Page 35 of Pretender

“No.” I press my lips together. “Fine, you can hold my hand if you fall over.”

Aiden leans his elbows on the kitchen counter, steepling his hands in front of his chin.

“If you’re going to be my girlfriend, sorry, fake girlfriend, don’t hold back your laughs. If there’s anything that makes this seem more genuine, it’ll be you being happy and laughing when we’re together.”

“Okay, I’ll try to remember that.” I try on a half-smile under his scrutinising stare. “I’m on auto-stifle mode most of the time. Staying professional.”

“Not when you’re on a date with me.”

“Yes, master,” I say, doing a theatrical bow over my plate, and Aiden cough-laughs, which makes me weirdly proud.

It hits me—is he doing the charm thing now? Is this me getting swept away with his … ways? He must think I’m such a gullible fool.

I straighten up fully, suddenly too aware of where my hands are. My ears burn under my hair.

“Maybe we’ll have to do a practice date,” he says. “Somewhere we don’t know anyone.”

“How about the pop-up summer market on the South Bank?”

“The South Bank?”

“Yes, Mr Mayfair. It’s aaaall the way across the bridge. Ever been?” Turns out I can pretend to be normal with him. I’ll keep trying, and maybe it’ll become natural.

“Cheeky.” He smirks at me. “But okay, let’s do it.”

“Friday night?”

He nods.

“Last thing to agree on that I can think of,” he says, focusing on his plate now, collecting the last pieces of egg with the back of his fork. “When does it end?”

“End?”

“You weren’t planning on fake moving in and fake marrying me, were you?” he asks, repeating what I said the other day.

“Well, I guess I’d need to make sure I’ve got the work with Lady Beauchamp, and maybe get introduced to her friends. How do I put a time limit on that? And it’d have to end amicably, so neither is seen as the bad person.”

“Agree. Mum and Will are getting married in August, and it’d be good not to give her bad news right after, so maybe … end of September?”

“Three months?”

He shrugs.

“I know we just established you have self-control, but can you really go three months without … umm?”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Without sex?”

“Yes.” I nod curtly.

He hums. Oh, he’s really having to think about it.

Ugh, why do I care?

Why did I bring it up again? It’s like I’m testing him. What do I even want him to say? That he can easily do it because I’m worth it? Because he respects me?

I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t let your mind go there.