Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Understand what you’re saying, but . . .” But I couldn’t possibly meet your family. But you would hate me if you knew my history with Oliver. Or, at the very least, think less of me. “Surely there’s someone better for this job.”
“All I’m asking is for a few days now, and then a few more when we’re all here for the wedding. In exchange, I’ll go with you to the meeting and pretend to be your adoring fiancé.”
Sighing, I take a seat on the nearest bench and grab my bottle of water. “The whole fake-dating thing might look easy in the movies, but I’m pretty sure it’s a recipe for disaster in real life.”
“I feel like we could pull it off okay.” His eyes are so tender, and . . . Gah. My heart.
It’s such a small favor. Honestly, I wouldn’t hesitate . . . if it weren’t for Oliver. “Just tell them your girlfriend is out of town.”
Alec tucks his hands in his pockets and frowns. “May I ask if I did something to offend you?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Is it that even pretending to be my girlfriend for a few days would be that distasteful to you? So distasteful that you wouldn’t even do it to land your dream job?”
“Alec . . .” My shoulders sag. “Is your whole family coming down? I mean, how many people would I be pretending for?” Oh God, this is awkward, but even if I’m not Alec’s fake girlfriend, I have to know if I’ll be facing Oliver. Maybe I will leave town.
“The whole family will come. There will be about five of us this weekend, and then probably thirty the weekend of the wedding—plus everyone on Rose’s fiancé’s side. I guess I don’t know for sure, but Mom will expect all the aunts and uncles to make the trip. The only one she won’t guilt into coming is Oliver. He hasn’t been in the same room as her since Dad’s funeral, and I don’t think either of them want that to change now.”
Swallowing, I hold his gaze as I ask, “Oliver?” Can one word, said like a question, be a lie? Because this feels like one. Acting like I don’t know who Oliver is feels unforgivably misleading.
Irritation colors Alec’s features. Not irritation with me, but with— “My brother. Half-brother.”
“And why wouldn’t he want to be in the same room as your mom?”
“Because he’s fucking ungrateful. My mother opened her home to him when his mom died, and in return, he treats her like a pariah.” He shakes his head as if to shed any ill will he has toward Oliver. “It doesn’t matter. He won’t be here. Thank God for small mercies.”
I focus all my energy on keeping the relief off my face. Maybe if Oliver won’t be around . . . “What about Portentia? Will she be coming?”
“Not if I have a girlfriend. My mother won’t invite her if I have a date. It would be too embarrassing.” He rocks back on his heels. “I know it’s all so petty and ridiculous, and I don’t expect you to understand the politics of my family. In fact, I couldn’t blame you if you saw me differently after all this, but I hope you won’t. I want to do this for my sister. Rose deserves her day to be about her—not about my mother’s plans to see me married off to someone she deems suitable.”
“Can I think about it?” I ask softly.
“Of course.” He studies my face before dropping his eyes to my mouth.
My skin heats at the memories his hot gaze evokes. Hot lips skimming over my bare shoulder, rough hands gripping my hips. I take a half step back, not fully trusting myself. “This can’t be real, Alec.” I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t make that clear. If he ended up hurt.
“I know where you stand,” he says.
I blow out a heavy breath. “Then I’ll let you know in the morning.”
Iwant to do this favor for Alec—and God knows it would probably benefit me more than him—but I’m a coward, and I don’t want him knowing my secrets.
I like to go to bed early so I can be up by five, but tonight I’ve been tossing and turning.
After an hour, I give up and grab my phone. Screens are the worst thing for my insomnia, but sometimes I just need to stop thinking about how I can’t sleep.
I scroll through Instagram, tapping like on kind and encouraging comments on my posts and ignoring the more suggestive and straight-up repulsive ones. I show my body on my Instagram because it’s good business. What it can do, how it makes me feel, and—whether I like it or not—how it looks. It’s all part of my brand, and I make the best of it. Unfortunately, there are men who think that because I post pictures of myself in sports bras and workout shorts, they’re entitled to me. I delete and block the worst of them and ignore the others.