Chapter 7

SEVEN

ROWE

I freaking loved polo.

There were parts of the match that I hadn’t entirely followed— bumps and hooks and how the penalties were determined since, in my opinion, the blue team were a bunch of animals and the red team had been robbed . But by the final chukker, I’d been so excited that I’d pushed to my feet on the slanted roof, cheering my red players as they galloped down the pitch toward the goalposts in the final moments. Only Bash’s quick reflexes had saved me from tumbling to my doom Humpty-Dumpty style.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed as he pulled me down by my waistband and my ass hit the metal roof. “Somebody needs to revise the Top Ten Most Amazing Feats in Polo History video with new footage because that was epic . Can you believe it?”

“Believe that you just attempted to jump up and down on a pitched roof while wearing those shoes? Fuck no.” Bash scowled, breathing hard, his hair glinting in the sunshine. “What were you thinking?”

“I… may have gotten a little caught up,” I admitted. “I do that sometimes.” I paused and considered for a moment and admitted, “Possibly all the time.”

“I didn’t know you were such a Kingmakers fan,” Bash said.

“A… what?”

Bash shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching up like he was trying to fight a smile but couldn’t. I really loved that look.

“The red team.” He lifted an eyebrow. “The ones you almost killed yourself over?”

“Ohhhh. The Kingmakers . Right, right.” A warm breeze ruffled my hair, and I wondered if I’d just done something unforgivably un-Sterling.

In fact, I had all sorts of questions. Like, which team was Sterling Chase supposed to have played on in the match today? Who’d covered for me? Where was my polo horse? Why hadn’t Bash mentioned any of that?

It was frustrating that I couldn’t ask without giving everything away.

“Er, I wouldn’t say I’m a fan , per se. I don’t follow the rankings. I just like to see an underdog win.”

“Me too.” Bash’s leg bumped mine, and my heart, which was already galloping from the thrill of the game, began to beat even faster with a very different kind of excitement. “The Kingmakers have a novice on their team this year, of course, which brought down their handicap.”

“Mmm.” I nodded sagely, like I hadn’t learned about polo handicaps mere hours before.

“I’m curious, though,” he went on, “how you knew they were the underdogs if you don’t follow the standings.”

“Oh. Their posture when they took the field.” I shrugged. “Kinda nervous and determined but subdued. And the first time they scored, they were really excited. You could see how unexpected it was.”

Bash’s smile spread and softened slightly. “You’re very unexpected, Rowe.”

The furious beating of my heart must’ve been contagious because my stomach began swooping and dipping like it was doing the tango. I couldn’t look at Bash without staring at his mouth, so I forced my attention back to the field, where the spectators milled around in the sunshine.

“Yes. Well.” I cleared my throat. “Unexpected in a good way, I hope.”

“I hope so, too,” Bash said cryptically.

I frowned and glanced at him, but he was already eyeing the roof’s access door. “You ready to go? I think it’s time for us to discuss a few things.”

A few things?

As in, things on my Quirky Billionaire to-do list for the coming week? Or as fraudulent identity things ? Or as in… things that might come after the kiss in the barn earlier?

My stomach fluttered nervously.

Sitting side by side with Bash in the sunshine had been wonderful, like a step out of time. When he’d leaned closer to point out something on the field, his warm breath had brushed my cheek. When he’d laughed at one of my fake-Sterling observations, he’d thrown his head back, and our knees had knocked together. I’d found myself relaxing further and further into his side as the match had gone on, lost in my excitement about the match and the moment and the man at my side. I’d let myself forget about Sterling Chase, and Justin Hardy, and Project Daisy Chain, and the very real risk that all of this was going to explode in my face.

Now, though, that worry was back with a vengeance.

Last night, when Joey and I had flopped on the futon and traded stories—Joey’s involving a West Side Story -esque rivalry he’d ignited with a competing food delivery guy—I’d told him about my plan to attend the polo match, and his eyes had gone wide. This is bad news, cuz. You were only supposed to be Cinderella for one night . You keep pushing your luck, and you’re gonna end up holding a pumpkin .

