Her Best Friend Fake Fiancé

by Kimberly Krey

  Zander gave the back of Duke’s head a slap from behind.

  “Goodnight, all,” Camila said while snuggling into James.

  “I’ll wait until you all clear out of here to turn the lights out,” came Lorraine.

  He’d been wondering where she’d gone off to. Sawyer peered against the gray glow of the screen to see the woman standing beside a switch.

  “Go ahead and shut it off,” he said. “I think we’ll stay here a bit longer before heading back.”

  “Alright then,” she said. “Suit yourself.” The room went black save the light pouring in from the hallway. Zander held the door open, allowing everyone to filter out one by one.

  Once Lorraine took her exit, Zander peeked his head into the theater. “Night, man. Night, Betz.”

  “Night,” Sawyer said. And then the room went black.

  Betzy hadn’t said goodnight to Zander in return, but Sawyer was almost positive that the rhythm of her breath had changed. Was she awake at last?

  Maybe this was his chance to tell her how he really felt.

  The mere thought caused a flare of firecracker heat to pop and jump in his chest. He exhaled a jagged breath, ran a hand up the length of her back, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  Of all the kisses he’d kept track of over the days gone by, he hadn’t counted those. It simply felt too natural to kiss her forehead after he’d straightened her beanie cap out in the snow. Or to press a kiss to her silky cheek while she strung dried apple rings for the tree’s garland. He’d spent the last week of his life loving Betzy the way he wanted to.

  Of course, if he knew she could be his—really his—there’d be no stopping him during the late nights that had him aching to step over to the bedroom beside his, tap on her door, and see if she wanted to join him for another fireplace rendezvous.

  “Betzy,” he whispered under his breath. “I want you in my life, for real.”

  Her breath stayed steady and paced. He considered saying the next words that poured into his mind. This has been the best week of my life. When I propose to you, I want it to be for keeps. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you by my side.

  His pulse shot into super speed at the very thought. Speaking those words out loud was a risk. One that had magnified with each passing year. If Betzy knew how deep his feelings went, and she didn’t feel the same, she might panic and call the whole thing off. And then what would his chances be?

  And just why in heavens name did he have to turn into that traumatized twelve-year-old boy each time he considered telling her how he felt?

  But the answer was clear—Sawyer had let that rejection drive him for more than half of his life. Where Betzy was concerned, he’d done everything he could to become a man she couldn’t walk away from. But there was no guarantee.

  In fact, what he’d really done, by living the last ten years of his life hoping to impress Betzy and her family, was create a dangerous scenario, one that would leave him hopeless if she didn’t feel the same.

  Without the hope of having her in his life, Sawyer feared he’d be aimless and alone the rest of his days. The chronic bachelor, like his Uncle Ryan.

  Perhaps the next article Slipper planned to release, the one about those destined to be rich and all alone, should have been about him.

  His pulse pounded harder at the thought.

  Just as the inner turmoil threatened to set his body ablaze, Betzy stirred slightly, lifting her head off his chest. “Is the movie over?” she asked.

  “Yes.” A hot ache rippled through him anew as he considered saying goodbye to moments like these. Her closeness, her touch, her kiss.

  If they were to soon be gone, Sawyer may as well make each moment count. Show Betzy how he felt in the quiet night. Assure her that he wasn’t faking his feelings for her at all. They were more real than anything he’d known.

  With that thought, Sawyer moved a hand to her hip, hoping to get her on the same page.

  Betzy made a circle along his chest with the tip of one finger. It triggered that warmth low in his belly once more. That longing to have her lips on his.

  “Is everyone else gone?” she asked, trailing another circle over his shirt.

  He blew out a jagged breath. “Yes.”

  Betzy could hardly believe she’d fallen asleep in Sawyer’s arms. The truth was, being held in his strong, powerful embrace was a thing of peace. She couldn’t imagine a place she’d rather be.

  But now that she was awake, and they had the theater to themselves, Betzy planned to take advantage of that fact.

