Noah
I should have selected Emery’s curtains for her to wear. I should have suggested that her king-size bed sheet would be the perfect dress to wear to the gala. I should have held up her fluffy comforter and stated that it was the newest fashion.
I should have picked anything but the black satin dress she was now wearing.
I had to fight the urge to stare as she walked out of her room.
It was a struggle to keep my focus forward as we walked through the parking garage to her car.
I was thankful for the ridiculous blue headlights of the other cars on the road for partially blinding me and removing the ability to look at her through the rearview mirror.
Emery was so damn beautiful, and for a moment, I allowed myself to wonder what it would be like for her to be mine. I chased that thought out of my head with memories of Carson. She was not mine. She would never be mine.
I pulled up to the entrance of the Met. Just as I put the car in park, a valet hurried over to the driver door. I stepped out and dropped the car key into his expectant hand. I buttoned my suit coat as I rounded the trunk of the car and then pulled open Emery’s door.
I held out my hand and she took it. I forced myself to ignore the electricity that raced up my arm from her touch as I helped her out of the car. Cameras were flashing, and the press was shouting for her to look at them.
I kept behind her as she moved to the steps leading up to the entrance. She’d only gone up a few before she stopped and turned to look at me. I studied her before I glanced back to where I’d left the car. Did she forget something?
“Noah,” she whispered as she extended her hand.
I stared at it before her meaning slowly dawned on me.
I glanced up to meet her gaze, just to make sure.
She smiled and nodded ever so slightly. Holding her hand wasn’t something I wanted to do for reasons I wasn’t ready to admit to myself.
But this wasn’t about me. This was about Emery.
So I reached up and slid my hand into hers, taking stock of her reaction in case I needed to pull back.
Her fingers tightened around mine as she gently urged me to join her.
We walked side by side up the stairs. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I kept my gaze forward while she smiled at the different news outlets and tabloids that were calling her name.
Joining in felt wrong. The paparazzi wanted to take pictures of Emery Torres, CEO of Torres Investments.
Not Noah Banks, fake husband and failed Navy SEAL.
When we got to the Met’s entrance, Emery rattled off her name to a man in a tuxedo who was holding a clipboard.
He glanced over the list in front of him and then nodded us through.
We walked into the Great Hall, where people were milling around tall tables with cocktails.
Emery didn’t seem interested in drinking and suggested that we head to the Temple of Dendur, where dinner was being served.
I didn’t have a preference one way or the other, so I just nodded and let her lead me. Just as we passed by a giant backdrop, a man in a baby-blue suit and pink-tinted glasses stopped us. He held up his camera and instructed us to step closer together.
I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to stand or what I was supposed to do with my hands.
Logic told me to wrap my arm around Emery’s waist and pull her close to me, but my mind was telling me not to.
Touching Emery like that was absolutely not okay.
Carson had been my best friend. Touching his wife felt wrong.
Especially when I feared that I was going to like it more than I should.
I watched as Emery smiled and nodded at the photographer. I was relieved that she seemed so relaxed at the idea of us taking a picture together. I’d put aside my hesitancy if it meant that she was comfortable. If it meant I was doing what she wanted.
“Right here?” Emery asked as she moved to the x taped on the floor.
The photographer nodded, so I moved to stand next to her. Not sure what to do, I just held onto her hand and smiled. The photographer brought the camera up to his face and paused before he brought it back down.
“Closer,” he said and punctuated his words with a wave of his hand.
Emery and I shuffled closer to each other.
That didn’t seem to be enough for the photographer because he just responded by motioning once more.
Emery sighed and released my hand. Before I could think too much about it, I slid my hand along her lower back and pulled her close.
I reveled in the softness of her satin dress as I wrapped my fingers around her waist.
Her hip pressed into mine. Her shoulder dug into my ribcage. I increased the pressure of my fingertips as I tightened my grip. I feared she could hear the pounding of my heart as she responded by wrapping her arm around me as well.
“Very nice,” the photographer said as he started taking pictures, the flash going off every time his finger pressed the shutter release.
