by Zoey Parker
Even still, part of her just wanted to sit back and enjoy it. For whatever it was worth. Even if it was the worst idea she’d ever had. Couldn’t she just enjoy the ride?
They made it to the mall close to four p.m. This time, Trent grabbed her hand, keeping it in his protective grip.
“Don’t want anybody getting any ideas,” he murmured into the side of her head.
“Ideas about what?”
“That we’re not together,” he said, pushing through the big black doors of the front mall entrance.
Inside, conversations echoed and murmured through the grand front hall. Various storefronts beckoned and gleamed while people strode around with big shopping bags dangling from elbows. Nearby, a mother consoled a crying infant. Sam smiled into the fray.
“We’re back! That’s two for two now. Maybe we should keep coming to the mall every day.”
“Don’t bet your life on it,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Now where’s the jewelry store?”
She led the way toward the bigger store of the two in the mall. Glass counters snagged her eye from across the way. She’d come here plenty of times as a young girl, imagining which ring she’d pick out. Ironic that the first time she’d come to pick out a ring… it was for a ruse. Too fitting.
“Here we go,” Sam said, peering into the perfectly maintained glass cases of rings.
Platinum bands stretched as far as the eye could see, all manner of glittering gems and brilliant diamonds on display.
Trent let a low whistle.
“Hello there. Can I help you?” A plastic-smiled jewelry rep sidled up, her brown hair perfectly coiffed.
Sam grinned. “Just looking for our wedding rings.” She glanced over at Trent. “We got married, but never got rings.”
“Non-traditional,” Trent offered.
“Yeah.” She laughed, shrugging. “But now we’re ready!”
The sales associate took them around the store on a jewelry tour, pointing out all types of options ranging from too-plain to way-too-expensive. Trent kept a protective hand on Sam at all times. Sam saw at least ten rings that she would have loved that were probably way out of his price range. At least, she imagined what his price range might be. And whatever reasons led him to this con, she could bet that his budget didn’t include for his and her wedding rings.
“Do you see any you like, babe?” he murmured into her ear once the sales associate stepped away.
His rich baritone sent shivers through Sam. Her pussy pulsed – a warning. It was like she couldn’t get enough. “I like a lot of them. But I guess we never talked about price.”
“Show me the ones you like,” he said, jerking his chin toward the cases.
So Sam did – the understated one carat round solitaire on a yellow gold band, and the opal with a diamond halo in white gold.
Trent’s brows lifted. “Damn. Those are both… fucking awesome.”
It felt like a victory that he agreed.
“Those are ones you would really pick out?” He lowered his head, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Like, for you and you alone?
She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, they’re the most cost-effective of the ones that I would pick. Some others are just… too pricey.”
He nodded, scanning the store. “Okay. Get the opal.”
She grinned up at him. “Was that your favorite?”
“It’ll look killer on you,” he said, cupping the side of her face. “Now what about mine?”
Sam led him over to the far wall where the associate had pointed out the men’s rings. Sam pushed her index finger against the glass, showing him the one that had caught her eye the second she saw it.
“This one is so you.” It was a high polished, flat titanium band that just somehow looked more masculine than the rest. And somehow, even though it was basically featureless, it fit his style.
He nodded in appreciation. “I really like it actually.”
“You sound surprised.”
He laughed. “I am.” He waved over the associate, who scurried to meet them quickly.
Sam told her the rings they wanted and their sizes, and she got to work pulling them out. When the associate returned with the opal ring, Sam sucked in an excited breath.
“Ready to try?” The sales associate sent that too-perfect smile her way.
Sam slipped the ring on her finger.
“It fits perfectly,” Sam said breathily, loving the way it looked on her hand. She held it out, admiring it from all angles. “I love it so much!”
“You must have the same size finger as the display!” The associate tittered. “Now you.” She brought out the titanium band, and Trent slipped it on his finger.
Trent grinned at Sam. “I think we’re ready to go.”
“Not before you pay first,” the associate said with a nervous laugh. “Let me go ring this up.”
Sam and Trent stood grinning at each other, admiring their rings.
“We should call a justice of the peace,” she joked. “Have him meet us in the food court. Make it official.”
“Now that’s my kind of wedding,” Trent said, twisting the ring between his thumb and middle finger. “What are you gonna tell your coworkers on Monday?”
Sam blinked a few times. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”
She shut up once the associate returned with the bill. Trent handed over his credit card while Sam hopped up and down.
“I can’t believe I’m so excited about these rings,” she gushed. “I just love that it fits.”
