She trusted him. He wondered if she’d be up for the nutty plan that kept running through his mind. Won’t know unless you ask, his mind whispered. So he leaned in again when the music started for a new song, and again, the scent of cherries touched his nose. Why did she have to smell so damn good? It was distracting. “You want to escape to a balcony or something?”
The look she gave him was utter relief. “That sounds awesome.” She handed her plate off to a server, licked her thumb, and smiled at him.
And he was going to have mental images of her licking her thumb all night, wasn’t he? Then he thought of the way she’d stiffened in utter fear and chided himself for being a jerk. It was clear she was afraid of some guy, and Sebastian wanted to fix it.
Sure, fixing it might be a little self-serving, but he figured they could kill two birds with one stone.
Keeping his arm firmly around Chelsea’s waist, he steered her toward the edge of the room. The balcony was full of people, and someone appeared to be having a fight out there. Bad place to talk about what he intended. So he kept steering her, heading down a hall. It was cordoned off with a velvet rope so no party guests would enter, but he suspected Hunter wouldn’t mind. He pulled it aside and gestured for Chelsea to enter the room.
She skated in, and he winced mentally at the sound of her roller skates on the hardwood flooring. Well, if they fucked it up, he supposed he could just pay for it. He didn’t care. Right now he just wanted privacy with her and a place where they could talk.
The room they’d entered was a sitting room of some kind, full of dainty chaises and old paintings on the walls. Big windows were covered with heavy drapes and a cabinet of old antiques covered a back wall. It looked like a very stiff, stuffy parlor that didn’t get much use. There was a glass case in the center of the room with an old, open book under it. Probably something expensive and rare. He didn’t care. Sebastian shut the door behind him. “Sit anywhere.”
“No balcony?” she asked, but thumped down on an overstuffed lounger with a curling low back.
“It was busy,” he said. “And I wanted to talk to you in private.”
She stiffened, the defensive look returning to her face. “That’s never a good sign.”
He shrugged, keeping his pose casual, and sat across the room from her. “It’s nothing bad. I just thought I’d ask if you wanted to get married.”
Chapter Seven
Chelsea could feel her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say . . . married?”
Sebastian nodded and clasped his hands together, lacing his fingers. “Not in the way you think, though. I should probably explain.”
“Explaining’s good,” she said faintly. Oh, no. Here she’d thought Sebastian was safe, and he wanted to marry her? Marriage meant sex. Ugh. She really, really did not want sex right now. Maybe not ever again. Mostly, though, she was feeling a sense of loss at the moment. He was supposed to be her safety date, damn it. What was this marriage crap?
She was perilously close to crying at the moment. Crying . . . or hitting something. First, the party made her nervous. Bad memories. Second, no Pisa. Third, those guys had cornered her when she was feeling vulnerable and she still felt rattled and unhappy and on edge.
And now a marriage proposal? From someone she’d put in what she considered “the safety zone”?
This sucked.
Sebastian raised his hands. “Before you freak out. I’m not in love. We’re still each other’s safety date. We’d be taking things just one step further.”
Recognition dawned on her face. Oh. That must have been why Sebastian felt so safe to her. “You want me to beard for you. I get it.”
“What? No!” He looked rather offended at the suggestion. “I’m straight.”
“Okay, then I’m super confused.”
“Confused that I’m straight?”
“No, confused that you want a beard when you are straight.”
He flung himself up off the chaise and began to pace. “It’s not a beard. I’m not gay, and I don’t need a wife to make me look straight.” The look he shot her was reproachful. “If I was gay, I wouldn’t give a shit who knew. But I have a crazy ex-girlfriend and a contract problem.”
“And . . . this means you need a wife.” She was having trouble connecting the dots. How did someone go from “girlfriend issues” to needing a fake wife?
Sebastian tapped his hands behind his back as he walked, clearly agitated. “Maybe this is a stupid idea. But the show? The Cabral Empire? I’m locked into a contract that says I can be on television if one of the primaries is on screen. Normally I can avoid them when they’re filming, but this time, they’ve decided that this season’s story line is that I should get back together with my ex. And that means she’s going to ambush me at every turn.”
Comprehension dawned. “And if you’re married, you ruin that plot, right?”
He looked grimly satisfied at the thought. “Exactly.” He continued to pace. “The reason I suggested it to you is because we’re comfortable around each other, and we both want the same thing—no romantic entanglements. I’m afraid if I dated someone else, she’d read more into it than there would be. That even though it’s a marriage of convenience, I’d somehow change my mind and we’d become something else. I don’t want that.”
Chelsea shuddered at the thought.
“See?” His eyes lit up and he slid onto the chaise next to her. “That reaction is exactly why we’re perfect for each other. You don’t want me. I don’t want a relationship. We could get married and continue on just as we are, and no one would bother us anymore. If you had a ring on your finger, guys would leave you alone. If I had a wife, Lisa would leave me be, and that damn show could take a hike. What do you think?”
It was a totally outrageous idea. A fake marriage in this day and age? And yet . . . she thought of her empty apartment. Pisa had been gone only a few days, but already Chelsea was struggling. Every noise at night made her spin into panic. A light had burnt out in the bathroom and she’d held her pee until it was daylight again and she’d called her neighbor to change it. Those weren’t rational actions.
Then again, neither was getting married to a guy she barely knew.
She studied Sebastian. He was gorgeous. Dark olive complexion; thick, wavy black hair; piercing green eyes. Great build. Friendly. Handsome. Wealthy. He seemed smart.
But she was pretty much dead inside after her incident. If he thought he was getting more than a friend, he’d be sorely mistaken. “This would be completely platonic, right?”
“One hundred percent,” he agreed. “I’m going to be blunt. If I wanted to get laid, I could walk out into that room and get just about any woman there once she found out how much money I have. I could have a Sexy Cookie Monster and Sexy Elmo sandwich.”
“So modest,” Chelsea said sarcastically.
“Just being truthful,” Sebastian replied. “You think it’s not the truth?”
“No, I think you’re right, and that’s kind of sad.” She grimaced and adjusted her kneepads. “Okay, then.”