The Reception Trap

I was going to get caught.

It was only a matter of time before someone said something I couldn't fake my way through. Before someone noticed I wasn't Marcus.

The reception felt like walking through a minefield.

"Marcus!" A man I'd never seen before grabbed my arm. Mid-thirties, expensive suit, cologne that smelled like money. "Congratulations, man!"

I forced a smile. "Thanks."

"Can't believe you actually went through with it." He laughed. Loud. The kind of laugh that made people turn and look. "Remember that crazy spring break in Ibiza? You swore you'd never settle down."

My stomach dropped.

Ibiza. Spring break. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Yeah," I said. My voice came out weird. Too tight. "That was... crazy."

"Crazy?" He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Dude, you got arrested. We had to bribe the cops to let you out."

Arrested. Marcus got arrested in Ibiza.

"Right. Of course." I pressed my hand to my stomach. "Sorry, I'm not feeling great. The champagne..."

"You okay? You look pale."

"Just need a minute. Excuse me."

I walked away fast. Not running. That would draw attention. But fast enough to escape.

Found the bathroom. Locked myself in a stall.

My hands were shaking. I pressed them against the cool metal door and tried to breathe.

This was impossible. Too many people knew Marcus. Too many stories I didn't know. Too many ways to get caught.

I stayed in the bathroom for five minutes. Ten. Until someone knocked and I had to leave.

Back at the reception, I tried to stay near the edges. Away from groups of people.

Didn't work.

"Marcus Laurent." A business associate appeared. Gray hair, sharp eyes, firm handshake. "Pleasure to finally meet your husband."

"Thank you."

"Your father tells me you're quite the polo player."

Polo. Right. Marcus played polo.

"I play a little," I said carefully.

"Modest." The man smiled. "James said you took a nasty spill last year. Broke your collarbone. Must have left quite a scar."

Scar. On the collarbone.

I didn't have any scars on my collarbone.

"It's... faded," I said. "Barely visible now."

"Really? James made it sound quite dramatic. Said the bone came right through the skin." He gestured toward my shoulder. "Mind if I see? I've got a grandson who's interested in polo. Might help convince his mother it's not as dangerous as she thinks."

No. No, no, no.

"I'd rather not," I said quickly. "It's... It's my wedding day. Don't really want to show off old injuries."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course. I understand."

But he didn't. I could see it in his face. The confusion. The suspicion.

I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair. Put it on despite the heat.

Better to sweat than to get caught.

The man walked away. I watched him go straight to my father. Saw them talking. Saw my father's face tighten.

He was going to kill me.

"Well, well." A voice behind me. Smooth. Oily. "Marcus Laurent. Or should I say, the blushing groom?"

I turned.

A man stood there. Tall, blond, expensive suit that probably cost more than a car. His smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Sebastian Moreau," he said. Extended his hand.

S.M.

The text from the unknown number. *I know what you're doing.*

This was him.

I shook his hand. His grip was too tight. Too long.

"Congratulations on your marriage," he said. Still holding my hand. "You look... different. Almost like a whole new person."

My blood turned to ice.

"Different how?" I tried to pull my hand back. He held on.

"I don't know." His eyes scanned my face. "Something about you. Can't quite put my finger on it." He finally let go. "Marcus Laurent. Always full of surprises."

"I should get back to my husband."

"Of course. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting." Sebastian leaned closer. His breath smelled like mint and malice. "Though I have to say, I'm surprised Damien went through with it. After what happened with Derek, I thought he'd be more... careful about who he married."

"Damien and I have an understanding."

"An understanding." Sebastian laughed. "Is that what we're calling it? I call it a business transaction. But then again, that's all you Laurents are good for, isn't it? Selling whatever you have left."

My hands clenched into fists. Marcus would have hit him. I knew that instinctively.

But I wasn't Marcus.

"If you'll excuse me."

"One more thing." Sebastian's hand shot out. Grabbed my wrist. "I know people. Important people. People who knew Marcus Laurent very well." His smile was sharp. "And you're not fooling anyone."

He let go and walked away.

I stood there, frozen.

He knew. Sebastian Moreau knew I wasn't Marcus.

And he was going to tell everyone.

I looked around frantically. Trying to find an exit. A way out. Somewhere to hide.

Instead, I found Damien.

He was walking toward me. Purpose in every step.

Had Sebastian already told him? Was he coming to confront me? To drag me out in front of everyone?

But when he reached me, his hand went to my lower back. Gentle. Steadying.

"Dance with me," he said.

Not a question. A command.

But his voice was softer than I expected.

He led me to the small dance floor. A string quartet was playing. Something classical I didn't recognize.

Damien's hand found mine. His other hand settled on my waist.

We started moving.

I knew how to do this. My grandmother had insisted I learn to waltz when I was twelve. Said every gentleman should know how to dance properly.

Marcus had refused the lessons. Said dancing was for girls.

So I danced instead.

Damien led. I followed. Our feet moved in perfect sync.

"I didn't know you could dance," Damien said. His voice was quiet. Just for me.

Panic spiked.

"You don't know everything about me," I said.

"Apparently not."

Was that suspicion in his voice? Or something else?

We turned. The music swelled. Other couples joined us on the floor but I barely noticed.

All I could feel was Damien.

His hand on my waist. Warm through the fabric of my shirt. His fingers laced with mine. Strong. Sure.

He smelled like cedar and coffee and something else. Something that made my head spin.

We were close. Closer than we'd been even during the kiss.

I could feel the heat of his body. The steady rhythm of his breathing.

His breath stirred my hair. Warm against my neck.

For a moment, I forgot.

Forgot I was pretending to be someone else. Forgot I was trapped in a lie. Forgot everything except the way it felt to be held by him.

Safe. I felt safe.

Which was insane. This man was going to destroy me when he learned the truth.

But right now, in this moment, I felt like I could breathe.

The music built to a crescendo. Damien spun me. I followed perfectly. We moved like we'd done this a thousand times before.

Like we were meant to fit together.

The final note hung in the air.

We stopped. Still holding each other.

Damien looked down at me. Those blue eyes are intense. Searching.

"Felix," I wanted to say. "My name is Felix."

But I didn't.

Damien's phone rang.

He stepped back. The spell broke.

He pulled out his phone. Looked at the screen. His expression changed. Hardened.

"I have to take this." He answered. "What?" Pause. "How bad?" Longer pause. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up. Looked at me.

"We need to go. Now."

"What's wrong?"

"Factory fire in Berlin. Three people were injured. I need to handle it."

Relief flooded through me. The wedding night was postponed.

I wouldn't have to face that tonight. Wouldn't have to figure out how to avoid Damien finding out I'd never been with anyone.

But underneath the relief was something else.

Disappointment.

Because part of me, a stupid, reckless part, had wanted to see where this night would lead.

"Let's go," Damien said.

He took my hand. We walked toward the exit together.

And I couldn't tell which feeling was stronger.

Relief that I'd been saved.

Or the disappointment that I had.