Page 60 of My Real Love Affair

I tried not to think about how intimate this felt. Just the two of us in the very small, expensive space. The scent of his cologne mixing with new car smell. His hand on the gear shift, so close to my knee.

“You’re quiet,” he observed as we drove through Manhattan.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Where you’re taking me. What kind of elaborate Bancroft date requires this much secrecy?”

He grinned. “It’s going to be good. Trust me.”

We drove through increasingly wealthy neighborhoods. Past brownstones that cost tens of millions. And then he kept going. The city gave way to tree-lined streets and estates hidden behind iron gates.

“Austin,” I said slowly. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Almost there.”

We turned onto a private road an hour later. My stomach started to knot. Clearly, we weren’t going to a restaurant to be seen and photographed.

We pulled up in front of massive iron gates that slowly opened. Beyond them, I could see a sprawling estate. Manicured lawns. Fountains. A house that was less a house and more a mansion. Itwasa mansion.

“Austin, where are we?”

He pulled up to the circular driveway and put the car in park. Then he came around and opened my door, offering his hand to help me out.

I took it, my legs feeling slightly unsteady in my heels. I should have worn my tennis shoes. No, scratch that. I was glad I’d worn the heels because wherever we were was definitely heel worthy.

“Welcome to the Bancroft estate,” he said.

My brain short-circuited. “What?”

“We’re here to have dinner with my father and stepmother.” He said it casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. “Surprise?”

“You—I—What?” I couldn’t form complete sentences. “Austin, you said we were going on a date!”

“I said I was picking you up at six for dinner.” He had the audacity to look amused. “I never said date.”

“You implied date! Sports car, nice dress, Sunday evening—those are date things!”

“Or family dinner things.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. I had prepared for cameras and playing the role of devoted girlfriend in public. I had not prepared for meeting his father. Armand Bancroft. One of the wealthiest, most powerful men in New York. Possibly the country.

“I’m going to throw up,” I said.

Austin’s amusement faded. “Hey, no. You’re okay. Deep breaths.”

“Deep breaths? Austin, I’m about to have dinner with your father. Your extremely wealthy, extremely intimidating father who you are lying to. NowI’mlying to him!”

“Which is why we need to convince him otherwise.” He took both my hands in his. “Look, I scratched your back with the lawyers, right? Helped you with the Femme Curve situation?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Now it’s your turn to help me. Dad thinks I’m just fucking around like I always do. I need to prove I can be in a long-term relationship. That I’m serious about someone.” He squeezed my hands. “And you’re going to help me do that.”

I wanted to argue. Wanted to demand he take me home immediately. But he was right. We’d made an agreement. This was part of the deal.

Even if the deal had just become infinitely more terrifying.