Mother Faker

It’s been almost a full day, and I still can’t get the image of Liv on my bed out of my mind. I laid awake in that damn twin bed last night, focused on every sound she made, straining to hear her. Just the image of her lying on my mattress had me so turned on I almost had to take care of that little problem.

And I might have if there had been a door between my room and hers. Maybe I even would have risked it if she didn’t have a child sleeping in her room. Or if Dylan wasn’t talking like she was Medusa’s damn dead aunt through the vents.

Just as I went to circle my fingers around my dick—look, I’m not proud, but I just needed a little relief—the hauntingly annoying voice started.

“Becketttttt… I hope you enjoy my sheets.”

I stared at the ceiling, willing it to stop, but she was clearly having too much fun.

“And don’t forget, I’m watching you. Be good to Liv and the girls.”

Scrubbing at my face now, I push away the exhaustion. I have to be on my A-game tonight. Liv is meeting the family.

She’s met them all before, of course. She’s worked for us for over a decade. But today, she’s meeting them as my wife.

Fuck, I love calling her that. It’s like I’m a damn caveman, possessive over the word. Over her.

Yet in reality, the woman barely tolerates me.

From my room, if you can call it that, I holler, “You decent?”

She laughs. “I got dressed in the bathroom. Of course I’m decent.”

I clench my fists as my heart skips over just the sound of her laugh. It’s light and carefree, something usually reserved for people who aren’t me. To have her aim that sound at me—even if she’s teasing me—fuck, I like it. Too much, if I’m being honest.

Walking through our now shared closet space, I find Liv standing in front of her mirror, fixing her earring and have to bite back a groan at the way her black dress hugs the curve of her ass. Her curves are fucking spectacular.

Once her earrings are in place, she gathers her hair behind her like she’s going to put it up in her typical bun. “Leave it down.” The words slip out without my permission and her eyes meet mine in the mirror, questioning. I clear my throat and pull my shoulders back. “If you want, that is. You look more relaxed with it down. We’ve got to convince my family that this is real. Maybe looking more relaxed will help.”

Liv worries her lip, but eventually, she nods. “Okay.”

The zipper at her back is snagged near her neck, so I step in close to zip it and am immediately assaulted by her sweet scent. She stiffens beneath my touch, her eyes going round as she watches me in the mirror.

With one hand on her shoulder, I brush her hair to the side so it doesn’t get caught and angle in close to her ear as I meet her eyes in the mirror. “My family will never buy that we’re married if you flinch every time I touch you.”

Pinching her lips to the side, she drops her chin, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Without letting her go, I study the way she’s folding in on herself, as if trying to take up less space with every second that passes. Believing that if she makes herself smaller, she’ll somehow blend. She hasn’t realized that she’s the only one who takes up any space in my head. Her. Not some made-up version of her, but the very real woman who’s currently shrinking beneath my touch.

We might as well call it all off if she’s going to continue to act like this. I won’t make her uncomfortable; I’d rather my father bemoan my bad choices and punish me for marrying Liv in what will be another PR mess she’ll have to clean up.

“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I’ll tell my father the truth. Trust me, the fuckup won’t surprise him.”

Her dark eyes find mine and soften, and then her next words steal my breath. “I think I need to get used to being touched by someone other than my children. Could you maybe…” She bites her lip and searches my face in the mirror. “Could you maybe touch me again?”

It doesn’t matter that my hand is only touching her shoulder. Her words have me burning from within. Need snakes through me, and instantly, my cock is impossibly hard.

“Fuck, Liv.” The sound is one of pure torture. I settle my hand on her shoulder once again, then gently slide my fingers down her bare arm, watching as goose bumps skitter across her soft, pale skin.

Her body hitches, and she pulls in a gasp. With her focus still fixed on me, she licks those damn plump lips again. I want to see them swollen. I want to see her face flushed because I’ve worked those lips over for hours.

Fuck, I want her.

I step back and clear my throat. “We should go.”

“Will all your siblings be at dinner?” Liv asks, sounding too nervous for a person who has spent a great deal of time with my family over the years. We’ve just pulled into the underground garage at my penthouse, where my parents are hosting dinner, much to my dismay.

“Pretty sure Gavin and Brooks will be there. Aiden is probably bringing his girlfriend, Jill.” I can’t help the way my lip curls when I say her name. She’s entitled and materialistic and, in my opinion, only sees my brother as her ticket to the high life.

Being used for what we can buy a person or what sort of connections we can make isn’t new for any of us, but Aiden has always had this almost doe-like take on love. Like our parents didn’t love him enough when he was a kid, and he’s just looking for that one relationship to change everything.

His high school girlfriend was different. I’ve never seen Aiden be more himself around anyone than he was with her. Probably because they were best friends before they fell in love.

“No Sienna?” Liv asks as I open her door and offer my hand to help her out of my silver Bentley Mulliner Batur. It has black and red interior, and although the signature Bs on the tires and seats don’t stand for Beckett or Boston, I like to pretend they do. Only eighteen of these cars exist. With 710 horsepower from its twin-turbocharged engine, it’s the most powerful Bentley ever made.

It’s impractical, but I love it. My penthouse, my Bentley, my vacation home in the Keys… What can I say? I like nice things.

Speaking of which… Before I help her out, I pull the diamond Liv keeps leaving in all the wrong places—namely, not on her finger—from my pocket.

“You forgot this.” I slide my hand gingerly under hers, running it beneath that fourth finger.

Her inhale makes me wish we weren’t going to dinner with my family. If she reacts this way to such a simple touch, I can only imagine the response I could conjure if I was allowed to get just a little closer. Her eyes widen when she catches sight of the diamond I slipped onto her finger. My band never leaves mine.

“Pretty sure she was heading back to Paris for filming, but I could be wrong.”

Liv blinks a few times, then gives her head a slight shake and lifts her chin, taking my proffered hand and stepping from the car. “That’s right. I forgot she was working on a show with Jolie magazine. When does it premiere?”

“May, I think. They’re throwing a big party to celebrate in Paris. It’ll be good to see Jay.” My best friend was once again back in Paris, and I hated not having him around.

Liv’s eyes light up, and she lets out a dreamy sigh. “Paris in May. God, what a dream.”

“You should come,” I say without any thought as I press the button for the elevator.

“What?” she asks, her mouth dropping open.

Feeling more sure of my plan, I usher her into the elevator. “You’re my wife, Liv. People will expect you to be there.” I nod once, like it’s settled, far too excited about a trip to the city of love with my fake wife.