be ruthless but marrying me off to a gay man is too risky, even for him. The possibility of no heirs is too high and that’s Dad’s end goal. He wants the business passed down to our children to keep it in the bloodline.
Technically, Lachlan and I have the body parts to make babies. Whether it can be done or not is another question, especially if I repulse him.
No longer intimidated by him but rather determined, I shuffle closer. This guy doesn’t find me attractive in any way, so my usual self-consciousness over my boobs is as gone as that bee.
Tilting my head back to maintain eye contact, I stop a foot away from him. “I’m willing to marry you.” Gulp. Did I actually just say that? “If you agree to one thing.”
Amusement flashes in his eyes, but he otherwise appears bored. “Which is?”
“Upon our marriage my dad will sign my trust fund over to you.” The dowry to the husband is so archaic.
“If you return the trust to me, under my full control, I won’t ask you for anything.
I’ll play the role of a loving spouse in public.
You’ll get your American wife and Spencer Securities.
I won’t ask for a thing from you. Not even your time or attention.
You can do whatever you want, whoever you want, as long as I’m given the freedom to do the same. ”
That amusement shows in his aqua eyes again. “A platonic relationship is what you’re proposing?”
“Yes. A fake relationship to appease my father and get us both what we want.”
“What is it you want?”
“Financial security and freedom.”
“If you marry me, you’ll have that regardless of your little trust fund.”
“Ten million is not little.” It’s not what I grew up with, but it’s more than I could earn working on my own. “I can build a business with it.”
“You want to work?” He snorts like he doesn’t believe me.
“Yes. I want to build something with my own money so that no one can ever take it away from me.”
His gaze narrows like he’s trying to assess if I’m serious. When he inhales a deep breath, I’m suddenly aware of how close I’m standing to his bare chest.
“And what is this business?”