Page 3
I lift my chin and narrow my eyes, silently daring him to say something. Instead, one corner of his mouth twitches. Is he mocking me?
My embarrassment instantly morphs into irritation. Tearing my gaze away from him, I turn in a huff, giving him my back as I return to my grandmother’s room, clueless about how I’m going to get out of this one.
These damn lies are stacking up so fast it’s making my head spin, and although my reasons are genuine, I can’t shake the guilt that comes with every single untruth that passes my lips.
Chapter 2
Bennett
The second the petite blonde disappears back into the hospital room she exited a few moments ago, I stand, tug on my cufflinks, and button my suit jacket.
I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. In fact, if someone had told me ten minutes ago that I’d be walking into a hospital room pretending to be a stranger’s boyfriend, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Yet here I am.
Maybe it’s the lingering effects of last night’s celebrations. My brother’s bucks party involved far too much alcohol, questionable decisions, and zero sleep. I’m running on caffeine, stubbornness, and whatever part of my brain hasn’t yet recovered from the top-shelf tequila shots I probably should’ve avoided.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with, because a sober, rational version of myself would never do something like this. But when I heard her voice crack as she spoke about her grandmother, something stopped me. It reminded me of the time I let my own grandmother down.
A man in my position doesn’t get involved in other people’s problems. Not because I don’t care, but because I’ve learned the hard way that stepping into someone else’s chaos usually means creating your own.
Like the absolute bullshit surrounding my brother’s upcoming wedding and the nasty bitch he’s chosen to spend the rest of his life with.
His future bride. Or should I say, bridezilla? That would be far more fitting.
He’s only asking for heartache getting involved with a woman like her. They haven’t even tied the knot yet, and she’s already trying to control every aspect of his life. I don’t know how he doesn’t see it. Or maybe he does, and is too blinded by love to admit it.
Either way, she’s going to tear me a new arsehole when she finds out I had to bring her fiancé to the ER, and he’s currently undergoing surgery to have screws put into his broken arm after falling off a table he was dancing on, two weeks before their wedding.
I scrub a hand over my face in frustration as I consider the fallout I’ll face when she gets home tomorrow.
She didn’t want him to have a bucks party, but I convinced her to let him go. I promised I’d look after him and assured her he wouldn’t do anything stupid. I also waved an all-expenses-paid weekend for her and her bridesmaids in Melbourne to sweeten the deal. I don’t doubt it’s what got me over the line, but it worked, so it was worth it.
The reality is, all I wanted was for the poor bastard to have one last night of freedom. A few hours where he could forget about wedding plans, seating charts, and someone else dictating his every move.
One last chance to be himself before he walks down the aisle and hands over his balls and bank account to the woman waiting at the other end.
The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m standing here judging someone else’s relationship when I’m about to walk into a room and claim to be a complete stranger’s fake boyfriend.
Why I think getting involved in someone else’s clusterfuck is a good idea, I’ll never know. But apparently, that thought isn’t enough to stop me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I stride across the corridor and enter the room the blonde just disappeared into.
Her head snaps in my direction, and her pretty blue eyes widen the second I draw back the hospital curtain. “Sweetheart,” I say, reaching out to place my hand on her shoulder.
She blinks a few times, her plump lips parting before closing again, like she’s about to say something but can’t quite find the words. If I were in her position, I’d probably be staring at me like I’d lost my mind too.
A few minutes ago, I was a stranger sitting in a hospital corridor, silently witnessing her unravel. Now I’m standing in front of her dying grandmother, pretending to be the boyfriend she made up like it’s completely normal behaviour.
Lightly squeezing her shoulder, I lean down, place a chaste kiss on the top of her head, and whisper, “Just go along with it.”
The look she gives me when I draw back says she has a thousand questions, and honestly, I don’t blame her.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrendous.” I smooth my hand down the lapel of my jacket as I straighten and turn my attention towards the woman lying in the hospital bed. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” I say, extending my hand. “Your granddaughter speaks so highly of you.”
It’s another lie because technically, I’ve never heard her say anything about her grandmother beyond what I overheard a few minutes ago. But apparently, once you start pretending to be someone you’re not, deception doesn’t seem like a big issue.
The old lady’s expression softens as she reaches out, wrapping her frail fingers around mine. And because I know how to turn on the charm when I need to, I bring her hand to my lips and press a gentle kiss against her ageing skin.
The smile that spreads across her face catches me off guard. It’s such a simple thing, but there’s something in the way she looks at me that makes this whole absurd situation feel a little less absurd.