I’d come anyway. Of course I had. I was on borrowed time, and I’d told myself I couldn’t pass up the chance to meet Justin or another investor, which was true… But another, larger truth was that I couldn’t pass up the chance to spend one more day with Bash.

For the last ten years, I’d thought of nothing but Daisy. I’d told myself I was living for the both of us since I was the only one who could. But until meeting Bash, I hadn’t felt like I was living much at all.

As Bash climbed down the ladder, I touched my fingers to my mouth. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the weight of his lips against mine imprinted there and taste his unexpected sweetness on my tongue. And I was very glad I’d pushed my luck.

“Rowe?” Bash called from below.

“Yes. Coming.” I scrambled to the ladder and swung myself over.

Bash reached up to guide me, his hand sliding from my calf to my thigh to my hip. But instead of steadying me, his touch was electric. By the time I dropped to the ground inches away from him, sending up a cloud of dust motes and random bits of straw, I was breathless and half-hard.

“Thanks,” I said softly, trying not to stare at his handsome face. “So, um… now we go up to the clubhouse and see if Justin is there?”

“That’s up to you,” Bash said. “We can, if you’d like. And there’s a reception for donors later on that you could attend. Or…”

“Or?” I repeated with ill-concealed eagerness.

“This morning, I called and booked you a suite at your usual hotel, as well as a private dinner. If you’re tired, we could head there. I wasn’t sure if you’d be eager for more polo after…” He lowered his voice. “Sally Struthers.”

“Ah. That.” My cheeks warmed. “You know, I… may have been a bit hasty.”

Bash nodded. “Caught up in things again?”

He was talking to his boss. To Sterling Chase. And I knew that. But when he gave me that knowing, half-amused grin, it felt as if he saw me . As if he knew the real Rowe Prince. And liked him.

God, I wanted that to be true.

“Definitely caught up,” I murmured.

Bash nodded again and watched me expectantly, waiting for me to make a decision. Would we stay and mingle or leave? Take a chance at finding Justin or make our escape? Did I want the business deal or the fairy tale? This could be my last chance at either.

I took a deep breath… and Bash lifted his hand to gently touch my hair. My breath hitched, and my whole body leaned toward him, like Bash was an archer and I was a bow.

“Sorry. You had a little piece of…” He flicked a bit of straw off his fingers and let it drift toward the ground, but his eyes locked on mine. “Rowe,” he began breathlessly.

“The hotel,” I croaked. “We should go to the hotel.”

Maybe it was reckless and shortsighted, but I chose the fairy tale.

* * *

Bash and I spent the short ride to the hotel talking about light topics that did little to diffuse the tension in the air between us. The best polo matches he’d seen. The weather forecast. The hit single from Zee Barlo on the radio, which I knew all the words to and Bash claimed was “not as good as his early stuff.” I would have maybe argued with him about that, but by then, we were pulling up to a large inn that looked light-years out of my price range.

My stomach clenched. Of course a place like this would be Sterling Chase’s usual hotel. I really hoped someone else was paying for it because I didn’t even have a credit card to pretend to pay with. And I was going to have to save up for eternity to pay them back.

The realization was a reality check. Like Joey had said, I was Cinderella, and midnight was fast approaching. I couldn’t afford—literally—to keep this charade up much longer.

“Welcome to the Malachite. May I take your luggage?” a uniformed porter inquired politely about items we didn’t have.

“Yes, please,” Bash said, gesturing to the driver. “Morris has them in the trunk. Thank you.”

He did? Bash had somehow acquired Sterling’s clothing? Was there any use in hoping the real Sterling was thin and vertically challenged?

“Certainly, Mr. Dayne,” the porter said, ushering us into the lobby. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”

The porter’s brief exchange with Bash faded to background noise as I stepped into the lobby’s sitting area. Whoever had designed this place was a master of their craft. They’d married a plush Victorian velvet settee with a rolled-arm Chesterfield and a marble-topped coffee table with inlaid mahogany end tables. On the walls, sturdy gilt-framed English landscapes were interspersed with black-and-white photos of the hotel’s famous guests, and dozens of informal tussie-mussie floral bouquets adorned every flat surface.

