AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When did I become a coward who can’t stand up for her beliefs to her father? Was it his diagnosis? Or should I blame Dominic for this as well? Ever since those boxes appeared in the corridor, I’ve spiraled from one poor decision to the next.
I don’t need to go to the office today, but I had to leave the house. To collect my thoughts. And to avoid my neighbor.
I call Paris and wait for her at a coffee shop, nursing my extra sweet spicy latte.I’ll call you chili.Asshole.
There has to be a silver lining, right? Maybe fake dating is a great exercise in self-control. The man is insanely hot, and I’ve suggested to him already—unintentionally, but still—how my body feels around him.
The way he was devouring me with his gaze yesterday, I know he’ll continue to provoke me.
“Hey, sorry it took me so long. I had to finish something. What’s up, Lo? Are they driving you crazy already?” Paris slides onto the stool beside me.
While we’re very different, or perhaps because of that, my identical twin has always been the best sounding board for me. Often she doesn’t agree, but she never judges or tries to push her opinion. She simply listens, and I think better when I voice my conflicting feelings and views.
“Actually, Bianca has been very respectful of my space, and Dad is…” I swallow. “I’m grateful for our time together.” The air grows somber between us, weighing a ton with the unspoken worry we pretend not to have.
She raises her finger and dashes away to get her order, and I’m thankful she broke the moment.
Not that the situation can improve by avoidance, but that’s what we have right now. I don’t have time to compose myself before she comes back with her mug. “I’ll stop by later this week. How is he doing?”
“He’s good, considering. If I didn’t know better, I would have more hope.” I shrug and decide to change the topic before helplessness takes over. “I need to tell you something.”
She arches her eyebrow and I explain the situation—omitting a few intimate details. I don’t tell her about kissing him or wanting to kiss him again. Or about him doing God knows what to scare Felicia Warren, but I tell her about our newly-forged fake relationship.
Even speaking about it doesn’t clear the mess I fear I jumped into head-first.
Paris scrunches her lips to the side, digesting the information. “But you hate him.” She frowns.
“Yeah.” I called her to talk, so I won’t lie to her.
“Why him?” She fidgets on her stool, pulling her woolen dress lower on her thighs. Always so proper.
“Desperation.” I let out a long breath full of frustration and capitulation. I don’t give up. Ever. But right now, I’m so unbalanced that I don’t even know how to approach everything.
Dad’s illness hit me hard. Coupled with the lack of funding for the research project and my inability to go and let loose in Scandinavia, I’ve been dragged against my will into a territory I don’t particularly want to explore.
I feel lonely and needy. And desperate. Christmas looming around the corner doesn’t help.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you know lots of guys—” Paris narrows her eyes and bites her lips. “Oh.”
I nod. She must have pictured the type of guys I usually spend time with and jumped to the same conclusion I did last night. None of them is boyfriend material, not even as a fake one. And none of them would have a reason to do it.
“But why did he agree?” She picks up her tea and observes the street, thinking about the answer.
“Beats me, but he did. I got myself a boyfriend.” A bitter laugh makes its way through my throat. “Swear not to tell anyone else.”
“Pinkie swear.” We hook our small fingers as we used to when we were young.
“I needed to tell you because it all looked simple last night, but this morning it freaked me out. I don’t even know how to date, Paris.”
“You’re not really dating, so don’t worry. There is no manual, anyway.” She sighs.
People outside carry shopping bags and briefcases, braving the frost and fog.
“What’s your next bucket list item?” I move to a safer territory. The current attention on me is more than I care for. Paris’s ridiculous bucket list might just pull me out of my funk.
She lowers her gaze and whispers, “A one-night stand.”
I snort. “What? That's like the opposite extreme of what you’ve been doing.”
