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Whenever I remember that Sebastian needed to change me to bring me here, to present me as his girlfriend, I feel… queasy.
My normal self is not that bad. Is it?
“There you are.” My boss smiles when I reach him, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. He raises an arm, and I duck into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Mrs Bamford: put out.
Sebastian’s side: toasty warm and muscly beneath his shirt.
Me: smug as hell.
And we’re definitely selling this fake girlfriend thing. Going the extra mile. As I watch the croquet game through the gaps in the crowd, Sebastian leans down and nuzzles my temple.
“Good phone call?” he murmurs.
“Yes.” His breath tickles my cheek, and I squirm. “Rusty’s fine.”
“I’m glad.”
God. How am I ever going to give up this intimacy now that I’ve felt it? How can I go back to maintaining a polite distance, never touching or teasing? When Sebastian straightens up again, I sway into the space he just occupied, chasing after his touch. I’m dazed.
“So, Sebastian.” Mrs Bamford’s vinegary voice jolts me back to earth. She’s staring at me, her lipsticked mouth arranged in a smile. “How did the two of you meet? Seeing you with a girlfriend after all these years is just wonderful.”
Ha. Yeah, right.
Bet the Bamford matriarch was only too excited to choose her son’s future partner. Bet the power trip made her sweat through her fancy perfume.
“We met through work,” my boss says, reeling out the story we prepared on the car drive here. We both agreed: better to keep things simple.
So far, so terrible. There was nothing simple about sharing a bed last night. Nothing.
“Work,” his mother repeats, like the very thought is distasteful.
“Yep,” I say, wrapping one arm tightly around Sebastian’s waist. “You know how it goes. The water cooler is a very sensual place.”
My boss chokes. Mrs Bamford blinks.
“And the elevator,” I go on, stroking Sebastian’s ribs with my thumb. “And those networking breakfasts at 8am. All super romantic. Our eyes met over the plate of stale croissants, right Sebastian?”
“Right,” he grinds out, and I can’t tell if he’s mad at me for running wild with our story, or trying not to laugh. Either way, his arm holds me tight to his side, so tight I can feel his heartbeat. Can he feel mine?
“Oh, my.” Mrs Bamford’s smile would be sweeter after sucking on a lemon. “Well, as long as you’re happy…”
“I am,” Sebastian says. And I’m laying it on thick, I know, but I rest my cheek against his chest. The cotton of his shirt is soft, and it smells like laundry powder and the fresh morning breeze.
Imagine it: Sebastian happy with me. Proud to call me his girlfriend. Therealme, not this polished version dressed in someone else’s clothes.
As I shift my arm, the pearl-studded watch digs into my wrist. It feels heavier this morning.
Mrs Bamford tilts her head, watching me. “After lunch, we thought we’d all take a stroll around the grounds. There are some new water features, and the two of us can chat more, Felicity. Get to know one another.”
“Lovely,” I say through my teeth.
An afternoon stroll with this woman? In these murder-heels?
I’m toast.
* * *
