Katie
After one more day and night of lovemaking and room service in the hotel, me with a delightfully sore
tush the entire time, Darius’s publicist convinced him it’d be best if we left for our trip early.
Apparently, the news crews haven’t let up and though we are untouched by the drama here in our fifty-
fifth floor penthouse condo, they’re causing quite a scene and a traffic jam on the street below.
She’s assured us that only his most trusted staff know that we’ll be heading to Georgia. We’ll be safe
from the flashing lights of the camera and the nosy journalists there. Besides, Darius said his
grandmother has a shotgun, and if anyone trespasses on her property, she’s not afraid to use it.
She seems like quite the character, and I can’t wait to meet her. I just hope I can play the part of
fiancée well enough to convince her it's true.
Early this morning, I packed up the clothing he’d purchased for me, my nerves building with every
minute I prepared for our trip.
Now, I sit on the private jet tearing petals from the flower the stewardess handed me as a welcome
gift when I first boarded.
He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves
me... the delicate yellow ovals flutter onto my tray.
I pull the last one from the center of the flower.
He loves me not.
My heart falls. Silly game. Sneaking a side glance at Darius, I try to imagine my life before him.
We’ve known one another such a short time, and yet I have a hard time remembering who Katie Ann
Davis was before she met Darius Morrow.
I can’t.
All I feel when I think back to that time before I entered the Sugar Daddies Escort Service meeting
is... loneliness.
Having someone take care of you, look out for you, the way he does for me, it's everything.
And I was foolish to think I could leave him behind.
Never did I think I’d say I was grateful for a man tracking me down and spanking my ass, but I am.
I’m grateful that he cared. And if I’m honest? I came really hard after that.
The stewardess comes by, frowning at the mess I’ve made. She goes to push the petals into her open
palm, but I hold out my hand to stop her. “No, let me. Sorry about that.”
Scooping the precious remains of the flower, I slide them into my empty cup. As I pick up the stem
with the center of the flower still attached, I turn it over in my hands. My breath catches in my throat.
There on the back of the flower head is one, tiny yellow petal, just beginning to grow when the flower
was picked.
He loves me!
Darius sleeps beside me in his plush chair, but I find myself snuggling down at his side, careful not to
wake him. He murmurs sleepily, “There’s a good Katie Kat.” His heavy arm slides out from beneath
my ribcage, and he wraps it around my shoulders like a blanket of protection.
The night he chased me down changed things. Before then, he was aloof, detached, and I wondered if
I was anything more than a commodity to him. But now... now I’m not sure what to think. In some
ways it was easier when he was just the aloof billionaire.
I lay my head on his shoulder and listen to the sound of his deep, heavy breaths.
He loves me.
We are halfway across the country, flying to Peach Orchard, Georgia. This is as far away from home
as I’ve ever been. I’ve always lived in Nevada, I’m one of the residents that’s actually from there,
who knows how to pronounce it. I’m a Nevadan, and we say, Ne-VAD-uh.
I’ve never been to the South before. Will it be that different from where I’ve grown up? Based on
what I’ve seen, I’m thinking it will be. I’m excited, but apprehensive. What will his family think of
me? I wish I could sleep, or at least rest my eyes, but I stare straight ahead, worrying... what if they
hate me?
Or, what if they don’t believe me to be his fiancée? What if they take one look at me, short and curvy
with blonde hair that hasn’t even been professionally highlighted, a young woman with no real career,
and wonder to themselves No way, un huh is that Darius’s fiancée. Or, how did he end up with her?’
How could they not?
Certainly, they’ll at least think I’m some gold digger, after him for his money. Engaged, with plans of
a prenup and a lavish wedding followed by a brutal divorce after which I steal half of his wealth. My
chest rises as I heave a sigh so loud that it wakes him.
Yawning and stretching, he pulls his arm from me. “Something wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping? I’d
think after the night you’d had you’d be passed out.”
Should I tell him the truth, or play tough? Who am I kidding? Tough isn’t in my nature.
I take a deep breath and go for broke. “I’m... worried. What if they don’t like me? Or figure out we’re
not really engaged?”
“Is that what has your brow furrowed in that cute way?” My heart pitter-patters in my chest. Oh, I like
this side of him.
