Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

Thirty-Eight

Liam

Elizaand I are hosting tonight’s dinner with the Varners at my mansion in the hills of Sin Valley, rather than my penthouse on the Strip. In addition to the proper formal dining room, holding dinner here also offers a chance to get Varner out of the usual hotel scene, into a more relaxed environment.

I had a chef come in all the way from Manhattan to prepare the meal. I brought out wine imported from the south of France. Even the damn table cloth is made from the finest silk. But despite all my preparation for this meal, conversation isn’t exactly riveting at the moment.

Lance Varner sits across from me, his beady eyes flittering over Eliza’s cleavage while his own wife clings to him like an anxious mother trying to make sure her child won’t run off at a crowded mall.

Meanwhile the newly weds on my side of the table rigidly maintain a safe distance from each other.

Charlotte’s words are infused with passionate conviction as she speaks. “…And I think that, as a society, we need to drop all the stereotypes against people with lip fillers. So I use my platform as a social media influencer to raise awareness about the issue.”

Ladies and gentlemen, Charlotte Varner. Wife. Goldfish mom. Philanthropist. Human., according to her Instagram profile. She’s the only person at this table attempting to make conversation.

Frankly, I wish she’d stop.

When no one responds, she tries again. “Having a little lip augmentation does not make you a bad person.” Charlotte wipes drool and Alfredo truffle sauce from the corner of her husband’s mouth as she speaks.

Sick of the asshole’s eyes on my wife’s breasts, I clear my throat loudly.

Varner’s gaze bounces up to mine. “Lots of art hanging around the room if you want something pretty to look at,” I tell him, gesturing to the walls.

I should probably try harder to keep the slicing edge out of my tone, but despite Eliza’s efforts to put space between the two of us, I can’t help but feel protective of her. I don’t need some asshole shamelessly gawking at my bride.

A guilty look comes over Varner’s face before his gaze briefly scans the abstract paintings decorating the room. He makes some empty comment and I give him an equally empty response.

Beside me, Eliza shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She arrived here a couple of hours before the Varners, dragging an overnight bag all around my home. She strategically placed her belongings around the house to make cohabitation look plausible. She even added a few of our wedding photos to the mantle above the fireplace and the china cabinet in the dining room. I have to admit I was pretty impressed by her idea.

If I thought my penthouse was cold and unwelcoming, my massive home amplifies that with its tall ceilings and echoing walls. Hell, I barely step foot here. It would have been suspicious if there wasn’t a single feminine touch in the place.

Anyway, I watched from a safe distance as Eliza draped her floral scarf on the coat hook by the door. She dropped some sexy stilettos near the front door rug. And then she delicately lined up several small glass bottles of perfume on the bathroom counter.

Sure, it’s all for show but for some reason, her things all seem to belong here. Now that Eliza has left her stamp around my home, it feels like her stuff has always been here. This woman is messing with my head. I can’t focus when she’s around, and right now, I need a clear mind more than ever.

After the weird conversation my fake wife and I had at work the other day, nothing’s been the same. But as much as I wish things could go back to the way they were when we were laughing and bantering in the conference room, this distance between us is probably for the best.

Now, she and I are stiffly seated next to each other at the formal dining room table. The meal is veiled with awkward moments and stilted conversation. Though that’s probably because you’d need a hacksaw to cut through the tension between my wife and me.

Charlotte takes a tiny nibble of her couscous-cranberry salad as she looks Eliza up and down in a scrutinizing way. “Have you had any work done? Your lips, right?”

Eyes wide with shock, Eliza’s fingertips flutter over her perfect strawberry lips. “No, I’ve never—”

“They look really natural. But I just have an eye for these things. I can tell.” Charlotte winks.

Varner gives his wife an exasperated look. “Charlotte, honey. Please.”

“Sorry. I’m just passionate about this. It’s my life’s work, y’know?” She grins sheepishly at her husband before changing the topic. “So, tell me, you two, I’m dying to know—how did the two of you meet?” Charlotte’s eyes flick to the wedding photos in the china cabinet and I’m grateful that Eliza thought to put them there.

