Page 65 of Resist
I’ve spent forever making sure I never end up “in distress” or needing anyone’s help, and yet it’s exactly where I ended up.
Resentment claws my body, not because of Sterling being as kind and selfless as he is, but at my father, for putting such archaic restrictions on me taking over the company, for trying to force me into a situation he knew I didn’t want to be in... Hell, even for dying on me.
“You ready?” My fake husband appears wielding a giant knife. “It’s time to have your cake and eat it too.” He wiggles his brows at me.
“If you smush it in my face there’ll be consequences.” I point my finger at him. “Don’t fuck up my makeup.”
He pulls me toward him with his free arm. “I love it when you bring out your domme voice.” There’s an undeniable undercurrent of “growl” in his voice that sends waves of goosebumps across my body.
“I mean it, Sterling.”
The heat in his eyes pushes a waver into my voice.
“I love when you say my name.” His free hand moves to the curve at the bottom of my spine as he guides me toward the cake. It’s a three tier, chic, rustic cake with a crumb coating and flowers that match my bouquet. “I’d like to goon record and tell you, it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to smash cake over your face.”
My shoulders relax.
“You’re afraid people may see that you’re a red-blooded human being like the rest of us?” He quirks a brow, as my heart twitches. My whole life, I’ve never really known how to let go and have fun.
I tilt my head, staring into those icy blues. Today isn’t really my wedding, and when you break it down, we’re essentially playing a role. Maybe the person I’m pretending to be knows how to have a little fun. Maybe the person I’m pretending to be doesn’t mind getting cake smeared across her perfectly applied face of makeup.
A shudder crawls up my spine. Nope. Definitely not. “Promise? I need you to promise you’re not going to spread cake over my face, Sterling.”
He studies my face intently for a long moment. “Cake trauma?”
A giggle slips out from me and my hand flies to my mouth. “No. I just don’t like mess.”
He arches that emotive brow of his. “Okay. Liar.”
My face heats. “Promise. Or there’ll be a Cora shaped hole in the wall as I flee.”
He nods solemnly. “No cake smash. I promise.”
True to his promise, the cake cutting goes off without a hitch, in fact, he even wipes my lips with a napkin like a true gentleman after he feeds me a little square of deliciousness.
Before we hit the dance floor, he calls Thor over and points to the cake. We didn’t get a groom’s cake, so I’m guessing he wants to save some of the cake for us to truly enjoy later. That tiny mouthful was quite the tease. I’d love a doorstop sized slab all to myself, and from how my fake husband is eyeballing the cake, he feels the same.
Thor reappears with a box and sweeps the entire top layerof cake away from the rest of the crowd. Sterling holds his hand out to me and guides me to the middle of the dancefloor. We haven’t practiced, we haven’t choreographed, and we haven’t even discussed the first dance song.
The dulcet tones of Lewis Capaldi echo around the wide space and high ceilings asLove the Hell Out of Youplays through the speakers. Relief that it’s a song we can shuffle across the shiny floor takes over as my fake husband holds my stare with his and places his strong hand in the middle of my back as he guides me around to the beat.
The twinkling lights, the romantic nature of weddings, and the fact that he’s staring at me like I have all the secrets to the universe makes me suck in a deep breath and hold onto it. I’m afraid if I let go, if I let this moment pass, he’ll stop looking at me like I hung the moon and realize I’m just a regular woman.
In fact, I’m not even a regular woman. I’ve never really known how to “girl” properly.
He pulls me closer, his fingers trailing up and down my spine as he sashays me across the room. “Take a breath, Corabelle. I’ve got you.”
I do as he asks and allow oxygen to refill my body, and for the duration of the song—even under the scrutiny of Michael and his asshole cronies—I let myself believe that Sterling really does have me. And that our plan could really work. Because if it doesn’t, I’m going to lose it all.
CHAPTER 23
Sterling
Haveyou ever seen a beautiful bride at the end of the night looking even more radiant and glamorous than she did at the ceremony?
It’s as though the pressure, the expectation, the facade of our deception has been set down for the evening, and she’s letting herself just... be, just take it all in and relish the time with our friends.
She’s sitting with her back against the arm of a couch at the side of the room, her legs outstretched, her ivory dress fallen over her knees revealing red high heel clad feet crossed at the ankles.