The style was perfect for the space—refined without being stuffy, exactly the look I tried to achieve in my own space back home on a much, much slimmer budget.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, moving toward the reception desk before I’d made a conscious decision to go there. I ran my hand over the sleek surface. “Is this rosewood?”

If the woman at the desk was surprised by my enthusiasm, she didn’t show it. “Yes, sir. I believe so.”

“My favorite,” I said reverently. “Did you know that rosewood actually has nothing to do with roses? It got its name because the wood smells so sweet. It’s actually my favorite kind of wood to refinish because it—”

Bash strolled up behind me. “Is everything alright?”

I straightened and tried to feign boredom. “What? Oh. Yes. Just… admiring the beautiful table. I might, uh, acquire one like it.” I sniffed. “Maybe more than one.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really? Where would you put them?”

Shit . How was I supposed to know where Sterling would put giant tables when I’d never been to his home?

Had Bash been there? Would he know I was lying? This whole secret-identity thing was becoming annoying on a whole other level.

“Oh, you know.” I shrugged easily. “I might… buy a new house. Something small. Ten thousand square feet or so.”

“To display your tables.” Bash nodded solemnly. “Perfectly reasonable.”

“If you’d like, sir,” the friendly woman offered, “I can put you in touch with our designer.”

“Oh, no, I—” I began.

“Yes, please. That would be very helpful,” Bash cut in. “Whatever Mr. Chase wants, he gets.”

If only.

I rubbed my temple slightly as we waited for the woman to provide contact information that my helpful personal assistant stored in his phone. It was definitely time to come clean before I ended up on the hook for more than just a swanky hotel room.

Bash was unusually quiet as we made our way upstairs, and the silence was impossible to read. It wasn’t the same tension as on the ride to the hotel, but it for sure wasn’t the easy camaraderie of the polo match, and it set me further on edge.

Was he quiet because he was thinking about kissing me? Because he was hoping I wouldn’t kiss him? Because he knew I was impersonating a billionaire and he was planning to call the police?

“Rowe?” he called as we walked down a carpeted hallway. I turned around and saw that he’d stopped beside a heavy oak door, and I hadn’t even noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm. Yes. Perfectly perfect!” I sang cheerily.

Just thinking about kissing. And prison. As one does.

“You sure?” Bash raised one eyebrow, his hand on the doorknob. “Nothing you want to share with me?”

“Nope! Noooope. I’m so perfectly perfect, in fact, this moment eclipses my previous most perfect day, which was the day I spent chatting with, um…” I cast my eyes around, trying to think of literally anyone , and spotted a black-and-white signed picture from Some Like It Hot . “Marilyn Monroe.”

What. The. Fuck?

Bash and I blinked at each other, and I immediately shook my head. “Not… not the Marilyn Monroe, obviously. I meant, um…” I scanned the hall again for inspiration and landed on an English landscape. “A… horse! A horse named Marilyn Monroe.”

I could practically feel my ball gown turning into rags and a pumpkin materializing at my feet.

“Your most perfect day,” Bash repeated with excessive patience. “Was a day you spent chatting with a horse named Marilyn Monroe.”

I opened my mouth. Shut it again. Then said, slowly and miserably, “W-would you believe it’s… one of my quirky billionaire eccentricities?”

“Right.” He pushed open the door. “Would you like a drink?”

“Desperately,” I croaked. I didn’t even care which of “Sterling’s favorite” concoctions he gave me.

He nodded and moved to the sleek kitchenette area of the suite while I glanced around at the spacious sitting room, looking for a place where I might quietly melt into a puddle of embarrassment on the thick carpet, but my attention was instantly snagged by the view. Clear glass windows lined one wall, showing off the neatly manicured lawn edged by a wilderness area dense with a mix of fir trees and hardwoods.

