Chapter 3: Fake Girlfriend

Aria

“What the actual hell?” I yank myself out of his hold, shaking my head like he’s lost his damn mind. “You’re lying. I don’t even feel a bond or smell your scent.”

A lie. A huge lie. He smells like heaven dipped in sin, and being this close to him makes my wolf stir like she’s been on a three-shot espresso bender. But no way. Nope. Not happening. He can’t be my mate.

“Why…” My voice rises with each word. “Why the hell would the Moon Goddess saddle me with someone like you as my second-chance mate?” I throw my hands in the air, completely done with this cosmic joke.

Lucas looks amused, which only pisses me off more. Of course, he’s amused. The guy’s the king of our school, the golden boy every girl worships, and oh yeah, a fucking young billionaire. Me? I’m just Aria Whitlock, professional doormat. We’re not even the same species as far as the social ladder is concerned.

“No, seriously,” I add, throwing him a dirty look. “Why would the Goddess waste a perfectly good mate bond on you?”

“Woah,” he says, clutching his chest like I’ve wounded him. “Harsh, much?”

“You’re a literal manwhore, Lucas. You’ve slept with half the school. Probably the other half, too, if skirts aren’t your thing.”

He shrugs, not even trying to deny it. “Okay, fair.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m not doing this. I can’t go from one asshole mate to another. I’m not accepting this bond.”

“That’s cool.” He leans casually against the railing, looking like rejection doesn’t faze him. “Because same.”

“Wait—what?” I blink, caught off guard.

“But,” he continues, that trademark cocky smirk spreading across his stupidly perfect face, “I want to be your fake boyfriend.”

I stare at him like he’s sprouted another head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s fake-date for the rest of this cruise,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You know, to piss off Ethan and Vanessa. And don’t worry, I’m not interested in the mate bond either.”

I gape at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. He is. Of course he is. Lucas Russo lives for drama. I frown, trying to wrap my head around this mess. I know Lucas and Ethan don't exactly get along hell, they can't stand each other. But Lucas’s casual dismissal of the mate bond... It stings, but why does it bug me so much? I mean, my own mate doesn’t even care about it, so why the hell should I?

But damn it, the idea of rubbing this in Ethan’s face is kind of tempting. Still…

“No way,” I say flatly. “Not interested.”

Lucas tilts his head. “Oh yeah? Where’re you planning to stay? Ethan’s suite? Oh, wait—he kicked your ass out. And isn’t there a two-person limit per room?”

Shit. My face falls as I realize he’s right. Stupid ship rules.

“I’ll stay with my friends,” I snap, grasping at straws.

He smirks. “Last I checked, there were three of you. You really think your friends gonna pick who gets the boot?”

Damn it. He’s got me there.

“Why are you even doing this?” I ask, crossing my arms.

Lucas’s smirk softens, just a little. “Because I can’t stand that dickhead, and I hate the way he treated you. I saw everything.”

Shame burns my cheeks, but it’s quickly drowned out by anger. Screw Ethan. Screw Vanessa. And screw this entire situation. Maybe Lucas’s ridiculous plan isn’t the worst idea ever.

I sigh. "So, what’s the catch?"

He gives me a sideways smirk. "Pretty much everything.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll do it. But it’s fake. Strictly fake.”

Lucas grins, victorious. “Obviously. We’ll play the happy couple, make sure everyone knows we’re mates, and after the cruise we'll reject each other."

“Deal,” I say.

“But one more thing—don’t fall in love with me.”

I bark out a stupid laugh. “Right back atcha. Don’t get any ideas. Seriously. You’re not my type, and I’m not gonna fall for you."

I try not to let my eyes travel to his gray eyes, that perfectly chiseled face, olive skin, and those muscles I swear could melt a girl’s panties off. Not that I’d ever let it happen. Not in a million years.

“You're not my type either.”

I scowl. “Don’t worry. I’ve had enough players to last a lifetime.”

Lucas sticks out his hand, smirking. “Partners?”

I roll my eyes but shake his hand. “Partners.”

“So, how exactly do we end it... you know, when it’s all over?” I ask Lucas, trying to sound casual, even though the question has been rattling around in my head.

His face grows serious for a moment, which is honestly more unsettling than his usual smirk. “The very last day on this ship? We reject each other and get the hell out of here,” he says, like he’s delivering the weather forecast.

I nod slowly. That actually sounds like the best option. There’s nothing for me here, anyway. I mean, Lucas? A total playboy. The guy couldn’t commit to any girl. He only cares for hockey.

“Once we’re off this ship, whatever happens here stays here,” he adds, giving me a pointed look.

I nod again, because what else am I supposed to do? He’ll probably waltz back to his perfect life—where women throw themselves at him—and I’ll shuffle back to my gloomy little existence. You know, like Cinderella, except without the fancy ball, the prince, or even a decent pair of shoes.

“Great. Now come on, girlfriend, let’s go get your stuff from that asshole,” Lucas says, all casual, like we’re heading to grab coffee—not stepping into the lion’s den.