Page 48 of Fake it for Keeps

Both of us snacked, drank our champagne, and simply enjoyed the quiet. I refilled both of our glasses and leaned back. It was a strange experience to be sitting in a hot tub with a beautiful woman and not have my hands on her. Or her mouth on my body.

Very weird.

“I miss my father too,” Hallie said suddenly.

And bam, buzzkill.

I opened my eyes and looked at her. I knew it was a pickup from the conversation we had over an hour ago, but it seemed like a delayed reaction. “Your dad?”

“Yeah.” She was staring out at the ocean now, not meeting my eyes. “You talked about yours at dinner. I just… I wanted you to know you’re not alone in that.”

“I didn’t know your father had passed. I’m sorry.”

“How would you know?” She gave a sad smile. “It’s not like we’ve exactly shared life stories.”

“What happened?” I asked gently. “If you don’t mind talking about it.”

She took a sip of champagne and then looked down into the glass. Maybe that was blunt. Was that an inappropriate question? I thought maybe she wouldn’t answer.

Then she took a deep breath. “He had a stroke. Three years ago. Completely unexpected.” Her voice was steady, but I could hear the pain underneath. “He was working in his shop at our beach house in the Hamptons. That’s where he spent most of his time, tinkering with his motorcycle, fixing things. My mom went out to bring him iced tea—she did that every afternoon, like clockwork—and found him on the floor.”

“Shit, Hallie.”

“I was at work when my mom called.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I can still hear the way her voice broke when she told me. Like her whole world had just shattered. Which I guess it had.”

Without thinking, I moved across the hot tub toward her. When another tear fell, I reached up and wiped it away with my thumb.

She looked at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. Understanding. Two people who’d both lost their fathers. Who knew what that particular brand of grief felt like.

“My dad died last year,” I heard myself saying. “A few days after Christmas. He’d been struggling with heart disease for almost twenty years. We knew it was coming, but somehow that didn’t make it any easier.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It broke Frankie into pieces,” I continued. “She was always closer to him than I was. But we got through it together. We had to. She’s all I have left.”

Hallie was studying me with those dark eyes, and I felt uncomfortably exposed. Like she could see past all the walls I’d built, straight through to the parts of myself I kept hidden.

“It broke her, but not you?” she asked softly.

The question was valid and maybe just a little too spot on. Because she was right, wasn’t she? Frankie had grieved openly, had cried and raged and slowly healed. While I had done what? Buried it? Covered it up with work and women and anything else that would distract me from the gaping hole my father’s death had left?

I tried to put myself back together, to rebuild the walls she’d somehow managed to peek behind. “I don’t break so easily.”

It was a lie, and from the look in her eyes, she knew it.

She searched my face, like she was trying to climb that wall and take another peek. I had the unsettling feeling that she could see everything I was trying to hide. The grief I’d never properly processed. The fear that I’d never live up to my father’s legacy. The nightmares that had been plaguing me since this whole fake engagement started.

Everything.

“I’m getting warm,” she said finally, pulling back. “And a bit dizzy. I think it’s time to call it a night.”

She stood, water streaming off her body, and I tried very hard not to notice the way the bathing suit clung to her body. Tried not to think about how easy it would be to reach for her, pull her back down, and kiss her until the grief melted away.

But I didn’t.

Because despite everything, Hallie felt different.

Important.

I didn’t want to violate that comfortable space between us.