“So pretty,” I breathed, wandering closer to the view. “I didn’t realize you could be close to the city and feel like the rest of the world was so far away.”

After a moment, Bash walked up and handed me a bottle of cold beer before casually leaning against the back of one sofa.

I blinked in surprise at the drink in my hand. Had he remembered what I’d said about beer at the gala? I tried for a joke. “Is this Sterling Chase’s favorite beer?”

Bash tilted his head. “Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

I glanced nervously down at the condensation-wet bottle before taking a deep gulp. It was cold and crisp and delicious and normal . Bash watched me drink with a kind of singular focus that made it impossible for me to think of anything to say.

“You should see this area in the fall when the leaves turn,” he said finally. “I have some distant cousins who live nearby.”

“Yeah? Most of my cousins are in Indiana,” I said without thinking. Fuck. “N-not all of them, of course! My cousin Joey’s family lives here in Quee—I mean.” Sweat rolled down my back. “I mean the Upper North Side.” Wait, was there an Upper North Side? “The Upper West Side. East. East of the Upper West Side. You know, the nice area? That one. That’s where they live. Near the… park. Central Park, I believe they call it.”

I took a large gulp of the beer, waiting for an invisible clock to strike midnight and wondering where I might find a fairy godmother. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bash shaking his head, wearing that half-smile I liked, as if he wasn’t sure whether to be amused by me or not.

I understood completely. The lying was getting out of control, and nerves made my palms slick. I could hardly remember who I was supposed to be anymore.

“Nice that your cousins are close to you,” Bash said.

“Oh yes. We’ve always been close.”

Bash seemed like he was trying not to laugh… and failing. “I meant geographically close. If you live on the Park and they live east of the Upper West Side.” He took a slow sip of his beer.

“Fine,” I snapped. “They live in Queens. There, you happy? They’re not rich. But they’re hard fucking workers. And they love me. They’d do anything for me.”

Bash’s amusement fell away, and he looked at me intently. “Good,” he said at length. “Everyone needs someone like that.”

“Well, family is family, right?” The blank look on Bash’s face made me ask hesitantly, “Is your family not that way?”

He shrugged and seemed to consider his answer before speaking. “I’m an only child, and my parents travel a lot. We get along fine, but they have different priorities. I don’t really know how to explain it. We’re not close.”

I wished he wouldn’t be so careful. I wanted to know more about the man behind Bash’s beautiful face. But I was in no position to be asking the truth from anyone.

I picked at the label on my beer bottle. “You don’t have to tell me. Sorry if I got too personal.”

Bash reached out to pull the empty bottle away from my fingers. The warmth of that tiny touch made my whole body flush with heat. “My parents are good people but… shallow. They seem to care more about their reputation than truly making a difference in the world. That’s all.”

“Oh.” I was surprised by his words. By the honesty of them. And I had no idea what to say next. Any more details about my own family would make it glaringly obvious I wasn’t Sterling, but I couldn’t stand to meet Bash’s truths with more lies.

Everything up to this point had felt like playacting. Mostly harmless to anyone except myself. But the longer I kept things up, the worse I felt. Lying to rich people for a few hours last night for the sake of my project had been one thing. But lying to Bash , the man who’d been nothing but kind and helpful, when it was possible that he was feeling this connection between us, just like I was? Nope. I couldn’t do it. The very idea made me nauseous.

“Bash, there’s something I should probably tell you—”

A firm knock sounded on the door, breaking the tension and sending my newfound resolve skittering into a million pieces.

Fuck.

A room service attendant came in with a rolling table full of domed dinner trays at the same time some other people came to deliver the suitcases, and I took the opportunity to duck into the smaller of the two bathrooms, trying to catch my breath and calm down.

No more lies , I promised myself. No more .

When I emerged, Bash beckoned me toward my seat and poured me a glass of wine. “Sorry. What were you saying before we got interrupted?”

“I… I…” I gulped my wine greedily. “You see, the thing is…”

“Yes?”

“I want to tell you about…”

Bash tilted his head. His eyes were warm and patient, and his expression was kind.

