The Act

Ford:

Cruising through the halls of Wayland-Blaine Academy, there’s not a doubt in my mind: I’m the king of the whole fucking school. It’s unquestionable, irrefutable. Whatever I say, goes.

The guys respect me, offering head nods or salutes, and the girls want to fuck me, coyly lowering their lashes or flashing brazen, hungry grins. As a sophomore, it’s a heady high knowing I command so much power already; I won’t deny I take pleasure in wielding it. And at fifty grand a year in tuition, I’m ruling a lot more than just plebes in this place.

My subjects are the cream of the crop, the elite, the future leaders of America—or at least the city of Chicago—which means my influence will last a lot longer than the few years I’ll spend in this place.

That said, the majority of the school’s drama doesn’t interest me. I don’t care who’s fucking who (unless, of course, it’s one of the teachers) and I really don’t care who’s getting shit-talked or hang-wedgied in the bathroom. But a certain bullying incident has snowballed into an untenable situation, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

The social destruction of Mara Zoric.

I’m not saying I’d never joined in on the abuse—everyone had—but at this point, enough was enough. It had gone too far. And I had my own reasons for taking issue with the whole thing.

If you were nice, you pitied the girl. If you weren’t—and let’s face it, most of my friends weren’t—you mocked her to her face. She was the laughingstock of the whole school. I’d been in the locker room just this morning and seen her name and phone number written across the wall in big, fat sharpie, with “text for nudes” and “for a good time, call!” underneath it. Again.

Teenage boys had never much been known for their originality.

Not that the girls at this school were any better. One of them had used lipstick to write WHORE on her locker this morning.

Mara was taunted everywhere she went—the cafeteria, the gym, even the courtyard outside. It had started months ago, but things had been ramping up over the past few weeks for reasons unknown.

On the surface, nothing about her screamed “loser.” She was on the short side, but she was pretty enough—big gray eyes, wide mouth, dark hair that was always hanging in her face—maybe a little mousy and awkward looking, sure, but nothing she wouldn’t grow into eventually.

She also had these amazing tits, but she always wore a dark cardigan buttoned up over her uniform, as if that would help disguise them in any way. I could see why girls might be jealous. But I didn’t get why the guys felt the need to drag the torture on and on so enthusiastically. Hadn’t she been picked on enough?

I guess it just goes to show the enduring power of the high school rumor mill.

“Aww shit,” Blake said. “Here she comes.”

I stood with Blake and the rest of my friends, confident in my position at the top of the high school social hierarchy, and watched as the person occupying the rock-bottom of that hierarchy walked by, arms wrapped tightly around her books, chin tucked to her chest.

She looked pathetic, resigned to her sad fate. Truthfully, I felt sorry for her.

“Ho ho ho!” someone shouted at her.

I watched her flinch, but she just kept walking.

“There go the one-dollar blowjobs!” someone else yelled. “Get ‘em while they’re hot, under the bleachers!”

Mara tried to ignore them, but I could see her cheeks turning pink. It looked like she might cry. I hoped she wouldn’t—tears would only make the teasing more aggressive.

A guy named Paul pushed off the wall as she came closer. I watched as he stepped right in her way.

“Hey Mara,” he said.

She didn’t say anything, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Got a question for you,” Paul went on.

No response.

“How much you charge for the Zoric special?” he asked. “I heard it’s a good, cheap time.”

Everyone burst into laughter as Mara pushed past him. I could see the tears welling up in her eyes but she was gone before they had a chance to fall.

I was a tiny bit impressed with that.

“Come on,” I told Blake and the others as the bell rang. “We’re gonna be late.”

I didn’t care much about being late, but I wasn’t really interested in watching whatever Paul and the other high school idiots were going to do to Mara next.

She and I had study hall together. She walked into the library late that day.

When she arrived, I looked up just in time to see her walk past my table. Our eyes caught. Hers were red-rimmed. She’d managed to keep from crying in front of her tormentors, but she clearly hadn’t managed to keep the tears completely at bay.

She looked away, hurrying to the study table she preferred in the back corner.

“There she goes,” Blake said to me. “Pathetic.”

He was drawing boobs in his notebook.

“Whatever,” I said.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “You don’t think little Miss Russian Whore is pathetic?”

I just shrugged, not bothering to correct him—I knew for a fact that Mara and her older brothers were of Serbian descent, thanks to the genealogy project she’d presented in our history class last year. God, I was so bored with high school kids. So bored with all of this shit. I couldn’t wait to graduate. To get out of this place. Out of my own house.

