“Because obsessing over your job and when you stop working is weird.”
“True.”
“Obsessing enough to need a passport to keep up his charade is five layers beyond absurd.” It was hard to see him, but Rhys studied her face. After a moment, he gestured to the large blanket at their feet. “Sit down. Take it easy. Forget about him. He’s not worth your time.”
She mustered her courage and sat on the blanket. Rhys joined her.
Did the photographer have them in sight right now? They were supposed to look at the stars. She couldn’t even figure out how to sit next to Rhys. She set her flute on the little wooden stand sticking out of the sand by the edge of the blanket. Jules tucked her maxi dress under her legs, sliding her hands up and down the smooth fabric. She didn’t know where to place her hands. Didn’t know how to cross her legs.
“Cold?” he asked.
The ocean breeze lifted the loose strands of her hair. She tucked them behind her ears and forced her hands still on her legs. “No.”
Rhys hadn’t touched his champagne and set it next to hers. He slipped off his dinner jacket and draped it over her shoulders. The faint hint of cologne invited her to dip her head toward the lapel. She wanted to breathe him in—breathe in his coat.
Not Rhys. Not Rhys at all.
Jules swallowed hard. She tugged the jacket over her chest. “What will the Rhules followers think about this?”
“That I’m the luckiest guy on the planet.”
God, he made her stomach twist. Every breath labored in her lungs like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air.
“Usually, I know where I’m going, what I’m doing when we work together.”
She gave a short laugh. “Not tonight, huh?”
“Not tonight.” He laughed quietly. “Always keeping me on my toes, aren’t you?”
Heat rose into her cheeks. She still couldn’t figure out how to sit.Cross my legs? Stick them out and lean back on my elbows?She needed instruction on where to sit and stand, a director to call the shots. Anything that would make this feel less contrived—which was nuts. Because she was the queen of making people believe whatever she wanted them to.
In love? Sure. Done. No problem.
Except she didn’t know how to do it in real life. “You don’t have to do this, Rhys.”
“I know.”
“Why are you?”
He shrugged. “Why not? You agreed to an arranged marriage with Mason Marlow. Why’d you do that?”
That secret should have stayed with her and her legal team until the grave. Of all the people to tell, she’d chosen Rhys, whom she’d trusted with her truth so many years ago, and he’d turned on her, telling the world when he testified. “It was work.”
“This is work.”
Work. That was all this was. Whatever flutters that had cropped up tonight needed to evaporate immediately. If she could snap her fingers and make everything normal again, she’d do it in a heartbeat. “Thanks.”
“Stop thanking me already. No big deal. I’ll just pretend I’m… I don’t know. Your costar or something. On a much smaller scale.” He leaned back on the blanket. “Are your eyes used to the dark yet?”
She blinked and nodded, realizing how much better she could see. It wasn’t enough that she knew where a photographer might be but enough that she could better appreciate the empty beach around them. They were all alone, with the stars blanketing the night sky. She lay by his side—sort of.
Rhys inched over. “Lift your head up.” He positioned her under the crook of his arm, her head resting on it. “Comfortable?”
She dipped her cheek to the side, staring at his profile. “Do you think we look like a couple?”
“I think we look like you’ve been forced to lie next to me. And like, maybe I smell or something.”
She laughed, scooting closer. “Oh, come on. It usually takes me more than one take to get into the right headspace.”
