Fake Fiancée, Bride Forever

by Holly Rayner

  Finally, when the sounds of the bar have faded out behind us, Magnus turns to me without breaking his stride.

  “So you liked my drone?”

  “I thought it was remarkable,” I say honestly. “Is that what you’re going to be presenting to the Vipers?”

  He laughs. “Oh, no. The drone is just a side project I’ve developed for fun. I’m trying to see how far away I can be and still successfully control it.”

  “What’s the record?”

  “Only about a hundred yards. I haven’t been working on it that long. I brought it to the bar tonight because I wanted to practice flying it around obstacles. A crowd was ideal. People are always moving, always changing position—and if someone got curious and tried to take my drone out of the air, I would have to take evasive maneuvers. It seemed like the perfect challenge.”

  “That’s what you were doing when you were sitting at the booth and looking at your phone?” I say. “Piloting your drone?”

  “Yes. I control it using an app on my phone.”

  “But how could you steer it? You weren’t even watching where you were going.”

  “The drone has a camera mounted underneath.”

  He fishes it out of his pocket and shows me. Sure enough, a tiny camera is suspended from the bottom of the drone. He pushes it with his index finger, showing me how it swivels.

  “The camera feed displays on the app, so I can steer just by looking at my screen. That’s useful because when I fly the drone from far away, I can’t always see what’s going on. The camera lets me keep track of it.”

  “That’s smart,” I say, my thoughts drifting again to the Vipers’ Nest competition. This drone isn’t even Magnus’ submission. He must have something even better up his sleeve. I think about my app, and suddenly it seems sophomoric in comparison. Surely anyone could do what I’ve done? No one is going to be impressed. I’m going to show myself to be the very thing I was worried about being perceived as—just a pretty face.

  Magnus nods and puts his tiny craft away. “A drone isn’t enough to impress the Vipers, of course. Many people have built drones. What’s your project?”

  I hesitate. Should I tell him? It seems like the sort of thing one ought to keep private from the competition.

  On the other hand, though, Vipers’ Nest begins tomorrow, and my app took months to create. He’s not going to be able to duplicate my work overnight. What harm can come from talking about it now, in the eleventh hour? Besides, it will feel good to brag a little, to let Magnus see this side of me. I’m proud of my app. Why shouldn’t I be?

  “You’re familiar with data mining, of course,” I say, and he nods. “Well, I was raised by my grandmother, and she recently got her first tablet. Gran was eager to embrace the technology—she knows she can count on me to help her learn how to use new tech—but a friend of hers had scared her with tales of targeted advertising. Gran wanted to make sure no one was using her tablet to spy on her. She’s a very private woman.”

  “Many people are,” Magnus says.

  “Yes,” I say. “Anyway, while I was modifying the settings on Gran’s tablet to give her the best possible protection against data mining, it occurred to me that it might be possible for an app to automatically do everything I was doing. Sort of like virus scanners in the nineties—everyone could just download the Shield app onto their smartphones or tablets and feel protected. And they would be protected.”

  Magnus nods. “That’s very clever. Does it work?”

  “Like a dream,” I say, not wanting to admit that it’s still in beta and has only been tested on a few hundred devices, or that the results haven’t all come in yet. I have faith in the app. I don’t need to wait for it to prove itself. I know I can’t mass-market it until I have the numbers to back it up, but that doesn’t stop me from believing in it. It’s going to work.

  “I imagine the Vipers will be very impressed with that,” Magnus says. “Of course, it does lack a little in the area of…” he trails off.

  “In what area?” I ask. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s not very flashy,” he says, grinning at me. “Practical, yes. But not an attention-getter.”

  I’m wondering if I should feel worried or offended.

  “However,” he continues, “the way your eyes light up when you talk about your project will grab their attention.”

  I feel my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. No need to be worried or offended, after all.

  Magnus raises an eyebrow and smiles at the color in my cheeks. Then he steps into the street and holds out his hand.

  A split-second later, a taxi pulls up. Lucky we’re on a street with many hotels. Otherwise, he’d never find a cab in LA.

  He holds open the door. “After you,” he says.

  I hesitate. He steps close to me, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. Then, slowly, his fingers trail down my arm to my wrist until he can take my hand in his.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asks quietly.

  Goosebumps of excitement travel across my skin at his touch. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, I would never do this. I would turn and walk away. But tonight seems different somehow.

  I look into his piercing blue eyes. Something behind them is deeply intriguing. Suddenly, I find myself wanting to get into that car with him and see where the night takes me.

  And so, I do.

  Magnus smiles, pulls up a map on his phone, and shows something to the driver. The next thing I know, we’re speeding through downtown Los Angeles.

  I gaze out the window at the lights, which blur together between palm trees. This city is so beautiful, it looks like it must be imaginary. It’s like walking into a theme park, knowing that the atmosphere is manufactured for your benefit. Nothing is naturally this lovely.

  After a while, the lights become fewer and farther between, and I realize we’ve left the city. I look over at Magnus, confused, but his face is relaxed and unconcerned.

  “Ah,” he says. “Here.”

