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“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m a method actor. I was just getting into my role, playing my part, like you asked me. Besides, it’ll be fun. Grand Lake is supposed to be beautiful.”
“I was hoping you’d be able to wriggle your way out of it,” he grumbles. “It’s not like I could have. Not without raising their suspicions.”
“An outright ‘no’ would’ve looked suspicious coming from me too,” I say.
“Never mind.” Brock sighs and squeezes his temples. I suspect he’s gotten far more than he bargained for. “I guess we’ll just have to keep up the pretense for a little while longer.”
“Okay.”
“Can you . . .” Brock takes my hands and looks into my eyes, the intensity in his gaze making my heart race. “Can you promise me to tone it down a little from now on, though? If you carry on like this, before long, my mom is going to have a wedding venue booked and start asking me to pick out flowers.”
“I’m not promising anything,” I tell him, ignoring the tingles running up and down my spine at his touch. “I’m having fun, and if you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t have sprung this whole thing on me without any warning. You reap what you sow, Creepy Old Man.”
He rolls his eyes. “I need a drink. Come on. Let’s find the bar.”
We spend the next couple of hours milling around the party, making small talk with Brock’s extended family. Out of some (probably misguided) sense of sympathy for him, I tone down my quips and jokes. I play the role of the sweet, quiet, new fiancée.
Brock’s family all seem like pleasant, polite people, friendly and welcoming. I find myself almost forgetting I’m only pretending to be his fiancée.
After a while, I excuse myself from the party to find the restroom. It’s just as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. Checking myself out in the mirror, I note that Brock was right—my boobs do look really great in this dress.
As I make my way back to the party, I hear someone call my name. “Nina! Stop!”
You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.
I whirl around to see Peter charging down the swanky hallway towards me. He looks absolutely terrible, like he hasn’t slept for days. His hair is wild and his eyes wilder.
“Peter, you need to leave.” I draw back from him, actually afraid—he looks completely out of his mind. “Don’t do this.”
But Peter doesn’t stop advancing, stalking me until I’m backed into a corner. I look around, desperate for someone to save me—where the hell is the hotel security?—but there’s nobody. Just me and my crazy ex.
“I’m not going anywhere, Nina,” he rasps. He’s got a smile on his face now—a horrible, cruel smile. “You’re mine, and you’ll always be mine. You just need to be made to realize that.”
“Ouch, Peter, you’re hurting me,” I protest when he grabs my arm, hard, and tries to drag me away with him. “Just let go, leave, and get some help. You’re not well.”
As he leans in close, I smell the stale booze on his breath.
Damn it. He’s always extra crazy when he’s drunk.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “I’m not well. You ripped my heart out of my chest without any warning, and then you expect me to just get over it and move on? It doesn’t work like that, Nina. You can’t do this to me.”
I struggle now, the panic setting in.
Peter is slight for a guy, but he’s still a guy. I read somewhere that almost all men are stronger than almost all women, and Peter is definitely demonstrating that for me right now.
I know all I need to do is break free and get back into the ballroom—I doubt he’s crazy enough to follow me in there.
But try as I might, I can’t get his claw-like fingers off my arm.
“Are you here with him? That meathead from the lobby the other day?” Peter’s voice is pure venom. “How dare you think you can just drop me and go fuck a brainless asshole like that? He’ll never treat you as good as I can, Nina. He’ll never worship you like I do. He’ll—”
Pete lets out a strangled cry as he disappears from my view.
Wait. He didn’t disappear. Of course he didn’t
He fell. Like a sack of bricks.
I hear the sickening sound of a fist connecting with Pete’s face before I notice Brock with his hands on Pete’s collar, hauling him off me.
Before I can fully process what’s going on, Brock’s fist smashes into Peter’s face again.
“I told you,” Brock says, breathing heavily, “to stay away from her, you fucking freak.”
Blood is oozing from Peter’s nose as he struggles to get back to his unsteady feet.
“Don’t get up,” Brock growls. “Stay down there if you know what’s good for you.”
