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Neither of us says anything, too caught up in a silent argument. Me trying to defend my actions and him promising I’m going to pay. Sebastian rests a hand on my thigh, closing his eyes and pulling in a deep breath, as if to ground himself.
An internal war wages inside of me as I try for the thousandth time in a matter of weeks to tell myself that what we have isn’t that serious. That I’m not falling for him, I can’t.
“Hello? I think I've lost them, Miriam. Hello?”
Sebastian drags his eyes away from mine, clearing his throat before replying to George, “Sorry, the signal must have gone. We eloped. It was… Uh, a very spur of the moment thing. The accident put everything into perspective.”
Sebastian’s hand squeezes my thigh at the mention of the accident. I know he’s still struggling with what happened—even though it’s not his fault. I lay my hand over his trying to offer some sort of comfort.
“Of course.” George’s tone is somber as he speaks, as if he feels guilty too. “We can’t wait to see all the pictures and to hear all about your special day. I’ll get in touch in a couple of days to confirm the details of our trip and we can plan a dinner. It looks like it’ll be the fifteenth. Speak soon.”
“Take care.”
The fifteenth is in two week’s time and we have to somehow get pictures of a wedding that hasn’t happened.
“I think I messed up,” I whisper.
“You think?” Sebastian asks, as cool as ever.
My hand reaches out and slaps across his bicep. “You don’t need to be a dick about it.”
I stand from the couch and start pacing in the small space between the coffee table and the television, my nerves getting the best of me. Sebastian sits forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at me in amusement.
“This isn’t funny, Bastian.”
“No? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like my fiancée is having a meltdown over having told someone we already got married.”
His fiancée.
“Come here, Alex,” he demands, leaning back on the sofa and opening his arms for me.
There’s no hesitation as I walk to him and climb into his lap.My safe space. The sound of his heart beating at a steady rhythm under my palm calms me. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath as his strong arms envelop me.
“It’s okay, princess. We can figure this out.”
His hand smooths up and down my back, but it’s doing nothing for me. My mind is whirling with thoughts on how I can get us out of this. How we can come clean without fucking it up for Bastian?
“The way I see it, we have two options. I come clean to George about everything or we stage a fake wedding.”
I lift my head to look at him so I can search his eyes for some sort of answer. What does a fake wedding even entail?
My voice is barely above a whisper as I ask, “A fake wedding? How would we do that?”
Because Bastian coming clean isn’t an option. He might have put us in this position by lying about me being his fiancée, but I don’t want him to tarnish his reputation to—what—make me feel better?
“We’d get some friends together and take some pictures to make it look like we had a wedding. We can hire a professional photographer and a venue, so it looks real. Take my black Amex and get whatever you want.”
“I don’t need to spend your money,” I murmur.
Staging a fake wedding sounds a lot more doable than legally tying myself to Bastian. Especially when he’s promised he won’t fall in love with me.
I sit back and observe his weirdly calm demeanor. It seems to be in stark contrast to my internal freak out.
My heart races. This is a lot to process. I detangle myself from Bastian and walk to my bedroom. Climbing under the covers, I pull the duvet over my head and try to calm my breathing. I hold up my hand and look at the diamond as it shines, even under the darkness of the covers. It calms me. I need to call my therapist.
When this charade with George is over, we don’t have to end. Right?
He has me in an emotional chokehold, and I’m not sure how to get out of it. Or if I even want to.
