Page 64 of Knot Their Starlet

“Forget you heard that,” I mumble, clearing my throat.

“Like hell I will!” Beck teases, bursting into laughter of his own. “I finally made you laugh! I wish I’d recorded it so it could last forever. Whenever I’m feeling down, I’d replay it and know that I, Beckham Knight, was funny enough to make you laugh.”

He means well. I know it.

But the statement still has me grimacing and taking an involuntary step back. My chamomile scent takes on bitter notes that are a lot harder to control than my facial expressions.

He freezes, instantly picking up on my change in mood.

“I’m sorry, I said something wrong, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine⁠—”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what I said, and it won’t happen again.” If it were anyone else pushing me to talk, I’d probably clam up even more. I’ve had far too many experiences with people where they push me to tell them what bothered me, only to belittle it and say I’m overreacting.

But I don’t think Beck will do that. His expression is so earnest.

“It was just the recording thing,” I say, shrugging, taking another step back into my apartment, but this time, gesturing for him to follow me. “I’ve gotta pick out my shoes, why don’t you come in?”

“Sure,” he says, his eyes scanning over my apartment. “Thanks for inviting me in. Your place is nice.”

I’m grateful I can look away from his intense gaze as I return to picking out my shoes for the evening.

“It’s my favorite place on the planet,” I say, my voice a little muffled.

“Why did the recording thing bother you?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Why do you want to know?” I stiffen, bracing myself for his reaction.

I grab the closest pair of strappy black heels and straighten to face him.

The sight of him has my defensive anger deflating. He leans against the wall behind him, tapping the tip of his fancy loafers on my floor.

“I think... since we’re supposed to convince the world that we’re dating, ‌we should get to know each other, get to know what makes each other tick, you know? And that comment I made earlier definitely made you tick. I just want to know why.”

“Believe it or not, I like my privacy,” I answer, leaning against the wall across from him.

“I can’t imagine why,” Beck says, letting out a huff of laughter. “It one-hundred percent has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you were raised on reality TV, right?”

My lips tug up in a wry grin at his sarcasm.

“Am I that transparent?”

“You’re the furthest thing from transparent, trust me. Takes a lot of effort to see through those defenses of yours.” His expression goes soft as he straightens, setting the bouquet of roses and peonies down onto my shoe cabinet right next to the little ceramic shell dish with Ezra’s old pair of keys.

“Did you really have to bring flowers?” I ask, clinging to any change in subject.

“Like I said, is it a crime to try to woo my new girlfriend?”

“Fake girlfriend,” I correct him.

He waves away my response with a wave of his hand. Leaning forward, that familiar grin tugs his lips up and makes his eyes sparkle. “This is where you say thank you, Starlight.”

The smile that creeps into my expression is involuntary. I couldn’t stop it even if I tried.

“Thank you,” I answer, picking up the bouquet.

They really are gorgeous blooms.