His eyebrow raises. “Oh?”
Leaning against him, I reach into the bodice of my dress. Josh clears his throat as he watches me extract a tiny envelope from my boobs. “This may not be the most feminist thought, but sometimes I appreciate the fact that your clothes don’t have pockets,” he admits.
I give him a flat look, handing him the envelope, and he shakes out the contents. It’s a small, A5 piece of thick cream card, embossed with swirling rose-gold lettering and clouds of tiny butterflies. Our wedding invitation.
We sent them all out a couple of months ago, but I made sure to save one for him. I’ll be damned if he has a collection of other people’s wedding invites, but not mine. Josh’s face is inscrutable as he traces his finger lightly over the embossing.
“For your wall,” I say, when the silence stretches out a few seconds too long.
He meets my eyes, and the look on his face almost floors me. There’s so much love and light shining out of him, all focussed on me. He tucks the invitation carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket, then curves a hand around the back of my neck, tugging our faces together until our foreheads are touching. My eyes flutter closed. I wait for the kiss, but it doesn’t come. He just holds me there, pressing our skin together. We breathe each other’s air.
“GUYS GUYS GUYS.”
We break apart to see Zack enthusiastically jogging across the dance-floor, dragging a bemused-looking Luke by the wrist.
Josh sighs slightly. “I can’t believe I just signed myself up to a lifetime of him, too.”
“We’re a package deal, I’m afraid.” I pat his chest. “It’ll be okay.”
Zack skids to a stop next to us and pulls a pen out of the pocket of his trousers, shoving it at me. “Here, pine-nut.”
I examine the cheap plastic biro. “Thanks, honey. I love it.”
He checks his watch. “Baby, quick. We’re running out of time! You were born at five-past-ten, right?”
“Um. Yes.”
“Thank God.” He pumps his fist. “Just made it!”
“Zack,” I say slowly, “I love you, but I have no idea what you’re going on about.”
“I do,” Luke says, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a crumpled scrap of paper. He offers it to me, his grey eyes twinkling. “Will you do the honours?”
I glance at the page, and recognition jolts through me as I take in the long list of carefully ticked bullet points. It’s my ten-year-plan.
I pull a face. “God, why do you have that?”
“We’re very fond of it,” Josh says in my ear, kissing the top of my head. “It’s the reason you’re wearing our rings.”
Luke waves the page tantalisingly, and I sigh. “Fine.” I reach forward and grab it, scribbling a wobbly tick in the last box. GET MARRIED.
Zack watches with a look of deep satisfaction. “Think you should triple-tick it, babe,” he suggests when I’m done. “You really knocked this one out of the park.”
Trying not to smile, I obediently add two more ticks. Zack whoops, pulling me out of Josh’s arms and twirling me around. The city flies around me, all of London’s lights swirling together in a vivid stream of amber and white. I’m laughing hard when he finally sets me back down, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Now what, honeybun?” He asks against my temple.
I shrug. “I guess we do my thirties.” I glance up at Luke through my lashes. “And your, like, sixties, honey.”
“I’m not that old,” he protests. “What’s on the ten-year-plan, sweetheart?”
I hum, considering. I haven’t actually written one, but I have a few ideas. “Buy a house,” I decide. “Go to Japan. Teach Zack how to fold a fitted sheet.”
“Hey! They’re tricky!” Zack protests.
“I know, baby.” I think. “Hmm. Show in New York Fashion week. Reach a million sales on the website. Start a garden.”
Josh steps closer at my side, sliding his hand down to curve over my stomach. I get the not-so-subtle hint.
“Have a baby. Or two.” I glance between the three men. “Or maybe three would be more appropriate.”
Considering how different the three men are, they can act remarkably in-sync at times. As soon as the words leave my mouth, the same dark, heated look crosses all of their faces.
Zack looks to see if anyone is watching, then reaches around to grope my behind. “Why don’t we get a head start on that last one?” He asks, his voice suddenly gravelly.
“Right now?” Luke offers, taking my hand. “I’m sure we can make an excuse to go back to the hotel. It’s about time our honeymoon started.”
“What’s the rush?” I smile, tangling my fingers with his. As a light breeze sweeps over the rooftop, sending all of the lanterns swaying in the night sky, our joint future stretches out in my head. It’s so vivid, I can practically see it: the four of us growing older together, our faces lit up by Christmas lights, and birthday cake candles, and New Years’ fireworks. The seasons changing around us. Endless hot summer days and cosy winter nights. Kids, and pets, and houses, and new jobs. We have a whole new life ahead of us. And it’s only just started.
I take a deep breath, then look up into the faces of my three best friends. My neighbours, and my roommates, and my coworkers, and my partners. My husbands. I smile. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Thanks for reading Faking with Benefits!
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CHAPTER ONE - BRIAR
“Now, don’t be dramatic, darling,” my PR manager drawls, examining her nail beds. “It’s not like the man was trying to kill you.”
I close my eyes, rubbing my temples. It’s just turned four AM, and my head is still spinning from last night’s rosé. Red and blue lights flash through the window of my little pink-tiled kitchen, shining in from the police car parked in my drive. Over my head, I can hear the heavy footsteps and low voices of the police officers investigating upstairs.
I am tired.
“A stranger climbed the side of my house, broke my bedroom window, and jerked off in my bed,” I say slowly. “I’m not being dramatic.”
Julie shrugs from her position at the marble breakfast bar, fishing her compact out of her designer purse. “He didn’t even touch you, babe,” she mumbles, patting powder over her pert nose. “This hardly seems like a reason to fire poor Rodriguez.”
My eyes slide to Rodriguez, my home security guard. He refuses to look at me, shifting uncomfortably in his spot next to Julie. His hair is ruffled, his fly is undone, and his shirt is unbuttoned. Julie’s red lipstick is all over his neck.
It’s not too difficult to work out how the intruder managed to get past my gate.
“Yes,” I say flatly. “It is. Rodriguez, do up your trousers and go.”
His eyes widen. “But, ma’am—”
“Don’t ma’am me. You don’t work for me anymore.” I wave at the front door. “Go.”
He stands, puffing his chest out. “Ma’am, really, that’s not fair—”
“Of course it’s fair,” I snap. “You were too busy shagging my staff to notice the strange man breaking into my bedroom. I pay you six figures, and you still can’t get through an eight-hour shift without getting your rocks off. You’re fired. Now get out of my house, before I call your wife and tell her why you no longer have a job.”
I turn on my heel and leave the kitchen, ignoring the muttered ‘bitch’ behind my back.