“What would you like to drink?” Dexter asks, scanning the menu.

“We have this expensive champagne.”

“We can open that later. I’m not really a champagne type of guy.”

I can see that about him. “I’ll have a cocktail. Something light and fruity. The Bluebell,” I say, opting for the signature drink. He orders scotch, and after the server has taken the order, he leans back, lacing his fingers together. “I guess we need to decide how we met.”

I sigh. “We should try to keep the story close to reality.”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” His voice is suspicious.

“No. Have you?” I throw back.

“No. But you seem pretty eager about it.”

I roll my eyes. “Look, I don’t want to keep repeating this. I only want to help my father. You’re suspicious of me, maybe you’re wondering why I haven’t met anyone, but you’re not a bad-looking man and I’m not bad-looking either—”

He cuts me off.  “What? Did you just say you’re not bad looking?” He shakes his head. Then, he schools his surprise, nodding. “Yeah, I guess you’re not bad looking.”

It’s strange. In this moment, I like him a little more.  “Thank you.” I tilt my head and give him a wide smile. “No food stuck in my teeth? No mustache?”

He exhales a laugh. “No.”

“No booger up my nose?”

“Jesus, Daniela.”

“Just checking.” I grin. “So, I must be presentable.”

“This is definitely better than what you had on the night we first met.” His eyes casually sweep over me.

I freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You weren’t wearing anything,” he says casually.

I blink. “I … what?”

“When I came to your hotel room, you could’ve been naked behind that door, for all I knew.”

“I was holding up my dress!” I cry out in exasperation.

He shrugs. “Not my problem.”

I narrow my eyes. “You weren’t curious?”

“Nope.”

“You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.”

I sit back, studying him. “You really don’t fancy me, not even a little bit?”

He snorts. “Daniela, you’re the last person I’d wanted to marry.”

I arch a brow. “And if I was the last person on earth?”

“Same. There were two other women in that room that night,” he says smoothly. “Both in their fifties. Both wearing trousers. I’d have picked them over you.”

I gasp. “You’re dead serious?”

“Damn straight.”

I burst out laughing. It’s so unexpected, because I’ve never had any man say that to me. While his words feel refreshingly different, they also leave a sting. Because at last I’ve met a man who interests me, but has no interest in me.

Our drinks arrive and Dexter lifts his glass. “Let’s toast to something.”

I pick up my cocktail. “Like what?”

“Our impending wedding.”

“Our surprise wedding.”

“That too.”

He lifts his glass and drains it completely dry. Shock lances through me. He must be stressed. Maybe he’s uncomfortable being with me, and that’s why he’s drinking so fast.

I groan. “We need to work on our stories.”

“We do,” he agrees. “People always ask. What are you going to tell them?”

I take a slow sip of my drink, thinking.

“I’d say… we were both at a carnival,” I begin. “I won a giant stuffed panda, but I couldn’t carry it, so you, being the chivalrous man you are, offered to hold it for me.”

He narrows his eyes. “I’m already regretting this story.”

I grin, feeling the tension between us soften. Feeling slightly more at ease with him. “And then, just as we were standing under the Ferris wheel, bam! You dropped to one knee, pulled a ring from thin air, and declared that I was the love of your life.”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because which Ferris wheel? Which carnival? Why would someone you like and me meet at a place like that? I can’t remember the last time I went to a carnival.”

“What’s your story, then?”

He shrugs. “The usual. We went out for dinner. Had a lovely time.”

“What did we eat?”

“Truffle risotto. It was out of this world.”

“I love truffle risotto!”

He nods. “Good to know. At the end, I ordered you a pudding, and inside was a ring.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Boring.”

“Predictable,” he admits.

“Have you ever actually thought about a proposal story before?”

He hesitates. “No.”

“Good thing this marriage is fake, then,” I mutter. But I’m more curious than ever now about his former girlfriends.

He exhales a laugh. “We probably shouldn’t be saying that out loud.”

I swirl my cocktail. “Maybe we should’ve done this ‘getting to know each other’ part at your apartment instead.”

He cocks a brow. “Are you coming on to me, Miss Oliveira?”

I roll my eyes. “You wish.”

“Soon to be Mrs. Knight.”

I stiffen. “Nope. That doesn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Daniela Knight?” I shake my head. “It’s like chalk and cheese.”

“That’s because we are like chalk and cheese.”

I sigh. “Okay, fine. We’re getting to know each other.” I rest my chin on my palm. “Tell me something about you.”

“I like to have a lot of sex.”

I blink. “Did I need to know that?”

“You’re going to be my wife, aren’t you?”

I straighten up, feel the heat inching along my cheeks. Can tell by the way his eyes twinkle that he’s noticed.

“I’m joking!” he says, probably because he’s realized how awkward I feel. And why do I feel awkward. He was joking.

I frown. “Why tell me, then?”

“So you understand what this isn’t.”