I look down at my left ring finger. “I mean, look. I don’t even have a ring.” I waggle the lonely little
plain finger.
“Hmm. That is a problem.” Darius shifts in his seat, pulling something from his right pants pocket. He
holds it up to me. It’s a red leather box with gold swirling words on it: Bachman’s Jewelers. “I
ordered this from New York for you. It’s the finest jeweler on the East Coast. I have a friend there
who helped me pick the perfect ring.”
He hands me the box to open.
As I hold it in my hand, my fingers begin to tremble. He bought me a ring?
He nudges me. “Go ahead. Open it.” He seems eager to see my reaction, his gaze hanging expectantly
on my face.
I don’t know why, but I close my eyes as I flip open the lid. When I pry my eyelids open, I find a
princess-cut sparkling diamond cushioned between two smaller diamonds, set in a silver band. I
know nothing about jewelry, but the center rock, it must be over three carats—and flawless to the
naked eye.
It’s gorgeous. Exactly what I would have picked if I was shopping for my fairytale dream ring. A
fantasy come true.
I’m too afraid to remove it from its box fearing my touch will tarnish it in some way. “But it’s fake,
right?”
Fake relationship, fake ring. He loves me not.
Ignoring my question, he takes the box from me, slipping the ring from where it's nestled in its little
cushion. “Here, let me.” Gently, he takes my left hand in his, and slides the ring onto my finger.
It’s a perfect fit.
I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is twist my finger beneath that little overhead light and
watch the rainbows shoot out from the world’s most beautiful diamond. Finally, I find my voice.
“This... this is for me?”
“All for you, babygirl. And it’s one hundred percent real.” He leans over, giving me a kiss on the
cheek.
My heart wells in my chest, elation fills me. Not only am I now the proud owner of the world’s most
beautiful engagement ring, he picked this out just for me. I sneak a glance at him out of the side of my
eyes. He’s staring down at my hand, a content, pleased look on his face.
Wait... what’s real? I’m letting my imagination and my hopeless romantic heart get ahead of me. It’s a
real diamond. That’s it. It signifies nothing. It’s really just a prop, to keep people quiet.
Right?
Is it possible that he likes the look of his ring marking my finger as much as I do?
I’m so happy, tears of joy are welling in my eyes. But, a moment later, my world comes crashing
down with his next statement. “I had to get a real one if we’re going to convince people we're really
engaged. My ex can spot a cubic zirconia fake from a mile away.”
My heart falls straight into my Jimmy Choos. “Your... ex?”
He scowls, the old grumpy Darius making a sudden return. “Yeah, I’m sure she’ll make an appearance
at one point or another.”
There’s no time to ask questions because we’re beginning our descent. Somehow take-off and landing
always leave me nervous, my knuckles white as they clutch the arms of my chair.
We survive the landing, but I barely survive my first taste of humidity as we step out into the Georgia
air. Vegas might be hot, but it's a dry heat. This is... intense. My breath catches in my throat and even
though I can’t see it yet, I know... my hair instantly shrinks up into a frizzy halo of curls with humidity
like this.
This is not a good look for me.
At least my ring looks pretty as it sparkles under the sunlight—even if it is just a pretty ring with no
significance, just to impress his ex.
I swallow back my jealous, ugly thoughts. It’s only my own insecurities causing me to question his
feelings for me. Right?
There’s a private town car waiting for us at the curb, of course. The driver, dressed in a three-piece
suit, rushes from his vehicle to gather our bags for us. Darius opens the door, and I slide into the
backseat.
He’s got the privacy partition up before the driver even returns from loading our luggage. Kissing my
neck, he whispers into my ear, “I’d like a taste of Georgia peach right about now.”
I flush. But I’m not his Georgia peach. Am I?
I’m just the girl he’s brought here to appease his grandmother. His fake fiancée. His kissing continues,
and though I feel heat rousing between my thighs, I place a hand on his chest, stopping him.
For the first time since we’ve met, I deny him. “I’m a little tired. Can we rest a bit?” My conscience
pricks me. I did sign that contract.
He pulls away. He looks disappointed and slightly peeved to be rejected. “Is something the matter?”
I can’t bear to tell him of my insecurities, so I smile and shake my head. “Just nervous, that’s all.” I
smile. “Um... maybe we should play the get-to-know-you game before we arrive so we can be sure
we pass as a couple?”
