Page 29 of Fake Crown

“She has enough money for that?”

“Her family is very wealthy, but she says she hates using their money. She wanted to make her own fortune.”

“Except she’s been creating it off the back of your fame and hard work,” I say. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire on that one.”

Brent sips his drink. “That’s basically the crux of the problem between me and Val. She’s willing to put up with my lack of attention, but in exchange, she requires my body to be at her disposal. I’m not sure she’s ever cared about who I am, but she loves what I represent.”

“Have you never read any of her posts?” She painted them as a couple madly in love to her followers. The photos she’s taken of him are intimate, and honestly, beautiful. Her gushing, supportive captions alongside her images framed their relationship as aspirational for me and thousands of others.

“Skimmed a few. All bullshit.” He shrugs. “I know the truth. So does she. Best not to engage.”

“You just let her lie to people?” I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but his indifference to her misrepresentation is surprising.

A hint of color enters his cheeks, and he shifts on his feet.

Other wedding guests mill around us getting drinks, and I scan the crowd for someone else to talk to. Brent’s easy dismissal of Valentina’s deception irks me. Or maybe it’s how she fooled me when I consider myself savvy about social media.

“With Val,” Brent says, “her method of negotiation, during arguments or when I wouldn’t give in to her, was very persuasive.”

I roll my eyes. “Repeat after me: the sex was good, and I didn’t know how to find my balls.”

“Should I tell you where they kept ending up?” One corner of his mouth tips upward.

“Eww. No.” But I can’t help laughing. “You understand how dysfunctional that is?”

“Yep.” He angles his drink at me. “Hence you, here. Buffer, remember?”

“Right. Right. The sacrificial vagina.”

Brent sputters out his drink. “That’s not—”

“Relax. I’m kidding. Mostly. It’s not much of a sacrifice.” I smirk. “I get that you think you’re too busy for a real relationship, and this isn’t me vying for the role, but you deserve someone who values who you are, and not what you can do for them.” I hesitate. “Or maybe they can value that, too, but it shouldn’t be the only thing they value.”

He gazes at me, and the intensity of it causes my stomach to flip. Like so many others, I’ve viewed him from afar, but I didn’t know him. To realize the guy I’ve been lusting after is standing in front of me, looking at me as though I’m the most interesting person in a crowd of people, is a heady sensation.

“I’m beginning to appreciate the value in a few things myself,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” The words tumble out just as another butterfly bursts out of its cocoon in my stomach.

“I’m glad you responded to my chat.”

“Why’s that?” I shouldn’t be pressing him. Confessions won’t help me keep some distance between us. We get this weekend together, and then I’m out.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Turns out a witty woman with a heart of stone might be just what I need in my life.”

Another slew of butterflies breaks free, and heat rushes to my cheeks. “This weekend. What you need this weekend.”

“You didn’t even balk at my heart of stone comment.”

“Of course not. I’m allergic to commitment, and I enjoy my status as a nutcracker.”

“That imagery, Jensen.” He covers his fly with his hand.

When I grin in response, he loops his arm around my neck and drags me to him to kiss my temple. I settle against him, more content than I’d ever admit out loud.

“Brent,” a male voice calls from behind us. “I have some people for you to meet.”

With a sigh, Brent lets me go, and then he grabs my hand. “You up for socializing with more new people?”