“…that table downstairs,” I said weakly. “Wasn’t it lovely?”

“Yes, very much. I hadn’t known you liked antiques so much. When did that start?”

Okay, this was a topic I could discuss with no lies whatsoever. Of course, it also had a tendency to bore everyone in my life to tears after mere seconds. “It’s not antiques, really. It’s interior decorating. I love finding beautiful pieces, especially ones that have a bit of a history to them. I think they add so much character to a space.”

Hello. I’m Rowe Prince, the world’s most boring human .

I felt my face heat. “Anyway. That’s silly.”

“Silly?” Bash frowned. “How could it be silly to want to make a space look and feel better? Expressing your personal style is important. Isn’t that what you told Constance Baxter-Hicks?”

“It is,” I said softly. Damn it, why did the one person who listened to my rambling and paid attention have to be a man I was never going to see again once he knew who I was? I took another big gulp of my wine. “So, um. Tell me about you. What are your hobbies? Do you have any close family besides your parents?”

Bash chewed a bite of food and shook his head. “I have friends I consider brothers. You’ve met Silas and Dev—”

“Oh, right.”

“But there are five of us in total. We met our first year at Yale because we were all in the same residential college—”

A swallow of wine got stuck in my throat. “Yale?” I croaked.

“It was on my resume, Mr. Chase.” Bash lifted that damn sexy eyebrow.

Fuck . “Oh, right. So! Five of you, you say? How wonderful! You all instantly bonded and—”

“No.” Bash snorted. “Hell, no. We hated each other at first. Loathed . We were from such a variety of backgrounds we couldn’t help it. Some of us were there on scholarships, others came from the families that endowed the scholarships. Some of us were used to quiet, some played fucking rock music so hard the windows rattled. Some of us were slobs who dared to leave dishes in the sink… some of us were picky assholes named Silas.” He grinned. “Some were conscientious students who never missed class, and some tried to tempt the others away from studying.”

I snorted. “I know which one you were.”

He smiled delightedly—not the tilted half-smile I liked so much but a full-on grin that hit me like a shaft of pure sunlight. “What makes you say that?”

Because you tempt me to do all sorts of unwise things.

“Just the impression I get.” I waved a hand through the air. “But go on. How’d you become brothers if you hated each other?”

“A massive blizzard that closed the school for two days… combined with a bottle of my father’s best Scotch.”

I laughed out loud. “You were the ringleader. I knew it!”

He smiled at me again, then shrugged like he was a bit embarrassed. “Anyway. After a full day of drinking games, we figured out we were all queer misfits in our own ways. And we became a unit.”

“Misfits who fit together.” I pushed aside my plate and set my elbow on the table so I could prop my chin in my hand and stare at him. I probably looked like a smitten idiot, but I’d had just enough wine not to care. “I envy you, having brothers like that.”

Bash tilted his head. “Do you not? I think you mentioned a sister…”

“I… yes.” I touched the tattoo on my hip reflexively. “But it’s complicated.”

I rarely talked about Daisy to anyone outside my family. The sweet memories that overwhelmed me and the heartache that hadn’t ever gone away, not really, even in ten years, were just too much for polite conversation. But I would have liked to tell Bash about her… except I couldn’t while I was being Sterling.

Bash simply nodded and refilled my wineglass. “Families often are. So, tell me something different, then. I know you love traveling all over the world, so… what’s next on your bucket list? Someplace you’ve never gone.”

I laughed, but it came out a little too high-pitched. Even talking about bucket list travel would require me to lie to keep up my charade. Was there a safe topic in the universe?

Fuck it.

“Probably Wheaton, Illinois,” I said honestly.

Bash sighed at me, shaking his head. “Why am I even surprised anymore by the stuff you come up with? Okay, then, what’s so special about Wheaton, Illinois?”

“Well.” I leaned closer. “They have an all-night flea market. Can you imagine? Wandering the stalls under the moonlight, with artists, and cosplayers, and music, and all the good foods you get at carnivals? Things don’t have to be complicated to be amazing, right?”

