Intimate Mergers

by Raleigh Davis

  “I mean, I’ve seen people do it,” I say quickly. Mostly overgrown-boy-type programmers who take off their shoes and set up slacklines everywhere they can. They also like to get into a circle and kick around a tiny ball. I don’t quite understand it. “It looks… fun.”

  “It looks dorky,” Mark says, correcting me. “And Paul looked dorky. Trust me.”

  I can’t really imagine it, Paul with his shoes off and his arms stretched out, weaving as he tries to stay on the slackline. He would never allow himself to look so silly. But he must have, once upon a time.

  “I’m sure he didn’t look dorky,” I say loyally.

  Paul squeezes me. “I did. And he’s right, I was obsessed. I was walking on that stupid thing every chance I got, trying to go farther and farther. To become the world’s best slackliner.”

  That sounds more like him, that pursuit of perfection.

  “So one day,” Mark says, “I dared him to walk on the rope across the fountain.”

  “I thought I was hot shit, so I said yes,” Paul says dryly.

  “What happened?” I can guess, but I want to hear the gory details.

  “I actually did really well. At first.”

  Mark starts to laugh, trying to hold it in. “Yeah. At first. But then Lucy came by.”

  I frown. “Lucy was at Stanford?”

  “Yeah, she was a freshman. My mother would only allow her to go to Stanford since I was there and could keep an eye on her.”

  That really sounds familiar.

  “Paul’s halfway across the fountain when Lucy sees him,” Mark says. “And she starts to sneak up on him.”

  “It wasn’t hard,” Paul says defensively. “I was focused on other shit.”

  “Anyway, she reaches one end of the line without him seeing,” Mark says. “And she just grabs the line and shakes as hard as she can.”

  I put my hand over my mouth. It’s both hilarious and horrifying all at once. “Were you hurt?”

  Paul laughs. “No. But I landed right on my ass in the middle of that fountain.”

  “He looked like a rag doll when he went down, just limbs going everywhere.” Mark rubs at the smile on his face. “And I remember I offered to toss her in for you.”

  “And I said no. I couldn’t do that to my sister even if she was a massive brat.”

  The affection in Paul’s voice is thick. It makes my throat tight. He loves his sister so much, even when she’s making him fall into the middle of a fountain. And he won’t even toss her in for some revenge.

  “Speaking of Lucy”—Mark’s voice is casual, markedly so—“how’s the uh, family stuff going?” He gestures to the nonexistent space between us.

  I suppress the urge to jump away from Paul, because that would look even worse than snuggling close to him.

  “It’s fine,” we both say together. And it really is. So far his family seems to be buying it. They might not have entirely warmed up to me—his mother will speak to me but doesn’t seek me out—but no one’s denounced me as an imposter or accused us of faking.

  Turns out we’re pretty good at pretending to be together.

  Finn raises his eyebrows. “You guys have really got the acting part of this fake engagement down.”

  Paul goes very still. “Grace and I get along really well. We’re not acting.”

  “His family is used to me by now,” I say quickly, determined to change the subject. “They’re all too polite to be rude.”

  “They like you,” he says quietly. “Trust me.”

  Maybe. But it doesn’t matter, because we’re not actually getting married. Even if I can see myself with him forever and can handle dealing with his family. I’ve managed it so far.

  “Who wouldn’t like Grace?” January says.

  “Arne Fuchs,” I say.

  That gets a grim laugh from everyone.

  “Have you gotten anywhere with the leaker situation?” Doc asks. “I wish I could be more help.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve narrowed it down to a few possible names, but there’s no definitive clues there.”

  Everyone goes quiet, clearly upset for me.

  Paul sets his hand over mine. “We’ll keep working at it. You’ve got two weeks left. That’s plenty of time to find something.”

  His faith makes hope surge in me. Throughout all this, Paul has never given up, never once said surrender. He’s fought beside me, never flagging.

  “I haven’t quit yet,” I say to him. I won’t give up if you won’t.