  After all, it was their last night at the cabin. Tomorrow, they’d pack up and leave. He’d no longer be one bedroom away from hers. He wouldn’t be there to encourage her on the slopes. To kiss her when mistletoe magically appeared, or to generously hand over the keys to his Lamborghini.

  But he was there with her right then, and heaven help her, those warm, strong hands of his were gripping her hips, causing all sorts of chaos and bliss at once.

  There was no questioning what was on Sawyer’s mind. The chemistry was there—strong and alluring—but was it connected to true and deep feelings, like hers? Or driven by thoughts of simply having a good time, like Duke suggested?

  Either way, Betzy couldn’t let the moment pass.

  Flattening one hand on his chest, she moved in, lowering herself until her mouth was a breath space from his.

  Please say he feels the same.

  Sawyer’s lips parted, ever so slightly, and she dared herself to graze over them in a slow, gentle tease. A wave of bliss rushed through her as she did, back and forth, every tiny touch heightening the anticipation.

  At last Betzy pressed her mouth against his, one long, lingering kiss. And then another. There was a certain thrill in being the one to initiate that kiss, found in the blessed return of that affection.

  Sawyer’s lips were strong and certain, and as they kissed yet again, he surprised her by rolling onto his side until he hovered over her. Shouldering his weight then, he teased the spot just below her earlobe, like he’d done by the fire.

  Yes. A new dose of euphoria rushed through her in a heavenly wave.

  Sure, Betzy did like taking control of the moment. Liked knowing that she could. But as Sawyer took over, rendering her breathless with the slow tease along her throat, she reveled in the knowledge that it was all him.

  He was the one initiating every tantalizing kiss.

  Each whispered breath.

  And every thrilling touch.

  At last he made his way to her lips once more. There, Sawyer kissed her in slow succession, reviving waves of bliss with each heavenly push and pull.

  Softly then, he brought a hand up to her cheek, cradling her face with a touch so tender, Betzy felt she might cry.

  This was love. It had to be. She could feel it swelling deep in her chest. He was telling her, with his actions alone, that he loved her. And she loved him too, wanted to make sure he felt it as well.

  Yet just in that moment, a recollection of that text exchange came to mind.

  2 grand says you don’t even get past second base…

  …one step at a time, my friend…

  …more of a prude than I thought…

  The warmth surrounding her heart went cold in one, frantic beat. What was she thinking? Fake fiancé with benefits, remember?

  She couldn’t assume Sawyer loved her because of a moment like this. Intimacy could be a misleading thing. It meant different things for different people. And somehow Betzy knew that if she let things go too far, recovering from the damage would be more than she could bear.

  Sure, Betzy wanted to believe he was kissing her because he felt exactly the same way, but she knew better than that, didn’t she? Sawyer, like most of the guys she’d dated, didn’t want someone with more money or power than he had. It was what the article was all about. And it was probably right.

  With a nagging regret in the back of her mind, Betzy pulled awa
y, putting an end to their kiss. The greater part of her was in flight mode. Something had rocked her mental boat, and she needed to sort through her thoughts before she did something stupid.

  “It’s late,” she breathed against his mouth. She lifted her head to kiss him once more, reminding herself that it might be their last.

  Sawyer drew out the kiss with the gentle pull of her bottom lip, then sighed. “Betzy…”

  She waited there, feeling vulnerable in the intimate moment, dreading what he might say. Would he ask her to spend the night with him? He might decide it was only fair after all he was doing for her.

  He might also be determined to clear things up. This is just for fun, you know that right? I don’t see this going anywhere after we’re through.

  Those were words she couldn’t fathom hearing. “Let’s say goodnight,” she blurted before he said anything more.

  “I’ve got something I want—”

  “Please, Sawyer. I think it’s best if you don’t…if we just stay focused on what we’re doing here. Okay?”

  Sawyer went lax, his form growing heavy for a beat. “Fine. If that’s what you’d like,” he said, voice raspy and raw.