He raises a brow, unconvinced my plan will be more fun than the entertainment he had in mind. “Get-
to-know-you game?”
“Sure. You know. Just little things that we should know about one another.” I dive right in. I really
want to be prepared. “I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?”
He sits back in his seat, thinking. “Red. But not the bright fire engine type, the darker one, like you
find in an apple.”
“Okay. Mine is pink. But not the bright one you find on the stripper g-strings on the strip. The light one
you find in cotton candy,” I tease.
“You know what strip clubs are like?” he raises a stern brow at me, and my heart stutters.
I laugh. “Um no. You?”
He shakes his head, but his eyes are still narrowed. Is that a little jealousy I spy? “I wouldn’t know
anything about that. I don’t frequent strip clubs.”
“But you got me from an escort service?”
“My first. And my last.” He leans over, kissing my forehead.
It’s a sweet gesture, one that makes me melt. And yet, it brings up my insecurities again. What does he
mean? How does he really feel about me? I push the thought away, enjoying the light, fun banter
between us. “Okay, next question. Favorite animal.”
Over the course of the hour-long drive to his grandma’s house, I find out his favorite animal was an
old pug that died last year. His name was Elvis Presley and he’d had him since he was eighteen.
In addition to the multiple breaks to his leg from his football injury, he also broke his arm when he
was seven and again at eleven, falling from the same tree both times. He loves steak and potatoes but
despises sweets. His favorite season is winter—he likes the cold and his favorite time of the day is
when the sun sets over the city.
He doesn't watch television unless it's the news, and he only reads business articles or nonfiction. He
hates injustice, lazy people, and people who have no manners. He loves the elderly even though they
can be crass, and children, which I found surprising.
And his confession has me envisioning what our kids would look like. Would they have my eyes and
his height, or his eyes and my blonde curls?
We pass farms and fields as we move further into the country. Everything out here is so green, so lush,
compared with the dry brown of back home. I guess there is one plus for such a humid environment:
the plants really seem to thrive.
The houses grow further and further apart, and I’m waiting for us to pull up to some dilapidated
whitewashed farmhouse when suddenly, a massive Greek-revival-home-meets-southern-charm
mansion appears out of nowhere. There are six huge white columns that reach up to a third story
roofline. The home is made of a pale brick that’s almost pink in color, the extensive wide trim painted
white, the shutters that encase the giant windows, black.
I can barely speak. “I thought you said you came from humble beginnings.”
“I did. But what grandson worth his salt doesn’t spoil his grandma who raised him when he comes
into a little cash. She used to clean this mansion back in the day, for only dollars an hour. She said the
man was a mean drunk, and her work was never good enough for him. The moment I could afford it, I
made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, and I bought it. And it’s Gran’s to live in for as long as she’d
like.”
“It’s massive. Fifty people could live here comfortably.” I can’t tear my gaze from the beautiful home.
“And they often do. My grandmother is one of those people who’s never met a stranger. She’s often
got people down on their luck, or recovering from illness or a surgery, staying with her. Not to
mention, my brother and his frequent visitors.”
“And your ex,” I mumble.
His brow furrows. “What was that?”
This is no time for a deep dive into our relationship. “Uh... sex. I said, I owe you sex, from earlier
when I was tired and I’m sure we’ll be able to find more than enough private places to sneak off to
—”
He sits up further in his seat, pointing to the mansion. “There’s Rawley.”
The car pulls to a stop before the enormous front porch. I look through the window to see a man that
looks very much like a younger version of Darius standing on the top step, waiting for us. His hair is a
lighter brown, his eyes lighter as well.
I find I don’t like his smile. It makes me uneasy, like he’s calculating every smile, gesture, or word
he’s about to say.
The driver holds open the door and Darius grabs my hand. “Come. You have quite a few people to
meet.”
And then he freezes, the smile dropping from his face.
Emerging from behind Rawley is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She has ice blue
eyes, wavy, chestnut hair, and a complexion like a porcelain doll. She’s tall and thin, with an ample
set of breasts that ride high on her chest. When she smiles, it's like she’s a contestant in a beauty
pageant.
One who already knows she’s won the crown.