Fiancée for Rent by Elizabeth Grey

Chapter 10

Kylie

I sighed into the cavernous, empty refrigerator.

"Would you mind, dear, if I brought home a few apples, maybe some celery to munch on from time to time? I get hungry in between takeouts. I know you like your kitchen clean, but I think you can stand to stock the fridge. Hey, maybe I can even use one of those fancy bowls you never use to arrange the apples in. You know, keep them nice and neat in the fridge."

"It's your house, too," Liam grumped as he shut the refrigerator door. "I have central air, no need to air-condition the house with the fridge, too."

He granted me a wink to offset his low, flat tone.

"You say it's my house, too. And see, to me, that means that I can heat or cool it anyway I like." I shot back, hands going to my waist as I gave a slight tip to my head and pop of a hip to make myself long and lean yet curvy.

I'd come to have fun with the way it caught Liam's appreciative gaze. When he played with the scruff on his face or bit his lip, or even let out one of those growls from deep in his gut, I counted it as bonus points to my win column. Not that we should have been playing the bickering Bickersons at that point in our relationship, but it either worked for us or was what we had to work with.

"Funny girl. Why don't you do more comedy? Oh yeah, you're too cute. They reserve the I have no name and no lines roles for someone with your blonde hair, blue eyes, and shapely figure," he spat out the clipped words as he looked me up and down. "And thank you for making my point with your pose. Is get the guy to drool into submission your goal every minute of every day?"

"Submission? The great Liam Hendrix? No, I can't even get away with putting out a few knick-knacks in the living room of that guy's house. My house, too, he says. Now, that is funny."

"I have things the way I like them. I won't apologize for that. I let you put out a few things in the bedroom," he countered with a shrug of his shoulder, a grin that had gotten dangerously cuter as each day passed.

"Oh, you mean the few things I got to place in that one tiny little dark corner in the closet?" I exaggerated the truth to try to get a real rise out of him.

I'd found that my messy ways got under his rich, pampered, spoiled, OCD skin, and yet he cared that I didn't feel uncomfortable here, just not enough to make a huge change in his surroundings. Didn't matter to me. I found no reason for the less than a year I'd be here to make his home feel mine when I would just move from it again. That edged too close to making the fake marriage dangerous territory in the end.

"Closet?" he shot, stopping short when he'd intended to leave the room.

When he wore his workout clothes, I couldn't look long at the way his rock-hard abs shredded his snug t-shirt, not to mention the way his ass bubbled under the too-tight sweatpants. I'd dared already to glance one too many times at the snug front package.

"Just joking my love," I spat back as he looked like he was about to get upset for real.

"Listen, I do want you to feel comfortable here, just, well... not so comfortable that I have porcelain dog statues everywhere and clothes hung from the furniture."

"Porcelain dog statues? When the fuck have I ever mentioned collecting something as stupid as porcelain dog statues? Was that an Isabelle thing? Don't place her shit on me, fake engagement or not."

"Hey, you women collect some weird shit. That's not on me. What are you into, glass unicorns?"

"Zombie gnomes, if you need to know," I shot out, going with the most ridiculous thing that came to mind. Though now that I thought of it, I should have gone with something dirtier. Something crafty that left a mess all over the house.

I smiled to myself as his mouth fell open and his body tensed.

"Yep, going to put them all over your planters out front. Inside, I’ll save for my pet rock garden. I collect them on my walks, bring them home, wash them up, and paint them myself. Makes a mess, but I’ll let you decide which room to set up my craft station in,” I kept going, to add insult to injury.

As I spoke, I could see the color drain from his face.

"Relax. I just made all of that up. At best, I collect clothes, and I have a very meager collection at that. And I don’t hang my clothes on the furniture. I only left my robe on the chair when I went to sleep one night. I like having close by in case I need to cover up. I figured you'd appreciate the effort, call me a slob."

"I got up to pee. It bugged me to see it there. Hangers are made for clothing."

"I was going to put it on as soon as I got out of bed! If you didn't gobble down water the way you do, maybe you would've slept through the whole night without having to get up every two hours." I threw my arms up in the air, accentuating my stance as I did so in my tank top and short shorts. His eyes had focused on the way my boobs had bounced with the quick movement.

"It's a rock star thing. Need to keep the pipes in prime working order with lots of water."

"Is being OCD a rock start thing, too?"

"I've said I was sorry."

"Not sorry enough to change."

"Why bother? I've already spent years jumping through hoops for a woman. I won't do it again. Besides, as you said yourself, you won't be here long. Why get too comfortable? Speaking of, you might want to be less comfortable. Maybe put on some more clothes."

I felt my nipples harden under his look, as his words got under my skin. For a moment, I couldn’t tell where the friendly banter began and the serious banter ended. I didn’t know him all that well, but the back and forth between us I’d written off as a way to get to know each other, small truths veiled in teasing. With an internal sigh of frustration, unable to read him well yet,  my arms fell to my side, and I made a show of looking through drawers so I could hunch over. The sudden conscientiousness about my state of undress left me off balance and unsettled.

"You keep it too hot in here. What’s a girl supposed to do? Stand in front of the open fridge all day?"

"I give up?"

"Give up? Wait, Liam, you're not going to marry me? What will I do?"

He shook his head as he turned to go, his hands fists at his side which made his arm muscles bulge.

"Try being ready on time for tonight's charity event. Why don't you do that?"

He'd attempted to have the last word, but I wouldn't have it.

"And by on time, you mean twenty minutes early like you?"

"What's wrong with that?" he grumped in earnest now.

As he turned back toward me, finding me on the other side of the large island now, he put his hand out as if to block the sunlight from his eyes.

"You just wait, Mr. Liam Hendrix and see what I'm wearing tonight," I countered.

