“And who is this?” the woman says, her gaze sweeping over me as though I’m something she’s stepped in.
I raise my brows indignantly. I may not be fluent in the ways of high society, but I know when someone is being blatantly rude.
But I can’t think why for the life of me. What have I done? I stand purse-lipped and study our new acquaintance. She has long mousy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and legs so long I have to crane my neck to meet her gaze. She’s pretty, in a superficial, overly-made-up kind of way, and I bet her lips have had a ton of filler pumped into them. She breaks my stare, and that’s when I see it. The way she looks at Lucian tells me everything I need to know.
Lucian clears his throat. “Forgive me. Chelsea, this is Samantha.”
“Lucian’s first and only love,” Samantha adds, extending her arm.
Lucian’s jaw clenches. “Samantha, this is Chelsea.”
“Lucian’s fiancée,” I say and place my hand in hers. Her gaze travels down to my ring, and I smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Samantha holds my hand and stare for a second before returning her attention to Lucian. It’s as though she needs to hear the words from his lips as validation before she’ll believe it.
“What are you doing here?” Lucian finally says.
“I was invited.” Samantha looks down and runs her index finger along the scooped neckline of her long red ballgown. I figure her hope is that Lucian will look at her cleavage.
He doesn’t, and instead narrows his eyes. “Who by? Wouldn’t happen to be Darren Moore, would it?”
“Darren? No, why would he invite me here?” Samantha rocks on her heels before leaning forward and placing her hand on Lucian’s arm. Anger courses through me at the sheer nerve of the woman. Didn’t she hear me? I’ve literally just said that I am Lucian’s fiancée.
“It’s good to see you,” she says, looking all doe-eyed at Lucian as if I’m not standing right here. “Could I speak to you, please? Alone?”
“I’m sorry, Samantha, but whatever you have to say to my fiancé, you can say in front of me.” A possessiveness I have never felt before creeps its way into my gut. Lucian wrapping his arm around me couldn’t come at a better time, and I wrap my arm around him in return.
“Have a good evening, Samantha. It was good catching up.”
Or not, I think, but manage to hold my tongue as Lucian and I head in the opposite direction. I side-eye Lucian, who is wearing the most ridiculous smile I think I’ve ever seen.
“What?” I finally say and stop walking.
“Jealous, were we? Because, sweetheart, you were positively green.”
I consider his words for a beat and then it hits me. Not once did the fake engagement cross my mind. It was like a red mist came down around me because in that moment I was Lucian’s and he was mine.
Laughing theatrically, I wave his comment off. “Don’t be stupid. I’m your fiancée, remember.”
“How could I forget?”
I look up, and the second I do he captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger. My heart hammers as he leans in for a kiss, but instead of turning my head to the side like I should do, like I need to do, I wet my lips in readiness. His gaze seeks approval, and I tilt my head in reply.
What the hell is wrong with me? Lucian has only been my fiancé, myfakefiancé for one day and already I’m getting lost somewhere between fact and fiction. This isn’t real, Lucian isn’t my fiancé. I need to—
My thoughts quickly melt away as Lucian’s lips crash against mine. And fantasy or not, I kiss him back. His lips part, as do mine, and I grant his tongue entry. His hand spans across the small of my back as he pulls me into him. My head spins, my knees go weak, and I tremble in his embrace. The butterflies in my stomach that I thought were dormant fly around with gusto. He tastes of champagne and spearmint gum, sweet yet oddly refreshing. The kiss is firm and the coarse hairs on his face burn into my skin. He holds me with purpose and kisses me with everything that he is and, releasing all of my inhibitions, I kiss him back.
When the kiss risks being deemed socially unacceptable Lucian retreats. Our lips may be apart, but he holds my stare with an intensity that makes me feel connected to him.
“Tell me.” He runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. “Was that part of the act, or are you starting to feel something for me?”
I close my eyes and will my heart to stop beating so heavily and the butterflies in my stomach to stop flying around. This is ridiculous, getting jealous over a man who isn’t mine to begin with and then kissing him.
“I’m acting, of course,” I say in a whisper.
“Well, I give you top marks, Chelsea, because you had me fooled.”
The music from the string quartet plays a little louder, and couples make their way to the dance floor. With our fingers interlinked we join them.