Trent’s dimple flashed, which told her that he was genuinely amused. Even though this whole thing was the wildest type of ruse, she was having fun with it. And now, she had a new ring out of it.
The rest of the pieces would fall where they may. For now, she was going by Mrs. Mueller.
Chapter Fifteen
For all the fun their unexpected fake shotgun wedding was, Trent needed to get something squared away with Lucas. After another satisfying night with Sam, he woke up extra early on Sunday. He needed to pay Lucas a visit – make sure that the terms of this arrangement were what they seemed to be.
Trent dressed quietly in the early morning light. He tugged his jeans on, then his T-shirt. He slipped out of her bedroom, careful not to wake her, and stumbled around for his boots and jacket. It was too damn early – maybe not even eight a.m. Hopefully, Lucas wouldn’t mind the social call.
Trent thought about leaving Sam a note, but he talked himself out of it. Things were fun between them, but at the same time, this shit was getting heavy. It felt real sometimes. And for just a handful of days into this con, it shouldn’t feel like the band around his finger was because of a real marriage.
So, he didn’t leave a note, partly to prove something to himself, partly because he wanted to just hit the road and then make it back as quickly as possible. Because even though things felt heavy, it didn’t mean he wanted to change anything just yet.
Trent started up the car and headed for the suburbs. As he woke up and could think a little clearer, he realized he needed to have some reason to show up this early. Otherwise, if he showed up like he normally would – fists at the ready, boot-clomping angry – then he’d blow his cover for sure.
He swung by a little breakfast place on the way and picked up some coffee to-go and a dozen donuts. That, if anything, would help ingratiate his host to the early morning visit.
It took about twenty minutes to get to Lucas’ house. This time, though, the front door wasn’t open. He pushed the doorbell and waited.
Then again.
Then he started knocking. Loudly.
Almost five minutes later, the front door opened and Lucas peered out, one eye pinched shut.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Pops.” Trent pushed back the door forcefully, making sure his intention was clear. He was coming in whether Lucas wanted him to or not. “Good morning! Did I wake you up?”
Lucas stumbled backward slightly, rubbing his face. In the early
morning light, Trent could see that the man’s hair at the top was thinning. From underneath a gray robe, wiry dark chest hair poked out.
“M… Matthew.” Lucas glanced behind him, then leaned closer to Trent. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice.
“Just dropping in for some breakfast with my old man.” Trent strode confidently past him, heading in whatever direction seemed the most likely to find the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”
Lucas didn’t move, but he glanced up to the top of the staircase again.
A moment later, the feminine voice of Darla: “Honey? Who was it?”
“Just Matthew, dear. You can go back to sleep,” Lucas called up. His face fell, and he tightened his robe around him. Storming past Trent, he led the way deeper into the mansion. “Follow me.”
Lucas led him into a brightly lit kitchen overlooking the backyard. A small breakfast nook crowded up against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Trent let the bag plop down on the table with a loud thud.
“I’m not doing these dinners for the rest of my damn life,” Trent said in a low voice.
Lucas scoffed. “Trust me. I don’t want to either. But I need time.” Lucas raked a palm over his head, staring down at the bag. “What’s this?”
“Donuts.” Trent opened the bag, then picked up a coffee from the carrier. “Brought black coffee too. Like a good son would.”
Lucas sank into a chair at the breakfast table. “I changed my will when I met Darla. And I need time to change it back. If I die, she gets everything.”
“You planning on dying anytime soon?”
“Of course not. But you never know…” Lucas paused, brow furrowing as he listened to something. Then he shook his head. “I don’t want her to know that I’m changing it. And I can’t get you any money until that’s squared away.”
“But why the weekly dinners until the day you die? That’s ridiculous.”
“She suggested it.” Lucas sighed again, pulling a donut out of the bag. He looked weary. “Probably she’s suspicious.”
“Get this shit sorted out. You’ve got time, but not that much.”
Lucas looked spooked. Whatever he was in with the Sokolovs, he was sure it was deep.
“I know. I’m handling it.” He paused again, turning to look at the entryway to the kitchen, clearly listening for Darla. He turned around again, slumping into the chair.
“Thanks for the donuts, at least,” he said.
“Nothing a doting son wouldn’t do for his old man,” Trent said wryly. He downed his donut, then took a big swig of his coffee. He pushed to standing, scuffing his way out of the kitchen. “Anyway, I’ll expect you to repay me for this and a few other things in the cash you send my way, once this is all said and done. I’ll see you guys Friday. Same place?”
“Same place,” Lucas said, frowning.
Trent headed for the front door.
