“Yes, but you’re not eating the soap, are you?”
“It’s still made with glycerin, which is made from animal hooves.” She leaned over and elbow checked him. “Can we not get distracted by soap talk? We’re discussing room arrangements. And since you’re the billionaire, I’m going to need you to pay for me to break my lease.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You gonna pay me back?”
“Hey, you need me. I don’t need you,” she said, voice teasing. Truth was, she kind of did need him. The thought of another person puttering around the house—even if it was his house—filled her with such relief that she knew she was going to take him up on this ridiculous offer, no matter how weird it got.
“Fair enough. I’ll break your lease for you.” He nudged her back with his elbow, a buddy move. “And you need a kitchen for soap. That’s easily done. And I can make the staff sign NDAs about our sleeping arrangements.”
“Or we can just tell them you snore.”
“Or we can do that.”
Chelsea drummed her fingers, thinking. There was a lot to consider with a marriage. “Do I need to take your name?”
“I don’t know. You think it’ll be suspicious if you don’t?” He rubbed his chin, thinking.
“Maybe we can hyphenate. How long is this sham marriage thing going to last? If we’re only doing this for a few months, there’s no point in changing my name.”
“It has to be longer than a few months, or that’ll cause more scandal than it’ll fix.” Sebastian considered. “Would you be okay with two years?”
Two years and she’d be tied to him? It seemed like a long time to date someone . . . but then again, this was platonic. She wasn’t interested in him romantically, just as a friend. And she’d lived with Pisa for three years, and that had gone by in a blink. “We can do two.”
He looked relieved. “You’re pretty easygoing about this.”
Chelsea shrugged. “I’m not after your money, so what’s there to argue over? I assume you want a prenup? I’m really not interested in cashing in.”
“Oh, there will need to be an ironclad prenup or my lawyers will freak the fuck out.” He grinned. “But I’ll give you a settlement. Whatever you think is fair.”
“One million dollars,” she said, quoting Dr. Evil. She raised a pinky to her mouth.
Either he didn’t get her joke, or he didn’t realize she was joking. “A million’s fine. You do know this will be in the tabloids for a month or two, right?”
She shrugged. “I’m not thrilled about it but I figured as much. I promise to be polite and only shoot them the bird every now and then.”
He snorted. “Shoot them the bird as often as you want. Just be ready to be followed.”
That sent a prickle down her spine. “But you’ll be with me, right?”
“Of course. I’ll be holding your hand like a properly newlywed husband.” He reached out and clasped her hand in his.
She looked at their joined hands. So very odd, to be contemplating a quickie, sexless marriage between friends like this. But it just made so much sense, and it’d help both of them. “You think people will buy that we married for love?”
“I think they’ll buy it on my end,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “You’re kind of hot.”
Chelsea grinned at him. “You’re not exactly liver cheese yourself.”
“Liver cheese?” He looked aghast. “It’s clear you’re not doing the grocery shopping in this relationship.”
She stared at his mouth for a moment, another thought occurring to her. “We’re going to have to make this look real, aren’t we?”
“Only if we don’t want to be in the tabloids for a lot longer than we already will be.”
“Then we should practice kissing to make sure that we can do it, and that it doesn’t mean anything.”
His brows drew together. “I’m sorry, but that sounds ridiculous. Practice kissing? What next, a practice fuck?”
“God, no.”