Bad Fiancé Read online

  His hands wove into her hair, tilting her chin, savoring that sweet fucking mouth until—

  Sugar cleared her throat.

  Loudly.

  And the expression on her face when he glanced over told him that it hadn’t been for the first time.

  “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

  He slipped his hand into Sera’s, squeezed lightly. “No.”

  Then as Sugar’s mouth dropped open, words apparently stoppering up in her throat, Tate tugged Sera forward, and they wound their way through the tables, not stopping when Roche called his name, not stopping until they were outside the restaurant.

  “Which one is your car?”

  She pointed, and still not stopping, he took off down the street.

  Until Sera’s breaths began coming in short bursts.

  Concerned he’d upset her all over again, Tate glanced to his side.

  The joy in her expression made his feet skitter to a stop. “Baby? You okay?”

  She shook her head, chest still heaving, and he was enough of a pig to appreciate the view for a long moment . . . at least until he realized how much of an asshole that made him, staring at his future wife’s breasts as she cried on the sidewalk.

  Except—

  She wasn’t crying.

  She was laughing.

  Sera slipped her hand from his, reached up and wiped the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, laughter pouring out of her now, and he was torn between relief that she wasn’t upset and concern. Nothing about that scene inside the restaurant had been funny. It had been heartbreaking . . . well, except for the kiss.

  That had been hot as hell.

  “Did I—”

  Another shake of her head. More laughter.

  Had he broken her? Had his kiss been so bad that something had gone wrong in her brain?

  Tate froze, mentally slapped himself upside the head.

  That kiss had broken him.

  As in, it had broken his capacity for normal human interaction.

  He snorted. Not that he’d had much of one in the first place.

  Sera glanced up, fighting a smile, but the sight of her lips twitching made his own mouth curve in response.

  “Your mother’s face,” he said.

  And then they were both laughing.

  “She was . . . horrified!” Sera gasped. “And jealous, I think.” Her hand rested on his arm. “I didn’t realize you could kiss like that, Conner. I might have accepted your proposal sooner if I had.”

  Tate chuckled, trying to play it cool even though his cheeks felt hot. “I practice on my pillow,” he deadpanned.

  She went still, lips parting in surprise. “I—”

  He leaned in, brushed his mouth along the shell of her ear. “I’m kidding.”

  A shiver through her frame. “I knew that.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure. I know you were thinking that it wasn’t a stretch for the nerdy tech guy to practice French kissing with his linens.” Lacing their fingers together, he started them on their way again. “I’m teasing,” he said when she began to protest. “But let’s go before your mother decides to track us down and assault you over flower choices.”

  “Good point.” She tilted her head to the street they were approaching. “My car’s just another block over.”

  He frowned. “No valet?”

  “No,” she said with a self-conscious shrug. “I hate paying for that kind of stuff. Such a waste.” Another shrug. “Plus, these heels are ridiculously comfortable. I could walk a mile in them.”

  He studied them for a few steps, named the brand.

  Sera gaped up at him. “How in the heck could you possibly know that?”

  “My first FundHer,” he said, now the one doing the self-conscious shrug. “Or at least the inspiration for it.” Tate explained how he’d loaned his former employee the initial money to get the business going.

  “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s kind of amazing.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Kind of?” he teased. “But seriously, this is more about her than me. I’ve found that time and again, women have these great ideas, but they’re shut down at meetings or don’t have the connections or inroads that I had. Even though I wasn’t from a wealthy family growing up and I was a big nerd, I was also a white male nerd, and that came with inroads other people didn’t have. Especially women and people of color.” He wrinkled his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go all social justice warrior on you. The money I’ve made from my company is great,” he said. “Even if it’s not the key to happiness, it definitely makes things easier.”

  “Yeah,” Sera murmured, slowing next to the hybrid sedan he recognized as hers from the real estate visits. “It does.”

  “But, I—it’s stupid I guess, but I had this moment—”

  Well, moments, he supposed. Priscilla wanting him to buy her something else. His board always worried about numbers. His family wanting and wanting and wanting.

  Tate was happy to help.

  But he was tired of feeling like a bank.

  Which was when he’d gotten the idea.

  He could be a bank. For those who were worthy.

  Luckily, that idea—the choosing the worthy, not the bank part, because who in the fuck was he to decide who was worthy?—had morphed pretty quickly and he’d come up with FundHer. Microloans. Some voted on by the public via a social media component of the app, others handpicked by a board of qualified volunteers. And volunteers was the key word here, because this was about giving money away, not making it back, and Tate planned to roll back any profits made right back into the program. That fact was also why he’d had such a struggle finding people to invest alongside him.

  Because it was more donation rather than investment.

  And if he’d learned one thing from having money, it was that the rich didn’t like to part with it. But he’d also learned that he had enough.

  A soft hand on his arm. “You had a moment?”

  Tate blew out a breath. “I had this moment when I realized that I have enough.” He put up a hand. “Look, I’m not completely unselfish. Not by a longshot. I’m not planning on giving every dollar of my fortune away, but I don’t need it all, and I want to make sure it goes to something worthwhile.”

