Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

LILY

I grab my purse as we come down a floor and approach the front door.

‘Who is it?’ calls Tate from a safe distance down the hall as I refuse to let him use the peephole. If you want to kill someone, shooting through a peephole seems a pretty sure-fire way to do it.

‘Hey, Mr Donaghue. It’s Ray.’

‘Who’s Ray?’ I mouth at Tate.

‘Doorman,’ he whispers.

‘You’ve had a delivery from Tiffany.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to phone up?’ Tate asks, looking at me.

‘Of course, Mr Donaghue, I’m so sorry. I clean forgot in all the excitement.’

I roll my eyes. Tate starts towards the door, but I put a hand on his arm and shake my head.

‘He might not be alone,’ I mouth.

Tate’s jaw tightens, but he lets me creep ahead and lean into the peephole.

‘I hate this,’ I hear him mutter from behind me.

Through the peephole, I can see that Ray, in his smart concierge uniform, is alone. I step back and nod at Tate to take charge. He opens the door.

‘Mr Donaghue.’ Ray hands over the parcel and his eyes slide to me in my pretend fiancée-getting-engaged outfit I’d put on after the gym. His round face lights up and he pats down the wispy hair barely covering the top of his head. ‘I’m really sorry about this mess.’ With his thumb he indicates the door. ‘Security says they came up in the back elevator. If I get my hands on them.’ He clenches both fists and shakes his head, looking like the archetypal boxing coach in every film you’ve ever seen. ‘Bums. Got nothing better to do with their lousy lives.’

Ray nods at me. ‘You must be Mrs Donaghue-to-be. Many congratulations to you. I saw it on TMZ.’ He beams at us both, the vandalised door forgotten.

While Tate was in the gym, every social-media platform has gone viral with numerous pictures of me and Tate in Tiffany. The pièce de résistance is the shot taken in the store, where Tate is sliding the ring on my finger accompanied by the headline: ‘The Kiss’– which must have been sent to every last news outlet by the press team.

‘Sure was a surprise to read about it. You two keep a low profile,’ he says, with a smile.

‘We’ve been very discreet,’ I tell him. ‘You know what the press are like, we didn’t want to jinx things. Tate’s spent most of his time at my place.’

‘Of course,’ he says.

‘Thanks, Ray,’ says Tate.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I add, suddenly aware that there’s a nation of genuine, earnest citizens who want good things for Tate and that they’re happy for him. And we’re lying to them.

‘I take it this is the ring,’ says Ray, holding the box up with dewy eyes. ‘They get it sized for you today?’

‘They did. Great service,’ says Tate, taking the box from him.

Ray looks on expectantly as if he’s hoping Tate’s going to get the ring out there and then and put it on my finger.

Tate changes the subject with the speed and finesse of one of his own moves on the pitch.

‘How are the grandkids? Little Davey still playing the guitar you got him for Christmas.’

I’m guessing that Tate is in the same uncomfortable camp as I am, deceiving good honest people doesn’t sit well.

‘Hell, yeah. He’s driving his mom mad but he’s learning real fast. He’s a quick study. I’ll tell him you were asking after him.’

‘You do that. Remind him that if he’s hungry enough for something, he can make it happen.’

‘Sure will, Mr Donaghue. We’ll all be rooting for you, next week. Got a big party planned. All the family coming over.’

‘Thanks Ray. Sure means a lot. We’ll do our best to bring it home.’

‘No doubt about it. You got this.’ Ray nods to Tate and walks back along the corridor to the lift, then halfway down he stops and turns. ‘Again. Congratulations. Great news. I hope you’re going to be as happy as me and my Dorrie have been for the last thirty-eight years.’ He waves and gets into the lift, his smiling face the last thing we see before the doors close.

‘Shit,’ says Tate, passing the Tiffany package from hand to hand like it’s a fidget cube. ‘This sucks. I didn’t know I’d feel like this. Lying to the fans.’ His jaw is tense.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘This situation. It’s nobody’s choice but we’re not harming anyone.’

‘There’s no boyfriend or partner who’s going to be shocked to see you in the press?’ Tate asks.

I shake my head and say firmly, ‘No.’

‘Or that you’re engaged?’

‘A few friends might be surprised, but my closest friends know what I do.’

He opens up the package and takes the contents out.

He holds out the turquoise blue box to me and we both stare down at it. I catch my lip in my teeth.

To my surprise he flips open the lid and takes out the ring.

‘Might as well do this properly. Who knows if I’ll ever do it for real.’ He takes my hand, all business, and slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly and my stomach flips at the sight of the exquisite, emerald-cut diamond. It’s absolutely gorgeous, although I still can’t believe that Tate paid that exorbitant sum of money for it. When I found out how much it cost, I wanted to downgrade to a much smaller diamond of less than a carat, but Tate insisted that this ring had been my first choice and I had to have it. It was difficult to argue in front of the sales assistant, who probably wasn’t going to back me up.

‘It’s a beautiful ring,’ I say quietly. ‘Thank you. Even if it is only temporary. I’m going to enjoy wearing something so lovely.’

