Lover by Design
Elise and Laurent Caron arrived looking besotted, which was easy, because the hard part of the cover had stopped being work somewhere around Geneva.
That was the thing neither of us said. The performance kept getting less like performance. When Laurent put his hand at the small of my back to steer me through a doorway, my body no longer had to be told it was pretend. When I laughed at something my devoted husband murmured, the laugh was real before I remembered to make it convincing.
We were selling a couple in love, and the reason we sold it so well was becoming a problem I’d scheduled myself to worry about later.
“You’re doing the thing where you enjoy this,” Michael murmured, handing me a