  “I know you won’t,” he says. The room seems to shrink to just the two of us.

  I’m so tempted to kiss him, but I hold back. We’ll have plenty of time for that tonight, when it’s only the two of us in his bedroom. Instead, I snuggle into his arm and try to forget that I’m supposed to be pretending.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I hate my family.”

  I fall back onto the bed, landing right next to Grace. She reaches over and pinches me.

  “You do not. Besides, what could they have done now? We finally have a night just to ourselves.”

  It’s the evening before the gala and Grace is right—there’s no dinner with the family, no drinks with a business associate, no charity auction to attend. Just the two of us, nestled in my suite of rooms.

  The past three weeks have been… beyond belief. Grace hasn’t always fit easily into my life—certain members of the family, such as Archie, remain suspicious of her, though Mother hasn’t said anything more about my marrying her. But Grace tries. Each and every time, she tries until eventually she fits.

  It helps that Lucy is her greatest champion. Most everyone in the family loves Lucy—it’s good to be the baby—so if she loves Grace, then they should too.

  Actually, Lucy isn’t quite Grace’s greatest champion: I am. Because Grace… Grace gets me. We walk together into a family gathering and instantly she’s running interference, making sure that I hear from the loved ones I need to and that I’m not bothered by the ones I don’t. Along with caring for those people I don’t always have the time to properly attend to, like Auntie May.

  It’s exhausting, for her and me, but she makes it better. We’ve learned to lean on each other.

  And when we walk out, she’s ready with something just for us. Like a wrestling video or tickets to a show she heard about or even simply watching TV. Apparently the guys behind The Simpsons made a show about the future and it’s hilarious. I never would have simply sat down and watched some cartoon series on my own. But with her, I love it.

  “They won’t stop texting me about tomorrow night,” I say. “I’ve already gotten five requests for pictures of your gown.”

  She props her chin on her hands. “Did you tell them you haven’t even seen it yet?”

  It’s sitting in a garment bag inside my walk-in closet. I’ve never been so tempted to open something early, not even my Christmas presents when I was a kid.

  “No, I told them to ask Lucy for pictures.” I snort as I imagine her reaction to those requests.

  Grace laughs, but she also says, “You should be nicer to your sister. Especially since she got your mom to stay with her.”

  True, I do owe my sister big-time for that. Lucy, who sees way more than she should, must have guessed at my plan to woo Grace. Otherwise, she’d have never asked Mother to stay at her place.

  “You always stay with Paul,” she said to Mother the day after she went dress shopping with Grace. “It’s not fair. My house is nice too.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing, because Lucy has never wanted Mother to stay with her before. And also not to piss Lucy off since she was doing me a solid.

  “Well, all right,” Mother had said, looking only slightly confused. And as Lucy ushered Mother into her car, ready to take her to her house, my sister leaned over to me and whispered, “Don’t blow this.”

  I don’t think I have. Grace is glowing, her cheeks pink with laughter and happiness. And she’s been looking like that more often
than not.

  Maybe I’ve convinced her that she has a place in my life. I’m certainly convinced.

  “Lucy is a monster,” I say. “I’m never budging on that.”

  Grace rolls over, snagging her phone from the bedside table. “I’m ordering pizza.”

  I point to the house phone. “Use that. The chefs will cook up whatever you want.”

  “No.” She shakes her finger at me as she puts her phone to her ear. “We’re getting delivery.”

  I can’t help the face I make. “Really? Why would you do that?”

  “Because it’s good.” She moves the phone from her mouth and frowns at me. “Have you ever had delivery pizza?”

  I actually haven’t. Somehow, all throughout college and after, when we were building Bastard Capital in a garage, I avoided delivery pizza. It just looked so… unappealing.

  “Oh my God, you haven’t,” she says. “We’re definitely getting it.”