“I’m going to ask if she’ll tutor me,” Blake said, waggling his eyebrows. “Privately.”

I rolled my eyes, hoping he was joking, but when he stood it was clear he intended to continue the teasing that Paul and the others had started in the hallway.

He strode to the back of the room. I watched.

“Hey Mara,” he said.

She ignored him. Good girl.

“Mara Zoric. MZ. Em Zeeeee,” he tried again, drawing out the last part of her name like a whine, drumming his hands on the stack of books beside her.

It was so annoying I wanted to punch him.

“What do you want?” she finally asked.

Blake put a hand to his chest, wearing an expression of comical hurt.

“Why the aggression? I was just trying to talk to you,” he said.

Mara stared up at him. She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what he was doing. We all did.

I glanced around and noticed that pretty much the whole room was watching the interaction from the corners of their eyes. The only person blatantly ignoring the harassment was the teacher in charge of study hall, a younger guy who spent the class period messing around on his smartphone, as if we couldn’t see it under the table. It was obvious he didn’t give a shit.

“I was just wondering…” Blake said, a shit-eating grin on his face. “If you offer discounts? You know, like two for one.”

Mara’s face went red and her eyes dropped back to the open textbook on the table.

It was almost adorable how innocent she was. At least, it might be adorable—if it wasn’t for the fact that innocence got you absolutely nothing but abuse in this world.

“Come on,” Blake coaxed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you want it. And I know I can get it for free anytime I want.”

“Go away,” she whispered, glancing over at the teacher who couldn’t care less. Clearly, he wasn’t going to save her.

“Don’t be such a fucking tease,” he said. “I’ll even throw in a ride from my good pal Ford over there. Come on, M, don’t you want to see how the other half lives?”

As far as goading went, it was kind of weak. Especially because while Mara’s family wasn’t wealthy like mine was, they weren’t close to poor either. No one at this school was.

“I’d give it to you so good,” he went on. “Maybe you’d even pay me, you little slut.”

“Please,” Mara said, her voice grating a little. “Just stop.”

It was the catch in her voice that got to me. How broken and desperate it was. He’d gone too far. Everyone had. That little mouse of a girl didn’t deserve the kind of treatment she’d been getting, and I was sick of watching it play out like a TV rerun every fucking day.

As I stood, all eyes turned to me—including Mara’s. There was apprehension in her gaze, and why wouldn’t there be? I was the de facto king of the school. Whatever I said was law.

I walked over to her table.

“Right on, Malone,” Blake said. “You ready to double team this bitch under the bleachers later?”

“I’m ready for you to leave her alone,” I said coldly.

A murmur went through the room. Ford Malone standing up for Mara Zoric? It would be the gossip of the week.

“You serious?” Blake challenged, his grin starting to falter.

“Let it be,” I told him, folding my arms over my broad chest. “I’m over this shit.”

For a second, I thought he’d argue, but then he looked around. Everyone was watching.

“Whatever,” he said, and walked back to our table. It was possible he’d be pissed and we’d fight about it later, but I was half a foot taller and on the rowing team. I could handle him.

“You okay?” I asked Mara, even though I knew she wasn’t. Not that I really cared.

But then she looked up at me, her eyes full of absolute adoration—and whatever guff I might take from my friends suddenly seemed totally worth it. Because as far as Mara Zoric was concerned, I had just become her hero.

Emzee:

My wedding day had dawned like a dream, the New England skies a gorgeous blue and crystal clear, save for a few picturesque clouds. The sun was shining and the temperature was going to be mild. I couldn’t have asked for better weather. Though I was pretty sure that if it hadn’t cooperated, my sisters-in-law, through some sort of wedding magic, would have figured out a way to literally control the elements.

They had done absolutely everything in their power to make this the most perfect day a bride could hope for. Ford’s family property on Martha’s Vineyard was an exquisite venue for an outdoor ceremony. The rolling green lawn, impeccably manicured and shaded by mature trees, was the setting for almost six hundred cushioned chairs. They faced a dais that held a wedding arch draped in ivory chiffon, eucalyptus branches, and an actual crystal chandelier. Behind that was the sound, where deep blue water rocked rhythmically as sunlight glittered across its surface.