My wife sets down her fork. “We met at work. At the office,” she says with a smile that doesn’t light up her eyes and a tone that sounds a tiny bit sad.

“Actually, we first met out on the front sidewalk,” I intervene, fingers wrapped around my wine glass as I allow my eyes to focus on my bride. “That same day, just before I interviewed you.”

She furrows her brows at me, her expression filled with confusion.

“You almost ran into me on your way inside the building. That’s when I first noticed you. Where we first said hello.” That was the first time I saw her, and I hate admitting that she’s held my attention ever since.

She blinks slowly. “I don’t remember that…”

I shrug slowly, not able to look away from her beautiful face. I feel like it’s the first time we’ve made eye contact all day and I don’t want to let go.

Eliza reaches across the table and lays her hand atop mine. I tell myself it’s just a move to kill any possible suspicions about the authenticity of our relationship. But even with all her talk of keeping things professional between us, even with my efforts to be respectful of her request for space, I can’t deny the explosive zip of electricity that moves between us when she puts her hand on me.

“Awwww…That’s so sweet,” Charlotte gushes, her hands clasped over her heart.

At the sound of the woman’s voice, Eliza and I jump apart.

Varner’s wife spins to her husband. “Our turn!” she announces, jumping around in her seat. “Who’s going to tell the story about how we met, Lancey? Me? Okay, I’ll do it!”

By the time that Charlotte finishes her long rambly story, all my attention is on Eliza. I can’t take my eyes off her.

What the hell is the feeling that crops up in my chest every time I look at her? Why does it feel a little hard to breathe?

“I apologize,” Varner says, looking the slightest bit embarrassed by his wife’s ramblings. “Charlotte is a bit of a talker. And a romantic. That’s why she has her YouTube channel.”

“Subscribbbeee!!!” Charlotte flashes Eliza and me a peace sign and a Say Cheese!smile.

The long-drawn evening comes to an end. Finally. It was hard enough sitting this close to Eliza without being able to put my hands all over her. Especially in that slinky new dress. But I know that physical contact is off the table. Literally, off all the goddamn tables. And the couches. And the counters. The beds. The pantry shelves.

Okay, I’ve made my point.

She and I rise from the table to see our guests out.

In the foyer, Charlotte tackles Eliza with a hug. “Oh, this was so much fun! We should do it again. Soon!”

“Um, yes!” Eliza makes Help me! eyes at me as Charlotte squeezes her like a tube of toothpaste.

Meanwhile, the creepy old bag has his eyes on my wife’s legs.

Once Charlotte has released her, Varner takes Eliza’s hand. “You were a lovely hostess this evening,” he tells her, unable to refrain from looking at her legs again. “And if I didn’t say so as yet, those are my favorite pair of shoes on you.” His gaze drops to her stilettos. “They make your legs look great, dear.” He turns to me. “Man-to-man, your wife is a knockout.”

Eliza squeaks out a shaky ‘thank you’.

Charlotte pouts so hard her inflated bottom lip touches her chin.

I’ve had enough.

When I take Varner’s hand to shake, I lean down by his ear. “I’ve seen you make Eliza uncomfortable one time too many.” I get closer and lower my voice some more. “I just need to tell you one thing, man-to-man, if you make one more lewd comment or send one more vile look her way, I will put on my favorite pair of shoes, and kick your ass all the way to Las Vegas so you and Rocco can continue to have your midlife crisis together. Resort deal be damned.”

The man is as red as a raspberry when I step back. He reads my no-nonsense expression. “Understood,” he says curtly.

When I step close to Eliza’s side, I instinctively wrap an arm around her waist. She visibly stiffens. And I’m sure that the Varners notice. They share a look.

Annoyance rises up my spine. I immediately drop my arm back to my side. “I have work to attend to,” I tell everyone. “Good night, and thank you both for joining us.”

I make an abrupt exit and I can’t bring myself to give a shit. I am so done with this night.