Tate runs a finger along mine and I think he’s going to say something, but then his phone beeps.

‘The car’s here,’ he says. ‘I need to grab my bag.’

* * *

We arrive at the stadium at the players’ back entrance, which is manned by two burly security guards. Apparently, today’s quite an occasion as it’s the last training session at the stadium before the team fly to New Orleans, so there’s a bit of a party atmosphere with the whole team, families, wives and girlfriends assembled.

‘Hey,’ says Shane, who is there to meet us. ‘I’ll take Lily up to the box.’ He smiles at me. ‘Don should be fine here. We’ve got the best security.’

I glance at the broad-shouldered guys with impassive faces. Sure, they look the part, but I’d be happier escorting Tate down to the locker room myself.

I slip an arm through Tate’s and clutch his rock-hard bicep, like the best clingy girlfriend. ‘Can’t I see the locker room?’

Tate and Shane talk over each other.

Tate saying no, while Shane nods and says, ‘Sure.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ says Tate. ‘I need to focus on practice.’

Just to wind him up, I say. ‘But darling, I want to see where you work.’

One of the security guys sniggers and Tate rolls his eyes. He leads the way down under the stadium. It feels like we’re in a coal mine as we twist down the dimly lit corridors until we come to a museum-like area, full of glass cases holding pennants, old uniforms and trophies– which I’m guessing are minor ones and not like the big shields and silverware upstairs.

Tate heads towards one of the doors.

I hesitate. I feel I ought to go in to check it before Tate enters. I slide in front of him.

Tate snorts. ‘Be prepared to get an eyeful.’

I pause.

‘Chicken,’ he murmurs into my ear.

Turning to face him, I tilt my head. ‘Maybe I’m worried about their privacy. Seen one, you’ve seen them all.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that?’ he says, reminding me that that is not the case. He has the most impressive dick I’ve ever seen.

I swallow and glance back at the door. I don’t like leaving him, even though I know Tierney’s team are responsible for stadium security and they’ve been doing this for a long time.

‘Lily, there will be at least twenty other guys in there. No one is going to attack me in the locker room.’

I purse my lips. He’s probably right, but I hate not doing my job properly. I don’t know Tierney’s team.

A group of players appear, including Blake Pedlar.

‘Hey, Lily,’ he calls with a big grin on his face. ‘How you doing? Still with this bozo? Let’s see the ring. I hear you guys have been shopping. It’s all over social media. There’s still time to change your mind.’

He winks at me. He’s the only other person apart from senior management that is in on the fake engagement.

‘I tell you if it doesn’t work out, I’ll always be your plus one,’ he adds.

‘Thanks Blake.’ I smile at him, pleased to see a friendly face.

‘I’ll see you after the game,’ says Tate and I feel a bit guilty for bothering him. I can see he’s trying to get in the zone.

‘Good luck,’ I say.

‘Come on, man. Don’t you get a lucky kiss?’ asks one of the other players. I recognise him from the team sheet, which I’ve been studying. Mike Tomlin. With his stocky barrel-chested build, the missing teeth and heavy beard, he looks more like a wrestler and has a wicked grin on his face.

‘Yeah,’ joins in Blake, shooting me a mischievous wink.

Tate gives him the side-eye but plays along. ‘Yeah.’ He looks down at me, quirking an eyebrow in challenge. ‘It’s a football tradition. A guy’s got to get a kiss from his girl. On the lips. In public.’ I know he’s referring to our conversation in the car. ‘It’s good luck.’

Unfortunately, for the sake of the charade, they all have to believe that Tate and I are an item. And I just know, from the cocky gleam in his eyes, that Tate is going to put on a show for them. I look up at him.

Bring it on. I can give as good as I can get.

When he lowers his lips to mine, his tongue teasing the entrance, I meet him and wind my hand into his hair. As soon as his tongue touches mine, a thrill shoots through me and I realise I’ve made a massive tactical error. I thought, with an audience, I wouldn’t get swept in but when Tate gives me an open-mouthed kiss, it sears me from my mouth to the soles of my feet. My heart takes off with a giddy gallop, and I have to suck in a breath to steady myself. Shit, his hands come out to hold my arms, and I need that support to keep me upright. What is it about this man that triggers all my senses and makes me turn into mush at his touch? Is it because he’s so fiercely masculine and I’m so used to fending for myself I can relax with him? I’ve no idea. I just know that I like the way he makes me feel, and I shouldn’t.

I allow myself one more kiss and then pull back. He grins down at me and touches my lips.

I’m not allowing him to have the last word and I capture his finger between my teeth and give it a little nip, with some tongue, too. His eyes widen and he laughs.

‘I like the way you wish me luck. What will you do when we win?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ I play along with a sultry smile for the benefit of our audience, but the warmth between my thighs makes it clear that my body has a very specific interest in knowing.

‘Until later, Princess.’ He salutes me and saunters off with the other players through the door painted with the Bullington shield.

I ease out a sigh, which could be construed as a whimper, and Shane glances at me.

‘The man’s a jerk,’ I say.

‘Looks like you’re handling him okay.’

I give Shane a scornful look. ‘Of course, I am,’ I lie.