  The cab pulls over and rolls to a stop. Magnus passes some money up to the driver and asks him to wait before opening his door and sliding easily out. Then he bends down and extends a hand to me. My own exit from the cab is far less graceful since I have to scoot along the length of the seat before climbing out, but I manage it in a fashion that isn’t too humiliating.

  Magnus points to a rocky trail leading up the side of a hill. “This way.”

  “I’m in heels,” I protest. “I can’t go hiking!”

  He laughs gently. “Hold on to me. I won’t let you fall.”

  With some misgivings, I loop my arm through his and allow him to guide me up the slope to the top of the hill.

  I can’t resist looking back over my shoulder several times to make sure the cab is still there. It’s unnerving to be out here in the middle of nowhere, on this unlit stretch of land, with no idea where we’re going or why. I huddle closer to Magnus in the dark, fear starting to creep in.

  Then we reach the top of the hill, and without meaning to, I let out a gasp. The view is breathtaking. Where moments ago there was only darkness, now we’re looking down on a valley of light. I can see the grid pattern of the city spread out below us, tiny pinpricks of illumination indicating homes, cars, and businesses.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. “Is this what you brought me out here to see?”

  Magnus chuckles. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and turns me around.

  I almost stumble backward in shock—if it weren’t for Magnus’ arm holding me up, I might have fallen. I had assumed we were at the top of the hill, but we’re only at the crest of a low rise—behind us, the ridge extends upward for several yards. And there, planted securely in the rock face, are the nine white letters I’ve seen dozens of times on TV and in pictures.

  It’s the Hollywood Sign.

  It’s right here. Not close enough to touch, quite, but close
enough that I can see the scale of it. The letters are huge, much bigger than I would have expected, and the sight is awe-inspiring. We’re really here, where so many famous and successful people have stood. We’re about to film Vipers’ Nest. We’re about to try to launch our tech project and gain the financial backing we need. I feel on the verge of something huge.

  “We should take a picture.” Magnus holds out his phone. “To commemorate the moment.”

  “You’ll have to stoop down,” I say, a laugh bubbling up as I tug him down to my level so we can both squeeze into the photo frame.

  The height adjustment brings his face right next to mine for the first time since we met, and suddenly, on impulse, I turn toward him and kiss him full on the mouth just as he snaps the picture.

  Magnus draws back a little and looks at me, head cocked. He doesn’t seem upset or angry, just mildly surprised.

  “I thought it would make for a good picture,” I say in a rush, heat flooding my cheeks as Magnus slips his phone back into his pocket.

  “Was that the only reason you did it? For the sake of the picture?”

  “I…”

  He winks. “I enjoyed it,” he says smoothly, and somehow, without my quite knowing what happened, his hand is on my lower back.

  “I was…well. I enjoyed it, too.”

  And with that, his lips find mine again.

  This time, I have to stand on my toes and tip my head back to reach him, but I don’t mind, because Magnus initiated this kiss. He’s taking it farther, deeper than I dared to take our first one.

  More than once I feel my feet lift slightly off the ground as he takes my weight in his arms, pulling me closer to him. It’s a sign of his eagerness, as clear as anything, and I feel utterly swept away by it. How can I hope to resist this level of desire? And why should I try, when he’s so devastatingly attractive? There’s nothing in the rules precluding relationships between contestants.

  Magnus breaks the kiss. The blue of his eyes is almost entirely obscured by black, but I can make out a tiny ring of it, shining through the darkness. He looks hungry.

  “Would you like to head back?” he asks, his tone heavy with meaning. He looks like he’s barely restraining himself from grabbing me again, and I watch with some enjoyment as his desire to be a gentleman and his baser instincts war across his face. “I believe I have a bottle of wine in my suite.”

  “Sure,” I say, and I’m surprised to hear the rough quality in my own voice. What must I look like right now? “Hotel. Yeah. Sounds great.”

  The ride back seems to take hours. Magnus and I sit on opposite sides of the cab, pressed up against the doors, both of us knowing that if our hands so much as touch we’re going to launch right back into that kiss. If that happened, I don’t know whether or not I’d be able to stop myself. I want his shirt off. I want to feel those muscles I’ve been looking at all night. But I don’t want to get indecent in front of this cab driver, especially knowing that I’m going to be appearing on TV soon. The last thing I want is a scandal.

  When we reach the hotel, Magnus pays the driver, takes me by the hand, and leads me up to his hotel room.

  We kiss a little more in the elevator, and I’m expecting things to progress quickly once we’re back in his suite, but to my surprise, he drops my hand and heads for the minibar. He produces a bottle of wine, uncorks it, and pours two glasses before offering one to me.

  The dream my life has become over the past few weeks just keeps getting more and more surreal. Now I’m standing in a ridiculously opulent hotel suite being offered a glass of wine by a gorgeous man with an accent I still can’t place. At a loss for what to say, I look around the room.

  “Your room is much nicer than mine,” I say.

  “I paid for an upgrade,” he says. “Fancy hotel rooms are one of my indulgences, I’m afraid. I love to stay in comfortable accommodations when I travel.”

  This room has gone well beyond comfortable and into lavish, but I don’t say so. I wander over to the deep cream-colored couch and sit down carefully, cradling my wine glass in both hands.

