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For all the heavy meaning and expense, he might as well have gotten it for a quarter out of one of those toy machines with fake princess rings in plastic bubbles.
I slip the little velvet ring box out of my pocket. I never expected that putting it on would feel like signing away my soul.
I’m not sure how to feel about that, but I did agree to this insanity.
I just never thought the first time a guy put a ring on my finger, it’d be with such weird strings attached.
That makes it hurt more than it should.
Why?
I’m only twenty-three. It’s not like I was looking to get hitched anytime soon, and I won’t actually be off the market after we end this little charade.
It’s just a few months.
It’s just a little game of pretend with a man who doesn’t love me.
Fun times ahead.
But maybe wearing it will just drive home the fact that there’s no one who loves me right now.
“Miss Lark—Elle.” The inside of the car is so quiet when he speaks. Rick is just a ghost in the front seat, so I feel like I’m alone in a small space with a voice that doesn’t match the detached distance this man wears around him like a prison wall. “Is something wrong? If the ring isn’t to your taste, we’ll find you a better one.”
“No, no ... it’s not that.” I look up, smiling faintly. “It’s just ... you didn’t even ask if I had a boyfriend before throwing this whole idea at me. So it makes me wonder if I’m just that unlovable—is it so easy to just assume I’m not seeing anyone else?”
August blinks like he’s just been slapped.
“Elle Lark,” he whispers almost gently. “You weren’t subtle about flirting with me on that damned flight. You seem like a woman with integrity, even if you drive me up the wall. I assumed you wouldn’t flirt with me if you were attached to someone else. You wouldn’t—would you?”
“Yeah, no. No way. I get it now.”
Why doesn’t that answer totally satisfy me?
It’s perfectly logical. It’s correct.
I’m definitely not that kind of girl.
If I’d been seeing someone else, I’d have never looked at him twice besides distantly noticing he’s easy on the eyes.
So what did I want him to say?
Sure, you’re erratic and whimsical and annoying. Possibly completely fucking crazy.
But you’re so intensely lovable that I don’t know how I’ll keep this pretend for the next two months.
You’re irresistible, Elle Lark, no matter how many ex-boyfriends called you “weird” and “impulsive.”
Nice fantasy.
Instead, I get, Yes, I wasn’t oblivious to your wiles. I just didn’t care.
“Elle.” It’s the third time he’s said my name in just a few minutes, almost like he’s practicing it. Each time gets more of his chocolate voice on it until my own name sounds dark and decadent. His hand covers mine on the ring box, and we lock eyes. “Stop doubting. Let me.”
“Huh?”
I don’t realize what he means until he takes my hand.
His grasp feels different from the other times. Before, when he caught my wrist, it was always to stop me from falling on my face—but now he does this to hold me, to keep me still, to spread my fingers with a gentle touch that makes my skin ripple and steals my breath.
