Fake Empire by C.W. Farnsworth
CHAPTER ONE
SCARLETT
My fianc閽s gaze meets mine across the crowded club. I hold his stare. I抦 not in the business of backing down from anyone, including him.
Especially him.
It抯 harder to break a habit than to form one.
The thirty feet separating us shroud them, but I know the intense eyes currently fixed on me are blue. Hovering in a shade somewhere between icy and navy. Inviting, like the flat water surrounding a tropical island. One glance and you can imagine exactly how walking into that water will feel.
The first time I saw Crew Kensington, I was tempted to tell him, You have the prettiest eyes I抳e ever seen. I was fifteen. I didn抰 end up saying a word to him, because those eyes are the only attribute of his that could be described as inviting. Because they weren抰梐ren抰梙is only attractive feature, and that used to intimidate me speechless.
Crew doesn抰 look away, even when a busty blonde wearing a dress that barely hits her mid-thigh decides to rub up against him. The redhead who was already hanging on to his left arm shoots the new arrival an annoyed glare. Neither sight surprises me. Look up player in the dictionary, and you抣l find a two-page spread of the billionaire slouched against the long bar top like he owns it.
I can feel the confidence radiating off him from here. The cocky assurance that comes from the Kensington name and also contains something uniquely Crew. Since he arrived a few minutes ago, he抯 reduced every rich, powerful, handsome man in here into a knockoff version. They抮e all attainable. Not nearly as gorgeous. Poor by comparison.
Everyone in here already knows who he is. But even if Crew had a different last name and a less robust bank account, I still think I would be staring.
Call it presence or charisma or good genes. I抳e had to fight for privileges I should have been born with. Crew has them all without trying and yet people still bend over backwards to ensure he doesn抰 have to work for anything.
And he knows it. Uses it.
The blonde is working hard to get his attention, running her hand up his arm, twirling her hair, and batting her eyelashes. Crew doesn抰 look away from me. The redhead follows his attention. Her pretty features twist with displeasure when she sees me.
I抦 not bothered by her glare.
I am bothered by Crew抯 stare.
This has become a competition between us. A game. We抳e danced around each other for years. We attended different boarding schools throughout high school. Both ended up at Harvard for undergrad. He went to Yale for business school; I attended Columbia for the same two years.
The whole time, we knew we抎 be inevitable. No need to fight it梠r acknowledge it. That will change soon. This comfortable dynamic will shatter as easily as the thin stem of glass I抦 holding.
I raise my martini to him in a silent cheers. Immediately, I second-guess the motion. It feels like toppling the first domino. Moving the first pawn. I don抰 play games until I know the rules. When it comes to me and Crew, I抦 not even sure if there are boundaries in place.
One corner of his mouth curls up before he finally looks away, snipping the invisible string temporarily connecting us. For the first time in what feels like hours, I exhale. Then pull in a deep breath of the cool air swirling with the scent of expensive perfume and top-shelf liquor. Followed by a healthy sip of my cocktail.
Those damn ocean eyes. I feel them on me, even when he抯 not looking.
揝hit, who抯 that??
I keep my eyes on the curl of lime peel balancing on the rim of my drink. Mostly because I know who Nadia is talking about. We抳e been sitting in this booth at Proof for forty-five minutes. In that stretch of time, I抳e only spotted one person who could possibly merit the awed tone she抯 using. Since I抦 the single one in the booth, this will inevitably circle around to me.
揥ho??Sophie asks, looking up from her phone. She might be more dedicated to her work than I am, which is saying something.
揟he hottie with dark hair,?Nadia answers. 揃y the bar with the two hang-ons.?
Sophie looks, then laughs. 揝eriously? You don抰 know??
Nadia shakes her head.
Sophie抯 eyes land on me. 揟hat抯 Scarlett抯 future husband.?
I flick the curl of lime off the rim with a crimson nail before leaning back against the leather booth. 揘othing is official yet.?The yet sounds more ominous than usual. Probably because I know my father met with Arthur Kensington last week.
Nadia gapes at me. 揥ait. You mean you抮e actually getting married? To him??
I shrug. 揚robably.?
揇o you even know him??
揑 know enough.?
I抦 not surprised Nadia looks shocked by the unexpected revelation I抣l likely marry a man I抳e never even mentioned. Just like I wasn抰 all that surprised Sophie recognized Crew on sight, since she has an unhealthy obsession with New York抯 ever-churning gossip mill. I wasn抰 expecting her to know about our rumored engagement. As far as I knew, any published gossip fizzled after years of total silence from both of our families. Whispers among our social circle are another matter, but Sophie wouldn抰 be privy to those.