I was seeing spots when he finished and waved us on. I dropped my arm at the same time Emery dropped hers, and we stepped to the side to get our bearings. I waited for Emery to glance up at me, hoping that she would know what to do from here.
“You okay?” she asked as she brushed her skirt down against her legs and adjusted her dress.
I nodded, pulling my gaze away so she wouldn’t feel like I was leering. “Yep.”
She was quiet for a moment before her smile turned sheepish.
“Sorry about that. I should have warned you this was going to happen.” She nodded in the direction of the photographer before she tucked a few curls that had sprung loose from her low bun behind her ear.
“I haven’t been to one of these in a long time. ”
I shook my head. “It’s okay.”
She studied me for a moment before she sighed. “I guess it was inevitable that we were going to be photographed like we’re a couple. At least we got it over with.” She let out a soft, somewhat-strained laugh. “I mean, we have three years of this to look forward to.”
I flicked my gaze down at her, curious why her laugh was strained. But then I pushed that question out of my mind. Of course she was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable, and I wasn’t being forced to marry my late husband’s best friend in order to keep my job.
I would be an idiot to take offense to her reaction when she had every right to be upset.
“It’s okay, Emery,” I said, making sure the tone of my voice matched my words. I didn’t want her to feel guilty about what had just happened. “Really.”
She held my gaze for a moment before she slowly blew out her breath.
“Good.” Then she smiled. This time it was relaxed, like she was genuinely laughing and not trying to justify something.
“That’s probably as much physical contact that we’re going to have to have tonight.
I can’t imagine we’ll need to be touching much more at a charity event. ”
I laughed in response. “Definitely.”
Touching her wasn’t as bad for me as it seemed to be for her.
My hand was still tingling from the feel of her dress against my skin and the softness of her waist as my fingertips pressed into her.
I knew muscle memory was a thing, but I feared touch memory was also.
I was never ever going to forget the way it felt to hold her against me like she was mine.
And that realization scared me. Day one, and I was already in this deep. I was already desperate to break rule number one: no kissing.
“Let’s go find our seat,” Emery said as she started walking toward the tables that had been set up around the Temple of Dendur.
Emery was greeted a few times by other guests as we searched for our table. She was polite and did a good job of holding surface-level conversations. Thankfully, no one really noticed me. I preferred to be in the shadows.
I could tell from Emery’s energy that she would’ve preferred that as well, but she had a job to do, so she was going to do it. I admired that about her. Where I would run, she stayed.
“It was good to see you, too,” she said to a woman with pure white hair and rainbow-rimmed glasses.
The feeling of her hand running down my arm and her fingers slipping through mine set my body on fire. My gaze dropped down to her, but she just leaned in, her body pressing into me.
“Please make it seem like we are deep in conversation while we search for our seats,” she whispered as she glanced up at me for a moment before turning her attention back to the room.
“What?” I asked as my ability to police myself disappeared. My tone came out gravelly and high-pitched at the same time. It was like I was going through puberty all over again.
“If we look like we are deep in conversation, people won’t approach me,” she said as we started weaving through the tables.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to get a grip. “Okay,” I said, my voice low. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Not there,” she whispered after we circled a nearby table, looking for our name tags. “What’s your favorite color?” she asked as we approached the next table. Two men were already seated and smiled at her, but she just nodded to them before she shouldered me.
“Blue,” I said as I shifted so I was standing between her and the men. Thankfully, they took the hint that she was busy and continued their own conversation. “What about you?”
We were to the next table now.
“Pink,” she said. We’d fully circled the perimeter and still hadn’t found our seats. “Where on earth…” She paused and looked around. Then she stopped. A woman with a blunt bob was walking toward her with a huge smile. Her hand gripped mine harder as she leaned into me. “Come on,” she whispered.
Taking charge, I shifted my body so I was between Emery and the other woman. I leaned closer. “What’s your favorite animal?” I asked.
“A bear,” she said as we started to scout out the tables on the other side of the room. “You?”
“Tiger.”