The Fake Fiancée Who Sang at Her Own Wedding novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: One Bed

In the tour suite Joanna lays down the rules, Callie takes the sofa, and a touch at her zipper breaks the first one.

The suite on the twelfth floor had one bedroom, one bathroom, and one king-sized bed.

"They said two beds," Joanna said to the bellman.

"Ma'am, you booked a fiancée suite," he said. "That's the one with the king."

She closed her eyes for a moment.

Then she tipped him twenty dollars and shut the door behind him.

It was past midnight, and the gala was still ringing in my ears.

I kicked off the borrowed heels and stood in the thick carpet in my bare feet.

The living room had a long gray sofa, a coffee table, and a window full of the Nashville skyline.

"I'll take the sofa," I said.

"You'll take the bed," Joanna said. "I booked this."

"You're paying me twenty-four thousand dollars to be here, ma'am. The sofa is my job."

She actually looked at me then.

She had taken off her suit jacket, and under it she wore a plain white shirt with the sleeves pushed up.

Her forearms were thin and strong, and she had a silver watch on the left one.

"Don't call me ma'am," she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

Her mouth twitched.

It was the first time I had seen it twitch, and I decided I wanted to see it again.

She sat down on the arm of the sofa and folded her hands.

"Rules," she said.

"You made rules already. There's a whole page."

"The page covers money. These cover us."

She held up one finger.

"Hand-holding and kissing happen in public. Cameras, crowds, my uncle."

She held up a second finger.

"In this room, we are two professionals sharing a suite."

"Like a business trip."

"Exactly like a business trip."

"With one bed."

"With one bed that you will sleep in," she said, "while I take the sofa. I haven't slept past five in ten years."

"I don't mind the sofa."

"I do."

We looked at each other across the coffee table.

I had known her for four days, and I already knew that she did not lose arguments out loud.

She just waited until you gave up.

"Fine," I said. "Tonight I take the bed. Tomorrow we flip a coin."

"The coin is a bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because I'll lose," she said, "and then I'll feel I owe you something."

I did not know what to say to that.

So I went to find my phone charger.

My phone had a bank alert waiting on the screen.

The first twelve thousand dollars had landed that afternoon, and I had read the number about forty times already.

I read it again.

Under the amount, small and gray, it said Wire From Breckinridge Family Office.

I had never heard of a family office, but the number was real and my landlord would be paid by Friday.

My rent was paid, and I was in the nicest hotel room of my life.

"Joanna," I said. "Thank you. For the wire. You have no idea what that did."

She looked up from her laptop.

"It's a marketing expense," she said. "It's what I pay for a good campaign."

"That's a funny way to say you're nice."

"I'm not nice."

"You tipped the bellman twenty dollars for a room you didn't want."

"That was a bribe to make him go away."

I laughed, and she did not, but she looked at me for a second longer than she needed to.

I went into the bedroom to change.

My dress had a long zipper down the back, and it stuck at my shoulder blades.

I tugged at it for two minutes, and I said a word my mother would not have liked.

"Do you need help?"

She stood in the doorway with her hand on the frame.

"No," I said.

"Callie."

"Yes. Okay. I need help."

She crossed the room, and I turned my back to her and held up my curls.

Her fingers found the stuck pull and worked it loose.

The zipper slid down slowly, an inch, then another.

Cool air touched my spine.

Her knuckles brushed the bare skin between my shoulder blades, and I stopped breathing.

She stopped too.

Neither of us moved for a long time.

"There," she said, and her voice was lower than before.

She did not step back right away.

"Good night, Callie."

"Good night, Joanna."

She left and closed the door gently, and I stood there with my dress loose around me and my heart going again.

A minute later there was a knock on the suite door.

I put on a hotel robe and went out to see.

A housekeeper stood in the hall with a stack of towels and an apologetic face.

"I'm sorry, miss," she said. "A man from Mr. Breckinridge's office asked me earlier which bed the two of you slept in."

Joanna looked up slowly from the sofa, where she was already making herself a bed.

"What did you tell him?" she asked.

"That I didn't know yet," the housekeeper said. "But he said he'd ask again in the morning."

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