  An hour later, I’m working on a slice of pepperoni—my third—and we’re several episodes into a Futurama binge watch. Grace is curled up next to me, and we’re both propped up in my bed. It’s cozy, unfussy, and quite possibly the simplest way we could spend our evening.

  My mother would be horrified if she knew I was eating in bed. And delivery pizza no less. Even Lucy would be skeptical.

  I love it. I’ve never done this with a woman, watched silly TV and eaten greasy food, and I never would have if it weren’t for Grace.

  If I marry the kind of woman my mother thinks I should, I never will again.

  The episode ends, and I set my crust aside, wiping my hands on a napkin. If I were being polite, I’d eat the entire thing, but I don’t have to be polite and I don’t like the crust. So I have the freedom to not eat it.

  Grace sits up, her expression going cloudy. Like a weight is settling on her.

  “What’s up?” I ask. If she’s worried about the gala tomorrow, she shouldn’t be. She’ll be perfect and wonderful, and everyone will love her.

  I’ve decided to bring up a real engagement with her right after we announce our fake one. She has to know how well she fits into my life by now. We’ll figure out the immigration thing, go see my family in Taipei, see her family in Beijing, figure out our life together. If she can’t come back… Well, she’ll like Taipei once she sees it. And we can spend part of the time in Beijing too.

  She shifts, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what Fuchs said. About the mole.”

  I tense up because I’ve been trying not to think about that. I know she’s been going through the files, still searching for clues, but she hasn’t said anything more about it. I figured she hadn’t come up with a name, and I didn’t want to press her on it. I want her as my wife with or without a green card.

  Although I still think she should give Fuchs a name. She doesn’t owe anyone at that company anything, even if they did help Doc and Finn.

  “What about it?” I keep that neutral.

  She presses her lips tight together. “I don’t think I can give him what he wants.”

  “Because you can’t figure out who sent it?”

  She picks at the bedspread. “Partly. I’ve looked and looked and looked again, but I can’t pin down exactly who it is.” Her gaze meets mine, open, vulnerable. “But even if I could, I couldn’t give Fuchs the name. It’s just… I can’t.”

  Her eyes begin to fill with tears, so I pull her into my arms, settling my chin on her head. She’s so soft, smells so delicate. I want to never let her go.

  “It’s all right.” Somehow I knew she wouldn’t. It just isn’t in Grace to do that. Not even to save herself.

  “I know you wanted me to and it would be easier if I did, but I just can’t.”

  “It wouldn’t be easier if it would tear you up inside.” I kiss her hair. “And don’t do it because I want it.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  My heart takes on a weight, stretching and straining. “Grace.” I tip her chin up, look into her dark eyes. “You’ve never disappointed me. And you never could.”

  “Paul.” She says my name the same way I said mine to her—filled with possession and need. So I kiss her, deep and hungry.

  Her response is a wonder, putting her hand to my cheek and drawing me closer. But it’s not enough; she’s in the wrong place.

  I flip her onto her back, rear up over her. The flare of heat in her eyes makes my cock stiffen. I can be demanding, greedy here, not at all noble or kind, and she loves it. I can be anything and everything with her.

  I rake my teeth down her neck, across her collarbone, because I want to devour her. I want to set her aflame, watch the pleasure burn to ash, then do it all over again. She moans, opening her thighs wider, cradling more of me.

  I slip a hand under her shirt, find her sweet breasts, tease a pert nipple. She writhes, lifting her hips. I roll her nipple between my fingers, and she goes even wilder.

  Then she grabs my shirt by the collar and rips it. Just tears it, like she’s so goddamn mad it’s covering me. She’s not quite strong enough to tear it completely in two, but she’s gotten her point across. I’m amazed and amused all at once.

  In a flurry of hands and arms and legs, we strip as quickly as we can. I should be making this slow, reverent, properly romantic for my future bride, but I’m almost out of my mind with need, and Grace is just as worked up.