The end of each aisle was festooned with gigantic clusters of more eucalyptus branches, sprays of ferns, anemone blossoms in bright, bold shades, blue thistle, and classic ivory roses to match my luxurious bouquet. I’d asked for a mix of both rustic and traditional florals, and Brooklyn had knocked it out of the park. The red anemones matched her dress, and the blue ones matched Tori’s. I was sure the color coordination wasn’t an accident.

My dress, of course, was as perfect as the day I’d tried it on. Every detail was perfect. My sisters-in-law had truly outdone themselves, from the custom hand-done calligraphy on the invitations to the gourmet catering menu that I’d been thrilled to approve. Brooklyn had even taken Munchkin to the groomer’s before bringing him on the flight out to the vineyard with her, so he’d be freshly spiffed up for the ceremony. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better wedding.

But it was all pretend, and I was heartbroken.

The worst part was that I’d started to believe that it might not have to be pretend, and the way Ford had snuck into my dressing room to ask about my feelings had me wondering all over again if this sham could have been real after all.

What would have happened if I had just told him the truth? That I did love him?

No. It wasn’t even worth considering. The wedding—the marriage—had to be a lie. All of it. Ford could never know how I really felt.

If I told him the truth, there would be no rescue for my family, nor for our business. The Malones had only promised to bail out Danica Rose Management from its entanglement with the Russian mob as long as I agreed to walk out on this marriage in a year’s time. I couldn’t sacrifice the entire Zoric family—my brothers, their wives, their children, their livelihoods and legacies—for my own selfish ends. My own feelings.

After the agency’s debt was paid off and my divorce was finalized, I had no idea what would happen between me and Ford. Maybe our friendship of seven-plus years could be salvaged. Maybe not. But right now, I couldn’t let myself think about that. I needed all my focus, all my strength, to get me through this farce of a wedding. The worst best day of my life.

“Are you ready?” Stefan asked me.

Startled out of my thoughts, I forced a smile as I heard the bridal waltz begin. I was waiting in a tent that had been set up specifically for the purpose of hiding me from the guests—and the groom—but once I walked out onto the grass, there would be no turning back.

“I am,” I said, lifting my chin resolutely. “Thank you for doing this.”

Since my father was a monster and very much behind bars, I had asked my oldest brother to give me away. Stefan stood there in his suit, elbow crooked for me to take, smiling down at me with a softness in his eyes that I rarely ever saw.

“Hey,” I said. “Remember when you took me to your senior prom because I was a total loser freshman with no friends, and after that, the entire school knew my name?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

“This kind of feels like that. Like you’re presenting me to the world or something.”

Cocking a brow, he said, “Meaning you’re nervous as hell and you want me to be your first dance?”

“Totally.”

Stefan nodded. “Done. And seriously, don’t be nervous. The only thing that matters today is that you’re here with Ford, starting your new life together. Just focus on that.”

Except focusing on that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Because the only thing Ford and I were starting together was a twelve-month lie.

Still, Stefan’s words warmed me. No matter what happened with my marriage, I knew my family had my back. That would have to be enough.

I looped my right arm through Stefan’s left, and off we marched down the aisle. Hundreds of our friends and family—mostly Ford’s—watched as we approached. Whispers reached my ears, and I felt the weight of all those eyes on me, ratcheting up my anxiety. My bouquet started shaking in my grip.

God, what was I doing? Was this all a huge mistake?

But then I felt Stefan’s strong hand gently close over mine, steadying the bouquet.

“Just look straight ahead,” he whispered.

And I did.

The second I saw Ford standing under the arch, everything else disappeared. I knew him well enough to recognize that the smile he wore was fake, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

Suddenly, I realized we’d reached the dais. Stefan kissed my cheek as we walked up the steps, whispering, “You got this,” and then he passed my hand to Ford.

To the left and right, I saw Tori and Brooklyn, Luka and Stefan, and Ford’s handful of groomsmen and groomswomen, everyone wearing vibrant spring colors of their own choosing just as I’d requested. Even Munchkin was wearing a little Liberty floral doggie bow tie, with Brooklyn holding his matching leash. Everyone looked fabulous, like something straight out of a bridal magazine. Me, on the other hand? I had to be the world’s most miserable bride at the world’s most beautiful wedding.

I glanced up at Ford, but his expression was so stoic and inscrutable that it felt like we were two strangers standing up there together, rather than longtime best friends who were about to commit ourselves to each other. Nothing about this felt right.

“It is my great honor to welcome everyone to the wedding of Mara Zoric and Ford Malone,” the officiant began.

