You’d barely caught your breath since stepping into the store—sleek, high-end, and so quiet you could hear your own heels tapping on the marble floors. You were only here because Tony Stark, genius-billionaire-chaos-on-legs, had insisted you come along to help him choose “something mildly impressive” for the upcoming Stark Industries gala.
Typical Tony. Make you cancel your afternoon just to parade through luxury boutiques with his ego ten steps ahead of him.
You’d only looked away for a second, and when you glanced back—there he was. Talking to a tall, overdressed woman with a laugh that could probably crack glass. Her red lipstick was immaculate, her perfume unmistakably expensive… but you knew Tony’s tells. The way he shifted his weight. The subtle narrowing of his eyes. That sharp little twitch of annoyance in his jaw.
She wasn’t his type.
At all.
So, you did what any overworked assistant with boundaries would do—you wandered deeper into the store to give him space. You didn’t sign up to be a third wheel on a flirting session.
But just as your fingers grazed a shimmering silk dress, you felt it. A presence behind you. Then warmth. Then arms—strong and unmistakably familiar—looping around your waist and pulling you back against a very expensive chest.
“There you are, honey.”
The voice was smooth, laced with amusement. Tony Stark.
You blinked, startled, as he pressed closer. His breath ghosted your ear, lips barely moving as he murmured:
“She wouldn’t stop talking about yacht clubs and astrology. Told her I was engaged.” A pause. Then, slyly— “You. Are now the lucky fiancée. Congratulations.”
You caught the woman staring, confusion painted across her face, clutching her designer bag a little tighter. Tony didn't even glance back at her. Instead, he smiled at you—that trademark smirk that made entire boardrooms nervous.
“Just pretend, sweetheart. And hey—anything you want in the store? Consider it your engagement gift.”
He winked, hand sliding casually down to the small of your back before letting you go. But even then, he didn’t move far—like the charade wasn’t quite over. Like maybe it wasn’t a charade at all.
And just like that, you realized something: Tony Stark didn’t need to fake charm anyone. But he chose to fake it—with you.