  “Hurry,” she urges once she’s entirely naked—God, but she’s beautiful—and I’m still working on my shorts.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” But I speed up anyway, my cock bobbing painfully once it’s free. Only she can get me as hard as this, hot as molten lava and ready to go off like a firecracker. We’ve been fucking every night for weeks, and it gets more urgent each time.

  She grabs a condom and swats my hand away when I reach for it. I smile at the show of her claws. And then I groan, because she’s grabbed my cock, stroking from root to tip, not at all shy about it.

  I thrust into her hand because if I don’t, my brain will explode. Her fingers are delicate, cool, but the motion of her hand is anything but.

  “I love you like this,” she says.

  My heart and brain stutter in time because she’s said that word. Love. “What?” My tongue is thick, stumbling, same as my thoughts. Jesus, her hand…

  “You’re so lost to this,” she says. “Just my hand, touching you, but it utterly transforms you.” The wonder in her voice, her expression, is a stab to my heart. “And only I get to see it.”

  I kiss her then because what’s she said is so goddamn true that kissing her is the only response. I should be proposing now, sealing this moment, but I can’t. My desire has completely taken over, and I can’t even find the words to tell her everything I want to.

  Time. I still have time. For this and proposing and everything else I want to do with her.

  So I let her roll on the condom and join myself to her. Join us together.

  Her entire body fits me, her pussy tight, hot, her legs coming around my hips, her breasts against my chest, her arms looped around my neck. She lifts up to meet my thrusts, taking me deeper and deeper.

  We’re in the most perfect harmony, and I can’t tell who comes first, her or me. Or if our orgasms are too deeply intertwined to ever know.

  Tomorrow, after the gala, I’m going to make sure that the rest of lives are just as intertwined.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I was so nervous the morning of my university exams that I threw up. Three times.

  But I’ve never been so nervous as I am now. I’m backstage with Lucy at the gala, and Paul’s about to announce to the cream of San Francisco society and his extended family that we’re getting married.

  I meant it when I said I didn’t want to disappoint him. Because… because I love him.

  It came to me sometime today, even though I’ve been feeling this way about him probably since I first met him. I couldn’t see him at all today—Lucy wh
isked me off early to start getting ready, and apparently you really can spend eight hours primping for a party—and I missed him. Desperately.

  And I almost emailed Fuchs a couple of times and told him who I thought his mole was. I knew doing that would make me hate myself, but I love Paul so much I would do almost anything to stay with him.

  Except getting my visa approved doesn’t mean a happy ending for us. Paul’s still leaving. He’s still the heir to a massive fortune and weighty responsibilities. And while I think I’ve done a good job being his partner, none of it’s been real. The sex was, but that isn’t enough.

  But maybe there was more that was real. Yes, yes, there was. I know there was.

  “Hey.” Lucy taps my arm, interrupts my whirling thoughts. “There’s nothing to worry about. Smile.”

  I can’t though. This is the moment Paul and I have been working toward for weeks now. My nerves are too twisted to unknot. “I’ll smile when I get out there.”

  Lucy rubs my arm, just like a real sister would. She says nothing else, which I’m strangely grateful for. Having her here, giving me silent support, means more to me than I thought possible.

  The emcee is speaking now, calling for everyone’s attention. He asks if everyone’s having a good time—they politely applaud yes—and if they’ve been enjoying the entertainment. When he introduces Paul—“the new head of Tsai Holdings and your host tonight”—the polite claps grow louder, more sincere.

  “While we’ll all miss Lillian”—the emcee pauses for the applause—“we all know Paul will continue her legacy of support for the foundation. And this wonderful event.”

  It will be all over the financial papers tomorrow, the story that Lillian is stepping down and Paul is taking her place. It will be accompanied by pictures of this party, of the Tsai family united, dressed in their best, and giving back to the most needy. His mom really is a PR genius.

  And I have to play my part by standing beside Paul and looking like the supportive, adoring fiancée.

  I don’t think about how it has to end soon, about how my visa expires in mere days. I can’t, not if I’m going to pretend my heart out here.