“I like to keep my dating life and my home life separate, and especially with you being you.”

“Me being me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come off it.” He rolls his eyes. “The night we spent together wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering moment.”

It was for me. My heart sinks.

“You were engaged to another man, for fuck’s sake.”

It wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering moment.

Our night meant nothing to him. He hasn’t thought about it again since.

“You’re right.” I look up, determined to get over this dick. “I was.”

His cold eyes hold mine.

Awkward . . .

“What?” I sip my coffee, feeling like an errant child.

“So . . . let me get this straight. You were engaged to be married while fucking other men.”

“We had an open relationship,” I lie.

He tilts his chin to the sky, angered. “I don’t know much about marriage, but I can be pretty fucking sure I wouldn’t be sharing my future wife.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling uneasy with his contempt. “What do you want, Henley?” I snap. “Did you barge in here to make me feel like shit? Because mission accomplished, you’ve done just that.”

He stands. “I will pick you up on Saturday for the wedding.”

I stare at him, and I know that I should stay far away from this selfish bastard forever.

Move house even.

But the thought of being on his arm just one more time sends me into overdrive.

“Three o’clock,” I murmur.

His eyes hold mine. “Three o’clock.”

It’s 5:40 a.m., and I am on the front porch, stretching for my run. Right on cue, Henley’s front door opens, and he walks out in his suit.

My heart somersaults in my chest at the mere sight of him.

Where does he go so early every day?

His office doesn’t open until nine. I mean, I know he would have to go in early sometimes, but every single day, even on weekends?

He glances up and gives me a sexy smile. We stare at each other for a beat longer than necessary, and then he gets into his car and drives out.

He gives me a casual wave as he drives past, and like the fangirl I am, I wave right back.

I watch his car disappear around the corner and make a mental note of what I have to do today.

Buy a new dress, the hottest one known to man. Book a hair appointment for Saturday and get everything waxed.

I mean everything.

A knock sounds at my door. It’s Saturday, after the longest week in history.

He’s here.

I’m regretting this before I even go. Stupid, stupid. What am I thinking? Just get it over with.

I open the door in a rush. “Hi.”

His eyes drop down to my toes and back up to rest on my face. “Hello.” He gives me a slow sexy smile. “You look”—he inhales sharply—“good.”

I try to hide my smile; he likes the dress. “Hello, Henley.” I grab my purse and shawl.

We get into his car, and he pulls out onto the road. “How was your week?” he asks.

Long.

“Good, thanks. How was yours?”

“Busy.”

I twist my fingers in my lap and stare out the window as we drive, and I go over the game plan for today.

Stay distant.

Whatever I do, remember that this is just a game to him.

I can’t be too chatty or friendly. I just have to let the day pan out.

We drive in silence for the rest of the way and finally pull into the parking lot.

The wedding is at a big country house estate. The gardens are beautiful, and I can see the white chairs lined up in rows near a floral arbor. That must be where the vows will be exchanged.

I internally count the ways that this could end badly. “This looks nice,” he says as he parks the car.

“It does.” My nerves are pumping, and suddenly this doesn’t seem like such a smart strategy.

He opens my car door and takes my hand and pulls me up into his arms, our faces only millimeters away from each other’s, and my breath catches.

His eyes darken and drop to my lips. “Today, you’re mine.”

I inch back from him. “Pretending to be yours.”

He smirks before licking his lips. And somehow, I think his conquering me has become the world’s greatest challenge. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he says as he takes my hand in his. “Invitation?”

Sweetheart.

I dig in my bag and pass it to him. And he reads it as we walk. “Just so you know how to act today, I like my women submissive.”

Ha . . . you wish.

“Just so you know how to act today,” I reply as we walk across the parking lot, “I like my men submissive.”

His hand is big around mine, and it’s giving me all the flutters. There’s like this electrical current that’s running through his body and into mine.

Does he feel it too?

He doesn’t seem to. He’s as unaffected by me as you could possibly be.

Seriously, what was I thinking?

So fucking dumb, Juliet.

We walk through the giant archway doors of the atrium, and I look around in awe. “Wow.”

Everything on the round tables is white, with fancy silverware and candelabras and huge bouquets of white and cream flowers in big beautiful vases. Oversize chandeliers are hanging down in a dramatic fashion on silver chains.

Henley’s eyes roam over the space, and he smiles. “Very nice.”

“Great place for a wedding reception.”

He puts his hand on my behind and pulls me close as he puts his mouth to my ear. “Great place for our first fake date.” His breath tickles my senses, and goose bumps scatter. I smile bashfully.

Stop it.

Fake date . . . this is a fake date.

Don’t forget that for a moment.

He’s already said we can never eventuate into something, due to us living next door to each other, and to be honest, he does have a very valid point.

Henley pulls the invitation out of his pocket and glances down at it. “The service is out on the lawn.” He pulls me by the hand. “This way.”

He’s so tall and intentional. As he pulls me through the room, people turn and look at him. And suddenly, I remember.

I remember what it’s like to have someone take charge.

I haven’t had it for so long, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

He leads me through the garden to the perfectly lined up chairs. “Which side?” he whispers.

I smile up at him.

“What?”

“How many weddings have you been to?”

He smirks, embarrassed by his obvious inside knowledge of weddings. “I’m thirty-three—nearly everyone I know is married. Some of my friends twice.”

“Left,” I reply.

He ushers me through. And we sit to the left. He picks up the program and flicks through it. “How did these two meet?” he asks.

“Who, the bride and the groom?”

“Yeah.”

“Um.” I lean into him to talk softly. “They met on Tinder and went on a date but hated each other. He wore her down for a second date and then redeemed himself.”

He smirks.

“She wasn’t interested at first.” I want to elaborate on my story a little. “But he has a really great dick, and she couldn’t resist.”

Naughtiness flashes across his face. “And so she shouldn’t—great dicks are hard to find these days.”

“That’s what I said.”