"Shit," he muttered as I stormed past him. "I'm just a man!"

With that, I granted him the last word, though to mull over for the rest of his day.

"I can't believe you're wearing that, but then again, every guy here is jealous of me tonight," Liam stated in a hushed tone as he transitioned from searching the crowd to observing me.

Unable to come up with something to say nor keep the smile from my face, I glanced down at the gold number that sported long lengths of fabric strategically draped over my shoulders to fall over my body, front and back, to my legs to hide the absolute bare minimum. Wearing a bodysuit under them allowed the designer to simply gather the lengths of fabric with a belt at my middle, revealing here, covering there.

“What I mean to say is, you look beautiful tonight,” he added.

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself,” I smiled as I scanned him up and down.

“We make a great couple. Shall we?” he said as he gestured us forward with his free hand, the other gently balanced mine.

As we walked through the crowd, Liam groaned deep in his chest a few times as my dress turned heads. I'd protested when Cynthia first pulled it from the rack, but once she'd talked me into trying it on, I'd decided what the hell. Besides, I found the way Liam teased me about my looks more fun than even the playful bickering routine we kept up. It'd started as a way to ease the discomfort portion of moving in together as two strangers, then simply became our thing. I'd chosen not to analyze it and merely go with it.

At the bar, he grabbed me champagne. Clear, bubbly, sweet, I'd developed a taste for the stuff. I'd never drunk much before I got engaged to Liam, but now, I sipped and enjoyed the lavish lifestyle while I had it. Why not? A girl's entitled, yet few got to experience this level of richness even for a night. What he'd donated to this charity to get us into the party had been more than I'd made since I came to this city. I found the fact as impressive as I did endearing. He took giving away money as seriously as he did his work, adding a level to the rock star I'd been unaware of. He didn’t do it to check some boxes. He had a heart for the projects he threw money at, shown in the way he went on and on about them. He had empathy.

"Liam Hendrix," an older gentleman with silver hair to match his silver suit said. "I haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been hiding?"

"Bert Conner. How have you been, old man?" Liam said as he hugged the guy with gusto, patting his back.

"Old man? Spoiled rich rock star," Bert retorted, the man's grin ear to ear. "You need to introduce me to your lovely wife-to-be. Yes, I read the papers."

"Bert, this is the lovely Kylie Davis. Kylie, this Bert, an old friend of my father's. I've known him my whole life."

"It's nice to meet you, Kylie," Bert said. "I'd love to introduce you to my wife here at some point, but she helped organize this shindig, so she's off doing her thing at the moment. You care to entertain an old man with a dance until she appears?"

"I would love to, Mr. Conner," I said.

Thankfully, not only did he not seem like the creepy old man type, he'd turned out to be a good dancer, too. He'd spun me around and pulled me into a professional dancer’s stance. I caught Liam a few times admiring us. Of course, the dancing this man led me through did wonders for the ebb and flow of the dress I wore. I'd caught that shake of his head a time or two, as well.

"So, Mr. Conner, how long have you been married?" I asked.

"I'll tell you, but only if you stop calling me Mr. Conner. Makes a man married fifty-five years feel old."

"Wow, fifty-five years," I said with a laugh. "So, share with the bride-to-be your secret, Robert."

"Couldn't get to Bert, could you?"

"It's our first dance," I countered with a laugh.

"Sure. Sure. To answer your question, I love my wife with all of my heart. But I wouldn't say that love is our secret. Anyone with a beating heart can manage that. Keeping it, however, is the challenge, right? So we've committed to never take each other for granted. We enjoy the privileged life we've been given and each other in it. It's so easy to lose each other in this chaotic life. There’s a lot of evil in this world—a lot of temptations. We made sure when we took our vows that that wouldn't happen. Plus, it helped that we became best friends. We talk about everything, not just what's for dinner or what our schedule looks like."

As the song ended, he pointed out his wife standing with Liam. My rock star, for now, watched me in a way I couldn't quite make out as he talked. A reporter caught up to me on our way over, a step from Liam and Mrs. Conner.

"So, Kylie, tell me what you love most about Liam?"

Off-center from the dancing maybe or maybe the talk with my partner, I questioned every little thing about the past days with Liam. Sometimes I wondered what truth his teasing revealed. The full weight of our ruse struck me, leaving me to flounder for words.

"Kylie? You do still love Liam, right? I mean, living together hasn’t changed that already?" the reporter added, fighting for an answer despite my silence.

"Of course not," I  forced a laugh. "Of course, I still love Liam. In fact, now that we are living together, I love the way he tells me where everything in the house has to go. I mean, I feel right at home."

"That's not the whole story. This beautiful woman here is a slob!" Liam added with a tight grin.

"I left out a robe, overnight, by the bed, like everyone in the world, but you do!"

"You two are too cute and acting like a married couple already," the reporter interjected. I assumed to save himself from wherever our renewed discussion would lead.

I watched as Liam’s organic scowl turned into the needed grin.  At the same time, the initial glimmer of fear that clouded the gleam in the reporter’s eyes quickly changed according to Liam’s emotions. The poor guy, clearly unsure of what to make of my fiance at that moment, given his reputation the past year,  changed his tune quickly to forced enthusiasm, "So, what's next for the happy couple?"

"Montana, as in my family farm for Christmas," I shot out. "I can't wait to see this guy in all the muck and mud working for his dinner."

The reporter gave a belly laugh when Liam's mouth dropped open like a fish out of water.

I'd won again! Yet, it didn't feel like it at all, and I had to question myself as to why I even cared. On the one hand, the back and forth between us had helped us to navigate the strangeness of two strangers living together as a couple in love. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why his reactions mattered to me so much.