  He sat up slowly, then took her hand to help her do the same. After Betzy climbed down from the chair, she spotted the crack of light beneath the door and walked to it. She swung it wide open, then realized Sawyer was still sitting on the recliner.

  “You coming?” she asked, hopeful that he’d still walk her to her room. Still want to hold her hand or rub her back or possibly even kiss her goodnight.

  “No,” he said. “You go ahead.”

  Disappointment struck her like sharp darts.

  He was angry that she’d stopped things from going further.

  What difference did it make? Sawyer was doing what she’d asked him to do. Come next week, he’d propose to her on live TV for the whole country to see. That’s what this was for, after all.

  But once their time came and went, Betzy would be left with a heart that belonged more to Sawyer than it did her. Over the week, he’d managed to fill nearly every part. Once he left, and she’d trimmed all of those parts away, Betzy had to wonder if there’d be anything left.

  Chapter 17

  Sawyer balled up his fist and gave the leather chair a good hard punch. He’d been so close to saying it, to telling her he loved her, and she’d stopped him.

  He shook his head in frustration. She had heard him say it the first time, hadn’t she? Betzy had heard it, but she’d pretended she hadn’t. The reason for that was clear—she didn’t feel the same.

  His gut twisted anew. Why had he tried to say it again? After she’d dodged it the first time, Sawyer’s second attempt had nearly forced her into saying what she didn’t want to say. Sorry, Sawyer. You’ve done good for yourself, you really have, but I could never be married to someone like you.

  Sawyer was starting to think the article was on to something. If a man like him wasn’t good enough for Betzy, if she felt she was somehow still “too rich” for blood like his, perhaps she really was destined to be alone.

  He made it back to his room with slow steps. Years of effort, longing, and hope. All of it lay in ruins on that theater chair in the Benton’s cabin just days before Christmas.

  When he made it to his room at last, Sawyer couldn’t fathom the thought of spending another night in that space. Not after it had all been crushed so thoroughly. So he pulled out his phone, arranged for a driver to pick him up, and scribbled out a note to leave on his bed.

  Had an emergency to attend to. Just work, not the dog this time. No worries, I’ll be there for the live show.

  Sawyer stared at the pen as it hovered over the page. If her grandmother saw the note, she’d expect to see the proper farewell, especially since he was supposed to propose to her in just two short days.

  A sad sort of grin crossed his lips as he realized that, this time, Betzy couldn’t silence him. He’d say it after all.

  With that, Sawyer met the paper with his pen once more.

  I love you, Betzy Boo.

  Sawyer.

  He set the page on top of the bed, hiked his bag over one shoulder, and headed out to the family room. It was then he noticed that the fireplace was on.

  A foolish spot of hope rose in him as he wondered if Betzy would be sitting in front of it. She wasn’t, but her Grandma Lo was.

  “Sawyer?” She sat in the firelight’s glow on the corner of the couch, arms folded, one leg crossed over the next where it bounced with the tick of the clock. “Leaving so soon?”

  He peered into the darkness out the window, knowing his ride wouldn’t be there for twenty minutes at least.

  “I have to,” he said. “But I’ll…”

  “Keep up your end of the deal?”

  Sawyer’s stomach dropped. The scarce light showed her position well enough, but it did a poor job of illuminating her face.

  “What deal might that be?” he asked.

  “She asked you to propose to her. She wants to stuff it in Daisy’s face.”

  Sawyer didn’t reply.

  “I can’t blame her,” she said. “I’d have done the same thing. How long are you supposed to stay engaged?” She lifted her hands to put finger quotes around the word.

  Still, he couldn’t get himself to answer. At this point, she didn’t seem to have confirmation. Sawyer didn’t want to be responsible for giving that to her. He resigned himself to taking a seat on the opposite couch; from there, he shot another longing look out the window.

  “I don’t think you should do it.”

  “I can’t not—” But then he caught himself. Crud! Sawyer clenched his jaw shut tight enough for his teeth to grind.

