Fiancée for Rent by Elizabeth Grey
Chapter 7
Kylie
Cynthia sat nervously beside me. My nerves hummed below the surface of my counted, deliberate breaths. Liam sat across from us, flanked by two lawyers and his manager. Given all we had to accomplish today, I'd shown up in a pair of jeans that'd seen better days and a thin, oversized sweatshirt. I had to say, though only to myself, that Liam did the same type of jeans more justice with that rock-hard ass than I did mine. He probably paid thousands for them. Still, relief washed over me that I'd not needed to wear a business suit as Cynthia had.
Across the vast wooden table, Liam slid the contract he'd just looked over to me. His hand was steady. I gripped hard and then released my fingers to make sure my hand appeared the same. I made a show of flipping through the pages, though the words blurred in front of my eyes. I was already aware of the particulars—respect each other's privacy, no physical intimacy, divorce in six months, and then he'd pay to produce my movie. He'd added a non-disclosure provision, with the caveat that the breaching party had to pay millions. I forced from my thoughts the lies I would have to tell my family about the sudden marriage and divorce as I added a clause of my own.
"We have to be together for the holidays, but I promised my family I'd be there for Christmas since I bailed on Thanksgiving. I’d like to spend this one and only Christmas together in Montana."
"I have no problem with that. I'd love to meet them," Liam offered, pulling the paper back before he slid it to his lawyer, who scribbled my addition.
After we signed, we went off to get glammed up for the big announcement—no time to waste.
Exactly two hours later, Cynthia and I arrived at Liam's home to shoot the engagement photos. My eyes wide, I attempted to take in the mansion I'd soon call home. A thrill shot through me to see Liam's eyes wide, taking me in. I'd seen myself in the mirror. The plunging neckline of the fairly sheer white dress they'd put me in didn't need big boobs to look alluring. While the dress flowed to the ground, fluttering in the wind, it highlighted the shape of my leg from thigh to ankle. My blonde hair had been oiled and curled to the same sheen as the silk of the dress.
"Damn, woman," Liam exclaimed, his deep voice booming through the crowd gathered in his living room.
With the retractable wall gone, past the cameras and him, I saw only the pool and skyline.
"Damn yourself," I ventured back, not meant just for him, but also the house, the view. "This place is stunning. Big. But gorgeous. I can't believe you live here."
"Soon, you'll live here, too."
"That's what the contract says."
"I hope this view suits you for the shoot."
"Can I see the rest of the house?"
"Nope. Doing it here."
"Then why ask?" I ventured.
From that point on, we'd gone head to head on almost every little detail. It wasn’t until Cynthia and Jake stepped in that we stopped.
"So, here. Now. Maybe?" Jake tested the water.
It'd all been fun and games, the arguments my way to not think about what I'd agreed to and puke up the half a banana I'd managed to eat this morning. The photographer took us out past the pool to get the first of several down on one knee shots with the Sunset Strip skyline as the backdrop.
My memory flashed to my ex, David. Before he died, I imagined him proposing like this a million times. Tears pooled into my eyes. My chest heaved with hot, deep breaths. I looked everywhere but at Liam in a vain attempt to calm down.
"I know you're an actress and all, and you're supposed to be touched by my proposal, but can we tone it down? I think this is a little excessive. No offense," Liam stated, his brow furrowed, smile gone.
The sobs of an ugly cry throbbed in my chest.
"Excuse me," I managed before I took off for the bathroom.
Liam must've followed because moments later, my hand over my mouth, the tears flowing in earnest, I'd heard him knock on the door. Thankfully, his bathroom was as big as my apartment, so I'd been able to keep some distance between me and that door.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice earnest, soothed.
"Nothing. Allergies." I responded before another sob came.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"For now. Privacy."
"Privacy," he agreed.
I didn't wait, didn't listen to see if he'd left before I let the pain of the memory, my grief well up and spill out for a few moments. After surrendering to the tears, I dabbed my face dry with a hand towel and splashed a bit of water under my eyes.
Looking at the ruined face in the mirror, the haunted, red eyes, the streaks of black on my cheeks, I grew thankful for the miracles of eye drops, ice packs, and makeup. They'd pull me back together in no time.
To the eyes staring back at me, I lectured in the strictest, shaky whisper, "Get it together Kylie, if you ever want your movie produced."