Chapter 4

4

THORAK

I sit back down in surprise at her words.

Mariah immediately sits down next to me, her gaze boring into mine with intensity. I catch another whiff of her scent—lavender and honey, with an intoxicating undercurrent that's uniquely her. My body reacts instantly, desire pooling in my groin. I shift in my seat, trying to adjust myself discreetly as my cock stiffens.

This is trouble.

"Just what I said," Mariah repeats firmly. "I'll be your fake fiancée, Thorak. But it comes at a price."

The cafe bustles around us but all I can focus on is the tantalizing woman before me and the insane proposal she's making. Is she serious? My head spins.

Mariah continues. "The inn has an infestation of pixie dust mites I need eradicated immediately. But the exterminator costs twenty thousand dollars that I don't have." She arches one perfect brow. "If you give me the money, I'll play your loving bride-to-be for as long as you need me to fool Mr. Kingsley."

My thoughts race as I process her offer. It's a terrible idea for so many reasons. I should march over to Robert right now, come clean about my stupid lie, and beg for forgiveness. That would be the honorable thing to do.

But...the temptation to have Mariah close, to finally act on the forbidden crush I've harbored for over a decade, is overwhelming. More than that, this could be my one chance to make amends for how despicably I treated her back in high school. I've wanted to apologize for years but could never figure out how to approach her.

Our fake relationship might give me the opportunity to show I've changed and earn her forgiveness.

I flex my large green hands on the table, warring with myself. Mariah watches me intently, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes that she quickly masks. Fuck, even after everything, seeing her still makes my blood pound stupidly in my veins.

I know I shouldn't say yes. It's reckless and wrong. But with Mariah gazing at me, smelling divine, every fiber of my being yearns to agree, consequences be damned...

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I nod slowly. "Okay. I agree to your terms."

Mariah knows I'm loaded. My family was one of the founding clans of Elderberry Falls, and my parents own the most renowned brewery in the entire magical realm. Twenty grand is pocket change to me.

A small price to pay for a shot at redemption with the woman I've never been able to forget.

Mariah sits back in her chair, a satisfied smile curving her lush lips. "Good," she replies crisply, pulling a notepad and pen from her apron pocket. "Now, let's hammer out the details of our little arrangement, shall we?"

Over the next hour, ensconced in the bustling cafe, Mariah and I meticulously craft the specifics of our fake relationship. I explain my tenuous association with Robert Kingsley: he's a potential investor and distributor for Orc's Anvil. While I don't necessarily need his coin, I'm desperate for his far-reaching distribution network. I need it if I'm ever going to break into the human market in a major way. I have a mere two weeks to win him over before he leaves town.

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking," Mariah says, tapping her pen against the notepad. "We'll say we reconnected on MagicMatch a while back. Chatted, met up for coffee, and boom—instant chemistry." She glances back up at me and the fire rages in my veins again. Instant chemistry won't be too hard to fake. "Whirlwind romance, fell madly in love, quick engagement. Sound good?"

I nod, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickens at the thought of a passionate affair with Mariah, even an imaginary one. "Works for me. We should probably have a timeline too, make it believable. First date, first kiss, when I popped the question..."

We dive into crafting an intricate history of our bogus courtship. We agree that six weeks is a logical timeline, long enough to seem serious yet short enough to explain why we're not shouting our supposed engagement from the rooftops.

I almost forget it's all a sham, getting swept up in the fantasy. But reality comes crashing back as we start discussing boundaries.

"Okay, ground rules," Mariah states, her tone all business. "We'll need to have public displays of affection. Even when we think no one's watching, we need to sell it. Every stolen glance, every accidental touch—it all counts."

I swallow hard. Anyone with a lick of sense can probably see how I look at her already.

"No touching below the waist," she continues. "Kissing on the cheek is fine, but keep it chaste in public. In private, we're business partners only, got it?"

"Got it," I agree gruffly, hoping she can't hear the disappointment in my voice. I know I have no right to want more, but my treacherous heart aches at the limitations.

I clear my throat. "One more thing. If we're going to pull this off, we have to make it convincing. Robert will be attending some events around town, and other people we know will be there. If anyone suspects we're lying, it could blow back on both of us big time."

Mariah nods solemnly, jotting notes. "I hear you," she says. "We'll make them all believe in our undying love."

I exhale heavily, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into. Two weeks of pretending to be madly in love with Mariah, the woman of my dreams ... who also happens to despise me. Two weeks of torturous bliss, fighting my real feelings, trying not to fall deeper under her intoxicating spell.

"Alright then, partner," Mariah says, extending her hand across the table. Her grip is firm, solid.