  He blinked, coming out of his brain, realizing that he’d been staring off into space thinking about FundHer and his past and feeling so fucking vulnerable that he was ready to bolt. “I should—”

  Fingers on his jaw. “If I hadn’t already agreed to marry you because of your kissing ability, that would have done it.”

  His whole body stilled. “What?”

  A press of her mouth to his cheek. “This is me.” She stepped back. “Good night, Tate.”

  Then she got in her car and drove away.

  Without hitting him this time.

  But Tate still felt as though he’d gotten smacked in the head for a second time. Somehow, he’d gone from a fake engagement to a fake marriage to . . .

  Maybe wanting to be married for real.

  To a woman who’d never been far from his thoughts since the first moment he’d met her.

  Why did he feel as though he were in for a world of hurt?

  Ten

  Sera: I need Wine Night. I mean Book Club.

  Abby: It’s late. Are you okay?

  Sera: Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was.

  Sera: Never mind. I’m fine.

  Sera: I’ll talk to you guys soon.

  Heather: Slow your text roll, Sera.

  CeCe: Seriously. Yes, it’s late, but I, for one, am already up with the baby. He or she keeps sitting on my bladder and I have to pee every ten seconds.

  Sera: Oh no.

  Sera: —

  CeCe: Do NOT say you’re sorry. Babies don’t like to sleep, remember? This is just practice.

  Abby: Amen, girlfriend.

  Rachel: Heather’s my boss, so I never sleep anyway.

  Heather:
Hey!

  Abby: I’d say you can come here, but the kids are all asleep.

  Heather: Does that include Jordan?

  Abby: I think we’ve already established the fact that your brother is NOT a child. He’s a god . . .

  Abby: In bed.

  Abby: *waggling eyebrows GIF*

  Heather: *vomiting GIF*

  Rachel: ^^I second this.

  Bec: I really wish I hadn’t picked up my phone at the moment Abby declared her husband a god in the sack.

  Heather: *shudder* Dear God, don’t say sack.

  Abby: Focus, ladies.

  Bec: Pot meet kettle.

  CeCe: Shh! No one change. I’m convening Wine Night at my house since Colin had to do a quick flight back to Scotland and I’m not fit to leave my living room.

  Sera: I don’t want to interrupt.

  CeCe: Please save me from this parasitic lump. I love him or her already, but if this is in my future. I need wine . . . or to live vicariously through you guys drinking it.

  Abby: I can do that.

  Bec: Someone bring me pajamas. I’m just leaving the office.

  Heather: Of course you are. What about that work-life balance you were supposed to be finding with Luke?

  Rachel: I’m stealing Bec’s line and saying Pot meet kettle.

  Heather: Traitor.

  Rachel: Never. Anyway, I’m on my way with wine in hand and pajamas in my trunk already for just this emergency.

  Bec: Your assistant is freakishly efficient.

  Heather: She’s mine. You can’t have her.

  Abby: I’m getting in my car. I’ll see you in ten minutes.

  CeCe: Sera?

  Sera: . . .

  Abby: We go to CeCe’s or you make the uncomfortable pregnant woman leave her house to come to yours.

  Sera: I’ll be there in twenty.

  Bec: Good that gives us ten minutes to gossip about you.

  Sera: Hilarious.

  Abby: Damn right, we are.

  Sera: Thank you, guys.

  Abby: Drive safe.

  Eleven

  Sera

  * * *

  They pounced the moment she was on CeCe’s porch.

  “Holy shit,” Abby said. “That dress—”

  Bec took Sera’s hand, spun her in a circle. “That is a naughty, naughty dress.”

  Rachel tilted her head to the side. “It’s not that sexy.”

  Bec tugged her inside. “No. It’s not. But it is naughty because she’s covered up enough to tease, but it’s still fitted enough to show every inch of our darling Seraphina’s fucking gorgeous body.”

  Sera pulled her hand free and, self-conscious, crossed her arms over her stomach. She glanced at Rachel. “You don’t happen to have emergency pajamas for me too, do you?”

  A concerned look from the sweet brunette. “I’ll go grab them.”

  Abby took her hand. “Are you okay?”

  Sera started to nod, stopped. “No,” she said. “I don’t think I am.”

  Bec’s expression went from teasing to deadly. “Who do I have to kill?”

  Sera laughed, but then the laugh broke and her eyes filled with tears and she wasn’t sure how she felt. Happy, sad, excited, terrified. Really fucking hurt. “I’m—” A hiccup. “—fine. I’m just—”

  Her chin dropped to her chest.

  “Really fucking confused.”

  The room went silent.

  “You cursed,” Abby said, surprise in her voice.

  “Yes,” Sera said. “I cursed. Big fucking deal. I curse in my head all the time, okay? And I have dirty thoughts, just the same as you all.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “I know!” Sera dashed a hand across her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m a total jerk, but dammit, I feel like the whole world sees me as this animatron. A superficial, one-note female who should just stand there and look pretty and—”

  She sighed. “And . . . Tate doesn’t see me that way.”

  More silence.

  “Sera—”

  A wave of her hand. “No,” she said. “I saw my parents tonight, and I’m just in a weird mood.”