Right before he left the house, he called out, “Bye, Stepmom!” Then he pushed out into the cool Sunday morning air.
When he returned to Sam’s house, she was already up and in the kitchen. Shock moved across her face, followed by what looked a lot like relief.
“There you are!” she said.
He shut the door behind him gently. “Were you worried?”
She frowned, scraping eggs from the skillet into a bowl. “Actually… yeah.”
Her opal ring gleamed in the natural light flooding the kitchen. He looked down at his own ring. So much for keeping things light. “I was gonna write a note. But then I didn’t.”
“Where’d you go?”
He started to answer, but she held up a hand. “No. I’m sorry. This is… weird. I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me.” She shook her head, setting the skillet in the sink. “These rings we got are making me act weird.”
He slid onto a stool behind the island where she’d set a bowl for him.
“It’s all right. I was gonna tell you anyway.”
She sent a worried look his way. “Yeah?”
“I visited Mueller.”
She cracked a grin. “Went and saw Daddy?”
“Just wanted to iron out the details about these weekly meet-ups until the end of time.” He shook his head. “Old man says he needs time to get his wife out of his will. That’s the holdup. Seems like once he gets a new one set, things can move forward.”
She nodded, grabbing forks for the both of them, then slid onto the stool next to him. “Okay. So maybe not locked into this for the rest of your life.”
His chest tightened strangely. Something about being locked into this – into her – for a long time didn’t sit as strangely with him as he thought it might.
“Just gotta keep up appearances for a little bit. Hopefully not more than a few more weeks,” Trent said, digging into the scrambled eggs.
This was way better than those donuts he’d bought. Hell, a warm breakfast with Sam was a million times better than his regular burnt toast alone in his apartment. As they ate, the realization dawned on him: he’d spent seventy-two hours at her apartment, hadn’t even been to his apartment since Thursday morning… and he couldn’t have cared less.
Maybe Sam was right. Maybe these wedding bands were making them act differently.
“Did Daddy-O say anything about your wedding ring?”
Trent snorted. “Hell no. He didn’t even notice.”
Sam nodded, stuffing a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Her gaze fell to her own ring. “Everyone I work with is gonna notice tomorrow.”
“You think?”
She sent him a duh look. “This will be the first thing out of their mouths. Before they even say hello. I need to have my story straight. Starting now. Maybe I shouldn’t wear it.”
“I don’t know. We need our stories to be straight all the time. So if we ever run into them unexpectedly…”
“Okay, but what’s the story for my work friends?” Sam lifted a brow. “I definitely can’t pawn this off as a random thrift store find or something.”
“Vegas wedding,” Trent blurted.
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, come on. Vegas?”
“Sure. We went over the weekend. Got hitched. Just a quick trip. Why not?”
Sam didn’t look convinced. “Krissi is gonna see right through it. She’s already suspicious of you.”
Trent lifted a brow. “Suspicious? Of me? Why?”
“Come on. You do look a little suspicious.”
He frowned while he chewed. “Even in my new clothes?”
Sam laughed. “No. Not in the new clothes. Or with this new cut. Maybe Krissi just needs to see you again. The new you.”
“Maybe we should invite her to dinner with Daddy Mueller on Friday,” Trent said.
“I’ll invite my dad while we’re at it,” Sam said. “Make it one big happy family.”
Her smile fell though, and a few moments of tense silence went by. Trent was about to ask what was wrong when Sam looked up at him, eyes brimming with uncertainty.
“My dad’s gonna be fine, right?”
Trent looked down at her, unsure of what to say. He didn’t have much insight into the interior workings of the Sokolovs. He only knew what he saw – and what tended to be common. Without knowing the details of her father’s debt, it would be a crapshoot. And he didn’t want to scare her unnecessarily. Not after all this time together.
“He should be,” Trent said, squeezing her shoulder. Comforting her seemed right. “You helping me out helps him. You know that, right?”
She nodded, but she still looked uncertain. And her uncertainty drew the focus back to the question at hand: why the fuck did he care this much?
Sam was supposed to be a job. A work obligation. Something fun to pass the time, at most. But here he was, shackled with a wedding band and giving a damn. He finished his eggs quickly and excused himself to use the bathroom, his mind roiling with thoughts.
Maybe some space would be good. After all, it had been seventy-two hours under her roof. Maybe h
e just needed a night to himself.
He stared at his reflection, eyes skimming the new lines of his profile with the haircut. In so little time, he’d transformed into someone he barely recognized.
Someone who felt way too fucking strongly for this woman he barely knew.
Someone who didn’t even want to go home.
