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I’m crossing so many lines right now, and I can’t even claim it’s for our ruse. There’s no one here but us. So who am I kidding, exactly?
“Then why keep coming?” Felicity asks as soft fingertips brush along my arm. She wraps a hand around my wrist and holds it, gentle and anchoring. Her thumb circles my pulse point, and she must feel when it races faster. “Why fake-date someone? Why do you care what they think?”
Why indeed. I frown into the darkness, trying to focus on her questions—a difficult feat with her touch on my skin.
My concentration is always strained when Felicity is near.
“I suppose…” My voice is gravelly. The bed creaks as I shrug. “It’s the habit of a lifetime.”
Pathetic, really. But Felicity hums like she understands, like sheseesme. Her thumb draws circles on my wrist, and fuck, I’ve never wanted someone this badly.
To kiss her.
To flatten her into the bed.
To press her thighs apart and sink into her slick heat, preferably never to return.
Peeling away from her takes every ounce of self control I have left. I retreat to my own side of the bed, the sheets cool against my fevered skin, and I am herboss, damn it. Not an animal.
“Night,” Felicity says.
“Sleep well.”
Becauseoneof us ought to—and I’m wound so tight, I may never sleep again.
Five
Fliss
“There’s my beautiful boy! Oh, you’re such a beautiful boy!” I coo into my phone, ignoring the scandalized stares and whispers of people walking past the gazebo. They gawp at me like I’m an animal in a zoo, never mind that in my cream dress and heels, I look like all the other fancy guests.
In fairness, no one else is gushing over an ancient cat via video chat… but that’s their loss. Rusty’s purr rattles through my phone speakers, and his sticky eyes fill the screen.
Somewhere in the background, the girls are watching a cooking show, but every now and then Priya’s fingers come into shot, petting Rusty’s brown fur.
“Is he eating well?” I call, my voice echoing across the grounds. On a nearby lawn, the guests have gathered for croquet.
Yes. Croquet.
“If you count stealing the last of the kung po chicken from under our noses, then yeah,” Priya says. “He’s eating like a king.”
That’s my boy. I beam at the whiskery face on the screen, heart aching with how much I love him. When we say goodbye a few minutes later, I’m breathless with missing my cat.
Sunshine beams down onto the Bamford estate, and the sky above is flawless blue. Even the snobbiest guests are more relaxed than yesterday, loosening up in the warmth. Shirt sleeves are rolled, and suit jackets slung over shoulders. Birds whistle in the trees, and the roses climbing the gazebo trellis smell like heaven.
My eyes find Sebastian, zeroing in on my broad-shouldered boss. He stands a head above everyone else in the croquet crowd, chatting dutifully with his mother. His crisp white shirt glows in the bright morning light.
Even though I’m nowhere near, Mrs Bamford keeps throwing me probing looks. Her auburn hair catches the sun each time she turns her head.
Good thing I don’t give a flying rat’s ass what she thinks of me.
But… Sebastian cares. He bought me fancy clothes and this watch; he coached me in etiquette. All so that people will think we’re really dating, and that he made a good match. That I’m the kind of woman he’d really want.
Bleurgh.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I stroll along the garden path toward the crowd. My heels scrape against the stone, and the breeze flutters my dress against my thighs. There’s a distantsmackas a mallet hits a wooden ball.
Croquet? Seriously? How are these people real? Honestly, I thought this game was made up. Thought it only existed in Alice in Wonderland, and it’s better to focus on that than the pinch of hurt that has taken up constant residence in my belly for the last week.