  I have to admit, I’m relieved Magnus slowed things down; while I wouldn’t have been averse to us falling into bed together the moment we got through the door, I appreciate the opportunity to collect my thoughts.

  Magnus joins me on the couch. “So,” he says. “The pitches start tomorrow.”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  “What time is yours scheduled?”

  “Not until the afternoon. Good thing for me. I’m not really at my best in the morning.”

  Magnus nods. “I’m in the afternoon, too. How are you planning to present your app?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you be demonstrating it? Will you encourage them to download it for themselves and walk through it together? Is your app available for sale online?”

  There’s something in his stare, something sharp and focused that makes me pull away from him slightly.

  “Why do you want to know about my presentation?”

  “I’m only curious.”

  “Are you? Because it sounds like you’re pumping me for information to get an advantage over me tomorrow.”

  He doesn’t answer, but his eye contact with me breaks just for a moment.

  I gasp. “Oh, my God. You are.”

  He doesn’t deny it.

  “Don’t be offended, Leah. It’s a competition.”

  “You want to make sure yours is better than mine. That’s why you brought me here.”

  My cheeks are aflame. And here I was thinking he was interested in me. I’ve never been so humiliated, or so angry. I want to throw the glass of wine I’m holding in his face, but reason prevails—there’s no sense in ruining that lovely couch. I get to my feet, stalk across the room, and set it down on the counter.

  “Leah,” he says, his tone placating.

  I hold up my hand for him to stop talking. “Don’t start. Find someone else to make you feel better about your project. Fly that drone of yours into your neighbor’s room. Maybe you’ll find someone stupid enough to fall for your crap in there.” I open the door and storm out, furious.

  What a jerk! I can’t believe I let him trick me like that. Now I’m out late, the night before my presentation, when I should be back in my own hotel room putting the finishing touches on things and getting a good night’s sleep.

  My anger only fuels my resolve. I’m more determined than ever to do well in the Vipers’ Nest. I will not allow Magnus to beat me.

  Chapter 3

  Leah

  Sleep comes fitfully. I’m angry with myself. How could I have let myself be played by Magnus? How could I be so susceptible to his charms? Is it just because he’s attractive? I should be better than that, smarter than that. I’ve been around plenty of attractive men in my life, but I’ve never been taken in like that before.

  As much as I want to keep my anger focused on Magnus, I can’t seem to stop blaming myself for allowing it to happen. I should be smarter than this.

  Because I haven’t been able to sleep, I find myself lying awake at an obnoxiously early hour. I know I’ll be tired come afternoon, but I also know that there’s no point in staying in bed. My body won’t fall back to sleep, not now.

  Groaning at the unfairness of it, I drag myself into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and step under the warm spray.

  The shower brings me to life a little. The water pressure is surprisingly wonderful. I allow it to relax my muscles and my thoughts. As I do, I force my mind away from Magnus. He may have gotten the best of me last night, but I am not going to allow him to ruin the whole Vipers’ Nest experience for me. And I’m not going to focus my thoughts on beating him, the way I did last night, either. I do want to beat Magnus, I can’t deny it. But my focus will be on winning Vipers’ Nest, on beating everyone. I don’t care where Magnus finishes—how well he does—because I plan to defeat the whole field.

  I get out of the shower, wrap a towel around
me, and blow-dry my hair, carefully brushing it straight instead of into its usual waves. I want a more businesslike look today, a no-nonsense look that isn’t pretty or soft. I choose a blood-red suit with a pencil skirt and a lapel jacket and pair it with dark stockings and the highest, pointiest heels I own. Then I stop and survey myself in the mirror.

  The effect is startling. I’ve always known my appearance is a bit young compared to my age, that I don’t look my twenty-four years, but the difference now is striking. I look like a professional, someone who’s been in the business world for years, and not at all like a teenager trying on her mother’s work attire.

  I look like I belong here.

  The smile that comes over my face ruins the effect somewhat—it’s too eager, too exuberant—so I stand and practice a cool-but-confident, professional expression for several minutes before I sling my purse over my shoulder, gather my presentation materials in my arms, and head downstairs to the conference room where the breakfast mixer is taking place.

  When I walk into the room, the first thing I notice is how different the atmosphere is. Last night at the photo shoot, people were energetic and celebratory, and later at the bar things became a full-fledged party. I didn’t expect the same vibe this morning, of course, but I thought some of the same feeling would remain. After all, filming begins today. We’re all going to be making our pitches to the Vipers. It’s the thing everyone in this room has been dreaming of for weeks, maybe even years.

  I was expecting a heady mix of nervousness and eagerness, the kind of feeling that drives some people to sit quietly and retreat into their heads while others chatter about what’s going on in their minds. But the situation in the conference room couldn’t be more different from my expectations. People are clustered together in tight knots, speaking in low voices. The buzz around the room sounds angry.

  Every couple of minutes, someone breaks off from one of the clusters and walks over to one of the others, joining right in the new group’s conversation. I see this take place a few times before my mind puts together what it must mean—everyone is talking about the same thing.