  “This isn’t the way to handle the situation. It’s not…it’s not the Benton way. Jonathon would never approve of it. I’m sure Claudia thinks it’s swell. The kids too. But petty tactics like these…you know what they say about playing in the mud.”

  Sawyer ran a hand along the back of his neck, still cursing himself for blabbing.

  “I know it sounds old fashioned, but there’s no policy or plan better than honesty. And the honest truth is, Daisy was wrong to put the article out there. I’d rather stand in the right than join her in doing something wrong.”

  With elbows propped on his knees, Sawyer dropped his face in his hands. “I know what you mean,” he said. “And I know Betzy admires you more than anyone. But if you want to stop all of this, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “You’re the one she’s asked to propose to her. On the live taping, is my bet.”

  Sawyer pulled his hands from his face, his eyes adjusting to the darkness now, and shook his head. “You don’t get it. If she wants me to do it, no matter what it is, I’ll do it. I’d never tell her no.” His lower lip threatened to tremble, but he caught hold of the emotion and bit it back. Just get to the car, man. If you’re going to break down, hold out until then.

  “You really do love her, don’t you?”

  Sawyer turned his gaze on her once more. “More than anything.”

  “Does Betzy know that?”

  He nodded as a humorless laugh bubbled up his throat. “Yep. She sure as…heck does.” He might have bit back the curse word at his lips, but there were all sorts of language bombs going off in his head. What a joke the night had been.

  “She knows,” he assured her. “But she doesn’t want to admit she knows. Because then she’d have to tell me that, sadly, I’m still not enough for her after all these years.” That breakdown threatened to surface once more.

  “That hardly sounds like Betzy to me,” the woman said.

  “Yep. Wish I was wrong about it, but I’m not.” A wave of light moved over the room, and Sawyer hopped up and hurried over to the window. Miracle of all miracles, his ride was already there.

  “Well,” he said in a whisper. “It’s been a pleasure. You have a wonderful family. As for the…arrangement, unless y
ou can get Betzy to change her mind, it’s on, and there won’t be any stopping it.”

  She nodded, but stayed in place. “If that’s how you feel about it.”

  He hurried over to the door, pried it open, and twisted the lock behind him. “It is.”

  Chapter 18

  Revenge was the name of the game and Betzy wasn’t about to lose sight of that again. So what if she wasn’t really going to marry Sawyer Kingsley? All of America would believe that she was. More importantly, Daisy Shay would believe it, and that would not be a hollow reward. Betzy would find total satisfaction as the owners and operators of Slipper Magazine bit into that giant piece of humble pie.

  This was the only real way to take fate into her own hands. This, unlike Sawyer’s feelings for her, was something she could control.

  “How does that look?” the makeup artist asked, pulling Betzy back to the present.

  Betzy looked into the mirror and primped her hair a bit. Was this the right look? It was hard to say what makeup, hair, and clothes were right for the moment your best friend would become your fake fiancé. On live TV, no less.

  Today’s episode would feature diverse nonprofit organizations rather than multi-million dollar companies in jeopardy. Organizations that saved lives, focused on the forgotten, and bettered communities across the country. What the guests didn’t know, was that—on today’s show—every contestant would be a winner.

  There couldn’t be a better platform. Here she was, a billionaire bachelorette, helping one awesome organization after the next, then getting engaged to one of New York’s hottest bachelors. One Daisy Shay happened to want for herself.

  Betzy knew the thoughts were shallow, knew they didn’t really represent her or the life she’d strived to live, but look where those ideals had gotten her. It was time to play the game like everyone else.

  “Ms. Benton? Is it good? Would you like anything added or changed?”

  Betzy shook her head. “No, sorry. You did a great job. Thank you.”

  Their last live performance of the show hadn’t gone so well. James, bless him, had been struggling with Winston’s death the entire year leading up to the episode, which had led him to grab one of the guests by the shirt and scare the living daylights out of him. That wouldn’t happen today.