Bash stared at me for a beat, then pushed his plate away, too. “That’s right.” He stood and twisted his back in an exaggerated stretch, and my eyes caught on the thin band of tan skin on his stomach that peeked out when his shirt rode up. “Want to go sit on the sofa? It might be more comfortable.”

My mouth went dry, and I grabbed my wine, gulping down the remainder of the glass.

Tell him. You tell him right now, Rowe Prince. Don’t let another minute go by.

“Rowe? Everything okay?”

Oh, peachy. I’m pretending to be a billionaire when in reality, I don’t have enough savings to pay for this bottle of wine. I’m supposed to be using this opportunity to get connections I can pitch the business idea I’ve spent years working on, but instead, I keep using every excuse I can think of to spend time with you. The fairy tale is ending, and I want so badly to just have a few more minutes with you. Another kiss from you. For you to know who I am and still look at me the way you’re looking right now.

“Yes. Great.” I cleared my throat. “I just feel like I’m talking too much. Am I talking too much? I don’t want to bore you.”

“You couldn’t possibly.” He held out a hand to me, but it was the look in his eyes that drew me toward him. “Come tell me more stories.”

It turned out that Bash meant that literally. He settled me on one end of the sofa and took up a spot on the other end. Then he proceeded to ask me questions. My favorite movies. My favorite books. My favorite foods. My most embarrassing moment.

Just like earlier, at the polo match, I forgot to be nervous. I forgot I was supposed to lie. I forgot I was supposed to maintain distance. And that was when it all went wrong.

“So what you’re telling me,” Bash said mock-sternly, “is that you jumped on the horse because you wanted to impress a boy—”

“Hey! You asked for my most embarrassing moment, and that was it. And I’ll have you know, I did it because I was dared . It was a debt of honor . It didn’t impress anyone… especially after I fell sideways across the saddle with one foot still in the stirrup and bumping against Apple Butter’s back while he went leaping through the neighbor’s field. You’d be surprised how much it hurts to fall into a row of soybeans.” I shook my head. “I was the king of misfortune.”

Bash met my eyes. The edges of his lips were still turned up, and all I could think was how much I wanted to tease them with the tip of my tongue. We’d slid closer together, incrementally, until we were turned toward each other, our knees mere inches apart.

“On the contrary,” he whispered. “You’re the Prince of Lies.” His voice was low, almost sultry, utterly compelling…

Which was why it took me several seconds to realize the slight emphasis he’d put on the word Prince .

My heart skipped a beat before thudding double time, and my glow of happiness burned off, leaving me with a cold flare of humiliation. “P-pardon?” I breathed.

“I thought you told me Sterling Chase has been a champion polo player since high school?”

Oh. Fuck. Pumpkins all the way down. My imaginary clock had struck midnight, and I hadn’t even heard it.

“I… I…” I darted a glance toward the door.

Bash’s hand reached out to clasp mine. “Easy,” he said, gentling me like he’d done earlier with Starlight. “Answer me.”

I licked my lips. “It could be that I like to tell tall tales,” I whispered. “Maybe I told that story b-because it was more exciting than the boring life of an elite child in polo lessons.”

He surprised me by letting out a laugh. “Now, that’s the damn truth. Polo lessons are only fun if you aren’t sharing them with your asshole neighbor Eric.”

That was oddly specific. As if he spoke from experience. Personal experience.

I eyed the expensive clothes Bash wore. The shoes I really should have noticed were Italian leather. The elegant, subtle cologne that must have cost a fortune. And then the square, black watch on his wrist. With his hand so close to mine, I could make out the brand name on the watch face, which I’d never thought to look at before.

Hermès .

It was amazing how much a person could willfully not notice. How he could put facts together wrong in his mind. But now that I saw them, I couldn’t unsee them. And the picture that was coming together now…

“You aren’t really a PA, are you?” I accused.

Bash’s big hand tightened around mine. “No, sweetheart.” He looked up at me from under his eyelashes. “And you’re not really Sterling Chase.”

Ah, fuck.