  Abby frowned. “I don’t think that’s it.”

  Sera shrugged. “I’m just tired.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m fine, dammit!”

  And silence round three.

  “Hmm,” Heather said then, “So who is Tate?”

  “He’s . . . uh . . . I . . . uh—” Sera’s jaw worked, trying to find the right words to explain. She glanced between her friends, but they were all staring at her as though she were an alien who’d taken over their friend’s body.

  Rachel visibly shook herself then held the pajamas out that she’d retrieved from her car. “Need help changing?”

  Sera shook her head, grabbing the package and with a murmured, “Thank you,” brushed past her friends. She hurried down the hall, pushed through the bathroom door then leaned back against it.

  God, she’d spent too much of her time that evening in bathrooms.

  Her phone buzzed and she jumped, having forgotten that she’d tucked it in her bra.

  It was a message from Abby.

  I’m sorry I pushed.

  Another buzz.

  Come out for wine.

  Her cell vibrated again, and the GIF of a female comedian chugging a giant glass of wine made her laugh—a watery, broken laugh but a laugh just the same. She pulled down the zipper on the side of her dress, stepped out of it and her heels, then hung the former on a hook on the wall. Rachel had removed the tags on the pajamas—she was freakishly efficient as Bec had said—and so Sera just tugged the silky pants and top on.

  Instantly, she felt a hundred times better.

  Since there was whispering outside the door, no doubt a conclave on figuring out what they should do with this strange imposter who’d taken over their friend, Sera opened the door.

  The five women she loved most were cloistered in the hall, matching concerned expressions on their gorgeous faces.

  Her stomach clenched because great, she was making them worry.

  And her next bit of news was going to worry them further.

  “I’m fine,” she said, “I’ve just had a hell of a few days, and”—she sucked in a breath then took a page out of Tate’s book by just blurting out—“I’m getting married.”

  She’d expected stunned silence at her proclamation, but Sera supposed she’d shocked them into quiet too often during the last fifteen minutes, and so instead of a lack of noise greeting her declaration, she was assaulted with five voices speaking at once.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Heather.

  “To who?” CeCe.

  “Are you being blackmailed? I will tie his ass up in legal paperwork so deep he won’t be able to dig his ass out.” Bec.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Rachel.

  “Um. Maybe this shouldn’t be my first Wine Night? Or Book Night? You know what? I’ll just go,” a slender brunette said, turning for the door.

  Sera frowned, pulling herself out of her own brain, and said, “Wait.” It had taken her a minute, but she recognized Kelsey. She belonged to Rachel, or well, technically she was Sebastian’s sister—who was Rachel’s fiancé. Sera had forgotten they’d invited her to join their Book Club.

  This was the first time she’d made it.

  Of course, it was.

  Rachel winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I was supposed to meet up with Kelsey and invited her to come over.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t realize—”

  Kelsey shrugged into her jacket, smiled too brightly. “I’ll come back another time.” She held up a bottle of rum. “I’ll just leave this here.”

  The girls stared at her.

  Bringing alcohol pretty much cemented your way into Wine Night.

  It was a fact of life, or maybe a law of nature.

  Sera shook her head, pointed at the living room, since this
meeting in the hallway was getting a little claustrophobic. “Please, stay. I didn’t mean to take over. Why don’t we all just sit down and get to know each other?”

  “I don’t think you need to get to know me right now,” Kelsey said, voice gentle. “I think you need your friends.” The barest smile. “And maybe wine.”

  “Amen, sister,” Heather said.

  Sera snorted. “You’re right. About the wine that is.” She sucked in a breath, released it slowly. “Okay, so you can stay if you want to witness the crazy—just know there’s one rule to Wine Club.”

  Kelsey’s face paled slightly. “What’s that?”

  “Never let my glass go empty.”

  She laughed. “I was thinking it would be something scary like, The first rule of Wine Club is there is no Wine Club. Filling your glass? I’m all over that.”

  Sera let her eyes go wide. “Never joke about alcohol.”

  Abby slid her arm around Sera’s waist, tugged her toward the couch. “Exactly. And it sounds like we’re going to need it for this conversation. What’s going on?”

  “Rum first.”

  Abby nodded, grabbing a couple of empty glasses from CeCe and filling them up as the rest of the girls poured drinks of their own. Wine for Bec and Heather, vodka for Rachel and Kelsey, and orange juice for CeCe.

  “Sorry,” Sera said when CeCe gave her cup a rueful glance.

  “I’m not,” CeCe replied, plunking down next to her. “I’ve been craving this stuff all nine months.”

  “You’d just like some in the form of a screwdriver right now,” Heather quipped.

  “Stop rubbing it in, ‘kay?” CeCe mock-glared. “Vodka will be my friend again soon.”

  “Spoken like a true Wine Club member,” Rachel said.

  “I don’t know how Book Club became Wine Club, but we really need to rethink the name. Some of our members don’t like wine.”

  “You don’t like wine,” Heather pointed out.

  “I’d like to bring up the fact that the majority of us are not drinking wine at the moment . . .”