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Hannah
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His Fake Fiancee Hannah
I WISH I could go back to the girl I was a month ago, who was only trying to save her family from bankruptcy.Not from their murder.Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, I rest my back against the side of my bed as light streams underneath my closed door. I twist the engagement ring around my finger, embracing the pointless warmth it gives me.Damien and I can't be. But I still put it on the instant I got back, allowing myself to pretend for a while longer that the world believes we're newly engaged and we're unveiling the most anticipated microchip of the twenty-first century.But that can never happen. Tomorrow, Damien will be alone on the stage, his father watching with satisfied eyes as he tells the audience it's Bass Mobile who wins the prize for an entire year. Their stocks will skyrocket, their phones soon reigning supreme, and its users will never know the danger they slip into their pockets.My phone rings on the floor next to me, shining a familiar face I’ve grown to love on
His Fake Fiancee Damien
HANNAH SITS in a simmering silence that would intimidate anyone. Makeup artists blot fuzzy brushes to her face. A man behind her clamps a strand of her hair between an iron. And another tapes a wire underneath the strap of her blouse. Sitting on a black swivel chair, the bottoms of herflayed pantsuit reach the ends of her thin stilettos.She hasn't said a single word since entering backstage over an hour ago,and I know she must be planning something, not that she's going to share anything with me. She distinctly left that part out last night when she blew up my entire world to splinters, then informed me to go about our presentation as normal.Do you trust me? she had asked.And I didn't hesitate then, and I won't now, even before dozens of live- recording cameras and thousands in the audience.Mysterious schemes rage behind her eyes like dark tides of the sea, hinting at the rarely seen danger inside the woman before me, making me question who it really is I'm in love with... It's
His Fake Fiancee Damien
THESE WALLS NEVER BUILT A HOME.They built a cage.My steps across my family's estate’s hallways are slow, my eyes wandering to key destinations of my childhood that would always spark awful memories.Because, when I normally pass by the archway that leads to the kitchen, I wouldn't see it as the beautiful architecture that it is. I would see my mother's last act of rebellion, struggling against my father's hold on her, before she received the final blow that turned her into the mindless aristocrat she is now. All the genuine joy expressed through her love of dance—gone.And when I'd near my father's study, I would hear Sterling's small cries as he banged against the door that always proved to be permanently closed. Often, it was me he'd hear inside, not getting much better treatment, until some maid would sweep him off his feet to carry him back to his room.But on this day, I don't see the house the same way. Right now, it seems fragile to me. Like glass.My steps quicken, with one
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
HANNAH"ISN'T it so much better when I plan our weekend getaways?"My lips thin, overlooking the ocean from the balcony of our villa."You've asked that every day we've been here, Damien."His chuckle is low in my ear as he wraps his arms around me, raisingmy temperature even higher than the private hot tub we're in. Our view is impeccable, along with the other villas that stand proudly in the water, tracing along the island's coastal line.Who knew houses come on stilts?We've been in Bora Bora for over a week, and I've enjoyed every second. At first, he told me we were going for a weekend vacation, just us two, and loaded up the jet with a bag I didn't pack. He then ignored all my questions about where we're headed.My guesses were Florida and Mexico. But no. I realized I was dead wrong after our flight took over eighteen hours. And then I made the even bigger realization that Damien... Damien was taking a real vacation. Not a weekend, but nearly two weeks off.I smirk.He's come s
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
HANNAH - 5 YEARS LATER"Are you... crying?"Sofia avoids my stare. Her head angles down towards the stage directlybelow us, to the ballerina twirling in circles on her toes in the hands of her partner. Wearing a white tutu, her brows droop downwards in an expression of pure drama and struggle."No." More sniffles."Oh my god... You are." After shooting me a stern look and retrieving a fresh handkerchief from her purse, she returns to craning over the side of the gold box railing. "And to think, only yesterday, you didn't want to come. Said it'd be too boring."She ignores me, her eyes widening when fog floats from the corners of the stage, the intense music growing ever louder.I don't blame her. I was skeptical about attending my first ballet show, too. But now I understand and appreciate its beauty, in a similar way when Damien plays the piano for me when we're alone. I can recognize the same thrill and excitement in his features as the dancers below.Tonight's performance of Swan
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
HANNAH"WE'RE GOING TO ENIGMA TONIGHT."Sofia twists the cap off the bottle of tequila, before grabbing two shot glasses from our cupboard. With chipped paint and aged wood, our tiny apartment’s kitchen has seen better days, none of which we were here for."Ha." I pale at my roommate. "You are, like always. But I'm not."Enigma is a new club in New York, with lines that usually wrap around the building. This is my roommate's third attempt at convincing me to go, and she makes a tempting case—It's Sunday, masquerade night.Salting the rims, she tops both off with a lime wedge. She pours the liquor to the brim, before sliding one my way. The glass sings across the countertop, landing perfectly in my hand.No shock there, coming from an ex-bartender."Yes, we are," she says simply, bobbling her head. Gold hoops swaying on her earlobes, her dark brown hair and olive skin are flawless."Why?" I challenge. "I'm perfectly comfortable in our apartment.""Oh, I know you are." She raises her ey
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
HANNAH"DON'T GIVE ME THAT FACE." Sterling runs a finger down my arm.I jerk away, feeling as if a bucket of ice water dumps over my head."I'm not giving you anything."The music blares, and our table is busier than ever. No one pays us anyattention. Each person is drunker or higher than the next, dancing or fondling one another in the dimly lit alcove."But you are," he coos, removing his mask and revealing the strong, porcelain features beneath. Amusement dances in his eyes. "I think I'm feeling some moisture on my knees.""You're disgusting." I shoot to my feet, looking around for my shoes. "You think this is some kind of game? It's not. We're done."I snatch my short heels before I plot my behind on the cushioned seat, avoiding his gaze."Stop being so overdramatic. What you saw—you know I can explain if you'd actually let me."Anger pumps through me, and I shove my foot into my shoe roughly. "I'm overdramatic? Okay. Well, you're delusional. Delusional that you think there's any
His Fake Fiancee Hannah
HANNAHAGREEING to hook up with a complete stranger from a club an hour after meeting isn't one of the smartest decisions I've ever made.And neither is letting him book the hotel. The Ritz, I heard him say on the phone. Perhaps I heard him wrong. The club was deafening. But if I didn't... that's the most expensive hotel in the city. And he booked a suite.For a one-night stand.A privacy wall separates us from the driver as we sit in the backseat of a spacious vehicle. I take the middle, with my knee brushing against Damien's thigh.What were you thinking, girl? Are you trying to end up on Dateline? I imagine Sofia lecturing me after she finds out I ditched the club without saying goodbye.Who has their own personal driver, who shows up in five minutes to pick us up outside a club? Sterling didn't have a driver. Why am I only now asking myself these things?More intelligent and sensible questions flood my brain, but when a strong hand brushes against my knee, all the thoughts exit th
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