Chapter 3: DINNER WITH THE CREEKS ARTEMIS POV

It took me an inordinate amount of time to find Aidan. Daymon had forgotten to say where this individual was, and it would appear that no one else was even remotely interested in telling such information to a new impersonator. Finally, after prowling room after endless room and hall after continuing hall, I burst through into the gardens.

There he was.

Standing near the trellis, a catch of sun in his dark hair, which shifted with the lazy afternoon breeze, Aidan Creek could have been the portrait of cruel perfection: sharp, carved cheekbones, a suit that screamed of designer labels, and the sort of presence that made people want to either kiss him or run far, far away.

I stopped a few feet away, folding my arms. "Hey."

He didn't turn immediately. When he did, his face was as unreadable as ever.

"You are late," he said.

I blinked. "You didn't tell me where to go."

He didn't acknowledge my excuse but came closer, his tone cold, cutting. "We don't have much time. There are things you should know before you meet my parents.”

"Not even a 'hello'?" I asked, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

His eyes, so light a moment before, the light in their depths extinguished and left burning something much more sinister. "Watch your tone, Artemis," he growled in a low, sharp tone.

"Oh, sorry, sir. Next time I'll grovel when you talk to me," I said before I could stop myself.

That did it. He snatched my arm and knocked me backward against the side of the barn, graining through the thin cotton of my dress.

You don't get it, do you?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "If you screw this up, I lose everything. My money, my reputation, and my family's respect. All of it to my brother.”

I looked right back at him, unmoving. "Not my problem.

His eyes finally dropped to my lips, held there a beat too long. The tension crackling raw between us sent a shiver coursing down my spine. My lips had parted instinctively, and for a moment, it was as if he would close the distance.

Instead, he pulled away, running a hand through his hair as though shaking off a thought he wouldn't like.

"You gotta understand something," he said ice in his voice clearer than ever. "You're not just pretending to be my girlfriend. You're impersonating her."

“Her?" I asked, raising a brow.

"My ex," he explained. “You two look so much alike and that is the only reason this crazy plan could work. I need you to impersonate her. Every gesture, every word—just like her."

"Let me get it," I said, really working at not laughing. "You want me to drop my entire life and play pretend so you can save yours?”

"Yes."

"What's in it for me?"

A knowing smirk tweaked his lips. "One million a month. Whatever else you want."

I faked deep thought, tapping my chin. "Throw in a lifetime supply of chocolate and a decent Wi-Fi connection, and we've got a deal.”

 He didn't smile, but his eyes flickered with humor. "Done.”

By the time we got back to the house, I'd showered and dressed and been given a crash course on lessons 101 on how to be like his girlfriend. It wasn't hard to mimic her; there was something eerily familiar about the way he described her like I'd met someone like her before.

Dinner was. Strained.

His father, Don Carlo, was an intimidating man with small, beady, calculating eyes that never seemed to leave me. His mother was polite, even warm, but it was unmistakably clear who held the reins in this family.

"Welcome, Hera," rasped Don Carlo in his voice.

The name froze me for one second. Hera. A name my father once exclaimed he wanted to name his next child, though I dismissed it, knowing it would never make a difference. Coincidences like this threw a shiver down my spine.

I forced a smile, leaned over, and kissed his cheek as Aidan instructed. "It's such an honor, Don Carlo. Aidan has truly made me so happy—I can't wait to just be part of this family.”

Don Carlo's face relaxed, and Aidan's mother beamed. I fought the urge to bolt from the table.

"Let's eat, dears, while the food is still hot," announced Aidan's mother then, diffusing the atmosphere.

I turned to look at Aidan, who smiled at me so falsely it could have been printed on a billboard.

The rest of the dinner was one big blur of uncomfortable small talk and carefully framed answers to probing questions by Don Carlo. Thankfully, most of those questions I was prepared for with Aidan, so playing the role wasn't hard.

Then Don Carlo leaned back in his chair, arms across his chest while fixing an unblinking stare on Aidan.

"Well, when is the wedding?"

The question was hanging in the air as if it was a live grenade.

Aidan's green eyes widened slightly, but then he turned back to me. I faked a smile and pulled my chair closer to him, hitting his foot sharply under the table.

"Soon, Father," Aidan said smoothly. "We just don't feel now is the proper time."

“What are you waiting for, boy?" Don Carlo asked. "I know you two have had. What do the kids call it? Countless sex. I want grandchildren in my lap before I die. Don't give me bullshit, Aiden.”

I spat my water out, my face red from some quite violent coughs.

Countless sex? Not me, sir.

Aidan's jaw clenched, his gaze growing colder.

"Over time, Father." 

In an instant, he was on his feet. His chair grated loudly on the floor as he jerked it backward. "Excuse us. Hera and I have to have a little talk."

He reached for my hand, nearly yanking me from the chair. 

"Talk about giving me grandkids!" Don Carlo thundered after us, still laughter deep in his chest. "Gently with the girl, son!"

The longer Aidan seemed to stride, and if I didn't hurry to keep up, I would almost stumble over my feet.

"Hey!" I protested, "You're hurting me!" 

He didn't let go. 

"Aidan!" I yelled, wrenching my hand free finally. 

He turned on me, his eyes a storm. "What?"

"Calm down," I said, fighting to steady my voice. "It was a joke. You don't have to act like such a brat.”

A cloud of danger over his face, and in one swift motion, he slammed me against the wall, his hands clenching around my waist.

"Don't call me that," he growled in a low, menacing voice. 

For a moment, I really believed he would hurt me, but then his grip released, and he stepped backward, running a hand through his hair. 

I drew a hand through my pocket and held out to him the lighter he had - a tiger-patterned thing - I had swiped from his room earlier. 

He stared at it then at me. "What the hell? 

"It looked cool," I shrugged. 

He shook his head, reached for the lighter, and lit a cigar. 

“Thief," he growled. 

"Jerk," I shot back. 

A slow, wolfish grin curled his lips. 

I didn't trust that grin, not one bit.