Time sped up as the ceremony proceeded, just like everyone had warned me it would. I was glad. When we were instructed to recite our vows, I kept imagining how they might sound if they were factual.

“Do you, Ford, take Mara to be your protection against your shitty ex-girlfriend Claudia and your family’s pathological desire for you to marry and knock up someone of their choosing? And do you, Mara, take Ford as your way to bail your family out of yet another treacherous hole your criminal father dug, this time with the Russian mafia?”

It was almost comical. But I didn’t feel like laughing.

Of course, I said nothing, reciting my marital vows with as much feeling as I could muster even though it felt like I was dying inside.

“It is my pleasure to declare you husband and wife,” the officiant said jovially. “Ford, you may now kiss the bride.”

The kiss, though.

I’d expected it to be as polite and perfunctory as Ford’s responses had been during the rest of the ceremony. Instead, he pulled me into his arms so fast that I barely had a chance to register the intensity in his gaze before his mouth came down on mine.

The kiss was incendiary. It was indecent. It was furious, possessive, and fucking hot.

No matter what was happening between us, no matter what lies I’d told, I couldn’t hide my feelings in that kiss—and it was impossible to deny that our chemistry was still there, as fierce as ever. It was the kind of chemistry that might burn down the big, red barn on the other side of the property where we would be holding the reception. Trying to deny it was a burden that was taking all my strength.

So for one, perfect, blissful moment, I forgot everything. I forgot about the lies. I forgot about the deals. Hell, I even forgot that we were in the middle of our actual wedding and probably giving Ford’s grandmother (and the rest of the Malones) one hell of a show. Ford’s lips against mine were like a spark to kindling. He held me tightly against him, his body hard against mine. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily. Brooklyn let out an ear-piercing whistle, Munchkin started yapping, and people were applauding. It almost seemed as though Ford had been trying to prove something with that kiss, though I wasn’t sure what.

He took my hand and we made our way back down the aisle, now officially married. Our guests cheered, but as I passed Ford’s parents, I saw absolutely nothing in their expression to indicate they were celebrating this union. In fact, I would have bet anything that they were already counting down the days until I was gone so they could bring Claudia back into the fold.

Somehow, I made it through the rest of the festivities.

Like the ceremony, everything was perfect. Not that I could enjoy it. It was especially hard because I had to pretend two different things—to Ford, that I only had friendly feelings for him; to everyone else, that I was a blissful bride. It didn’t matter how many dances I danced, how many bites of lobster dipped in melted butter that I let Ford feed me, how beautiful our exotic orchid-covered Belgian chocolate cake was. I was purely going through the motions. The joy of the day couldn’t touch me.

All I wanted was for the day to be over, and I felt unbearably guilty about it. Tori and Brooklyn had put so much love into planning every little thing down to the last detail, and not only could I not enjoy it, I was actively wishing for it to end.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the reception started winding down. I was utterly exhausted from pretending. My face hurt from all the forced smiling. I just wanted to escape.

Unfortunately we were leaving for St. Barts in a couple of hours. Off on a honeymoon that I’d legitimately been looking forward to a couple of days ago. Before Ford’s parents had sprung their deal on me, I’d been hoping the time away from our real lives—away from the stresses of Danica Rose’s debt to the Bratva and Ford’s family obligations—might give my new faux husband a chance to realize that our fake marriage could potentially be something more.

Now, it just seemed like another fresh form of torture. The two of us, alone on a tropical island, sharing a luxurious suite at a romantic resort? How would I be able to survive it?

Hand in hand, Ford and I went up to our room to finish getting ready for the trip. His family’s private jet had been chartered to fly us from the Vineyard to the more accessible airport on the island of St. Martin, and from there we’d take a forty-minute ferry ride over to St. Barts. I’d read that the water could be choppy, so I was praying for smooth sailing.

As I packed up my suitcase, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was interested in finishing what he started on the dais, in front of our guests. But I couldn’t allow that to happen. There could be no sex tonight. I had to be strong.

Luggage zipped and ready to go, I stretched and yawned as dramatically as possible.

“I’m beat,” I told Ford drowsily. “I need to take a nap before we leave. The car’s picking us up in what, five hours?”

Then, before he could respond, I went into the bathroom to take a quick shower, locking the door behind me. It was cowardly, I knew that…but I also knew that if Ford kissed me like he had earlier, I wouldn’t be able to say no. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want him. It was that I wanted him too much.

And after an entire day of pretending, I knew that if he took me in his arms, I wouldn’t be able to keep it up.