"Partner," I affirm, shaking her hand. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through me and bittersweet certainty sinks into my bones.

These next fourteen days will either be my sweetest fantasy come true—or my ultimate undoing.

The familiar, comforting scent of hops and malts envelops me as I stride back into Orc's Anvil Brewing Co., my sanctuary and pride. Gleaming copper kettles catch the warm light, while barrels of aging ale line the stone walls. I breathe deep, savoring the rich, earthy aroma that never fails to settle my nerves.

But today, even surrounded by my life's work, my mind churns with the enormity of the arrangement I've struck with Mariah.

Fake fiancée . The words echo in my skull. What in the seven hells was I thinking?

I spot Gruna hunched over paperwork in the taproom, her brow creased in concentration. She glances up as I approach.

"Brother! Welcome back. You'll never guess what else happened here today. That rickety keg washer finally crapped out, mid-cycle. Suds everywhere! Thank the spirits for Fizz—that crafty little goblin had spare parts on hand. We're back on track, but yeesh, talk about panic."

I make a mental note to give Fizz a bonus for his quick thinking. "Good ol' Fizz," I grunt.

Gruna's eyes narrow at whatever she reads on my face. "What's going on? Did the meeting with Kingsley go okay?"

With a deep breath, I meet Gruna's worried gaze. "It went okay, but there's something I need to tell you," I begin, my voice low and tense.

Gruna huffs. "Thorak, what did you do?"

I wince at the accusation in her tone. Damn, she knows me too well. Rubbing the back of my neck, I forge ahead. "I may have...told Kingsley I'm engaged. To a human."

"You what ?!" Gruna's screech echoes through the taproom.

"Keep your voice down!" I hiss, glancing around to make sure we're alone. "It just slipped out, okay? Kingsley was going on about the importance of having a human presence in our business and I panicked!"

Gruna pinches the bridge of her nose, her trinkets jangling as she shakes her head. "Thorak, this is a disaster waiting to happen. How could lie about something so idiotic—and so easy to disprove?"

I bristle at the disapproval in her voice. "You think I don't know that? But I have a solution, of sorts." Taking a fortifying breath, I drop the real bombshell. "Mariah Parker overheard. And she's agreed to play along...for a price."

Gruna's jaw drops. "Mariah Parker? As in the girl you tormented all through high school?"

I flinch at the blunt reminder of my past misdeeds. "Yes, her. She needs money to deal with a pixie dust mite infestation at the inn. If I cover the cost, she'll pretend to be my fiancée until Kingsley leaves town."

"This is insane, Thorak!" Gruna throws up her hands. "There's no way Ma and Da don't find out. You know what they think about humans!"

A wave of shame washes over me at the thought of our parents' prejudice. Our whole lives, they've drilled into us the importance of sticking to our own kind. Of upholding orc traditions and rejecting the "corrupting influence" of other species—especially humans.

But I'm not a child anymore. And I refuse to let their narrow-minded views dictate my life. Or your heart, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. I do my best to ignore it.

"They won't find out," I insist, injecting confidence into my voice. "Kingsley's only here for two weeks. I'll wine and dine him, dazzle him with the brewery's potential. Once he's on board, Mariah and I will stage a quick, quiet ‘breakup' and that'll be that."

Gruna still looks skeptical, but I can see her resistance wavering. "I don't like this, Thorak. It's too risky. What if Kingsley finds out? What if...what if you catch feelings for real? I've seen the way you look at her..."

My stomach twists with unease, a sinking sensation I can't quite shake. The thought of this fake engagement ending, of having to stay away from Mariah all over again, even if our relationship is never real...it physically pains me. But I swallow hard and force a gruff chuckle, trying to play it off.

"Relax, sis. I've got this under control. Mariah and I are both professionals. We know what we're doing."

Gruna's amber eyes bore into me, seeing straight through my forced bravado. She's always had an uncanny ability to read me like an open book, ever since we were whelps. With a soft sigh, she reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.

"Just be careful, okay?" Her voice is gentle but firm. "Don't let your heart get tangled up in this mess. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'll be fine," I rasp, the words sticking in my throat like shards of glass.

Gruna clearly doesn't believe me, but she doesn't push. Just gives my shoulder a final comforting squeeze before pulling back.

Needing a distraction, I grab a tall stein and head over to the taps, pouring myself a generous helping of our latest brew—a rich, dark oatmeal stout with hints of coffee and chocolate.

I raise the glass to my lips and the brew slides down my throat, smooth and slightly sweet. But it does little to quell the turmoil raging inside me. As I stare into the inky depths of my glass, I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a precarious cliff...

And I'm terrified that this fake engagement might be the thing that finally makes me fall.