Page 26 of The Faking Game
“Not me,” he says sharply. “You. If you have someone watching your every move, I want them to know that I’m next to you now. That you’re not alone and that you’ve got a powerful friend in your corner. People here will talk, but an image speaks louder.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize… That’s smart.”
His lips twitch again. “Thank you very much.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
He takes the champagne bottle from my hand and puts it on the windowsill behind me. Then he holds out a hand for his jacket.
“Oh. Right.”
He tosses that beside the champagne bottle, and then the photographer’s attention is on us. I shuffle beside West, and he reaches for the low of my back again, wrapping an arm around me.
It doesn’t feel so bad.
It feels… good, and warm, and strong. And he’s not trying to charm me, to get me into bed. There are no expectations here. It’s an act, and I know how to act.
I tilt my head against his shoulder and smile at the lens. It’s one of the smiles I’ve perfected over years of modeling. The secret smile, a photographer once told me.Like you’re happy and thinking about a secret only you know.Or in this case, a secret only West and I know.
I think of him sitting alone in the armchair years ago, nursing his scotch and looking up to meet my gaze. Me asking.Want to grab a drink?
A flash.
I look up at West and keep that smile in place. He looks down at me, his eyebrows knitting together. His eyes really are the oddest color. The deep shade of whiskey or honey, so unusual beneath the scarred eyebrow. He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
Another flash, and the spell is broken.
I step away from him.
West’s jaw works. He thanks the photographer and reaches for the bottle of champagne. “Come,” he tells me. “We’re done for tonight.”
CHAPTER9
NORA
I wake up with a headache the next morning.
Sunlight streams in through the curtained windows. The space is large, sumptuous. I didn’t get a proper look at it last night, after West dropped me off outside the door to my rooms. Plural.
I sit up slowly, my head throbbing. The bottle of champagne is still on the big dresser beside my bed where I left it. My bags are on the other side. Neatly stacked and waiting for me, just like West told me they would be.
The furniture in here is ornate, the dresser mahogany, the walls a light blue. There’s a nook on the other side with windows that open up to… is that?
I slide out of bed and walk over to pull the curtains back.
The windows open up to the large gardens on the back of the property. I can see parts of the terrace, where I chatted with Amber. The next level down is all green and hedges and a pool. Another staircase down the terraced gardens leads to a boathouse built on the shoreline.
And then there’s the ocean.
The expanse of blue stretches out past the edges of the property, waves softly roaring. The sky is a lighter shade of blue and dotted with clouds.
This nook might be the best thing about the entire room. I walk across the padded floor to the double doors. They open up to my own little sitting room, the first space in the “rooms” that are my own. Two couches, a TV, a desk. Decorated in the same classic, traditional blue colors. It’s understated and rich at the same time.
I head into the en suite and straight into the shower. It’s right next to a beautiful claw-foot tub that overlooks the ocean.
I’m going to have to try that one.
When I get out of the shower and look at the clock, it’s almost eleven, and I feel only marginally better.
