Page 8 of Faux Holiday


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“Bexley seems like a sweet girl,” my mom said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Is she?” She nudged me with her elbow.

I smiled at her as my dad chimed in. “She’s gorgeous, son, good choice.” I laughed while avoiding the curious glances of my brother, who wanted to ask me about her—questions like “where I found her,” “who was she,” and others. But I’d been avoiding those questions all afternoon, and he at least had the tact not to bring it up in front of the kids.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being pushy,” my mom said as she wrapped her arm around my waist and squeezed it. “I just want you to be happy. LA is a big, busy city, but just because you’re surrounded by a lot of people doesn’t mean that you’re not lonely.”

I looked at her and smiled. “Can’t be lonely when I have Julian here to keep me company. He barely leaves me alone.”

She looked at her youngest son and smiled at him before glancing back at me. “I know Julian has his own life too. And maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to get grandkids off him as well.”

Julian let out a bark-like laugh. “Yeah, we’ll see about that. I’m happy playing the role of uncle.” He grabbed the door and held it open for everybody as we headed inside the resort.

Bexley was there waiting for us, under the guise that she got her own room because she didn’t feel comfortable yet spending the time in the cabin with all of us. My mom seemingly bought it, even if she said that she felt it was unnecessary. She said she wasn’t old and was—and I quote—a proponent of “trying out the car before buying it.”

That probably had to be the worst thing I’ve ever heard come out of my mom’s mouth, including when she caught me masturbating into a sock at fifteen. She told me if that’s what I was going to do, I had to do my own laundry because she wasn’t taking any more chances finding “spunk in my clothing.”

God love my mom, and so did I, but I swear, she had no filter.

“Bexley, don’t you look beautiful this evening.” My mom tapped my wrist and nodded at her, making me laugh.

“She’s not wrong. You are probably the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen,” I said honestly, even as guilt twisted my stomach and a flash of Eleanor’s face appeared in my mind. Pushing it back, I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss to appease my mom. But truthfully, I was addicted to the feel of her lips on mine. “Ready for dinner?”

She nodded. “Yeah, the reviews on this place are incredible. The head chef is so sweet.”

The hostess showed us to our table, and I pulled out Bexley’s chair after she helped Sophie into her chair, and I got Tommy into place. Sophie insisted on sitting next to Bex, and I sat between her and Tommy.

One big happy family.

The idea made my heart swell. It also wasn’t lost to me how my mom smiled at me from across the round table. She was thinking it too.

After placing an order, we fell into conversation. My mom asked Bex how we met and what she did. It was a good thing Bexley was a singer. It was a topic near and dear to my family's hearts, so it made for easy conversation, allowing Bexley to hold her own throughout dinner.

Before long, she and my mom were laughing and joking like they had known each other forever. Watching Bexley help Sophie cut up for dinner and feed it to her with the natural ease of a mother only further cemented the idea I wanted her in our lives for longer than a week.

I could picture us being a family, growing our family, raising our children around music like my parents raised Julian and me. Then when we weren’t at home, we were at work together, creating music and touring the world as Bexley rose to fame.

I wanted to give that to her. I could give her that if only she wanted it.

Chapter8

Bexley

“I like your family.Everybody’s so nice and welcoming. It’s almost hard to believe this is pretend. I feel like I’ve been a part of it for years.” Bastian smiled at me, letting go of my hand in favor of wrapping his arm around my shoulders. He stopped walking and turned my body to his. His face was a myriad of emotions, unable to settle on one, so I didn’t know what he was thinking.

One hand cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheek as we stared at each other. The flurry of butterflies in my stomach that had been there from the moment we met and had yet to settle picked up their pace, making my stomach feel effervescent.

I waited for him to lean in and kiss me because that’s all I wanted. I missed his lips against mine. It had only been an hour or so since the last time they touched, but every time we did, it felt perfect—like we were meant to be together. It was hard to believe we had just met, yet everything about this felt right.

Finally, he ended the torture and leaned in to kiss me. His lips brushed against mine, once and then twice, and with the third touch, he urged my mouth open.

Our tongues danced with each other as my hand roved up his chest, curling around his head and gripping the bun he wore to hold back his long hair. I held his mouth to mine, moaning as his tongue stroked the roof of my mouth. Part of me regretted not going all the way yesterday because I sure as hell wanted to go there now. But taking his hand and rushing off into the trees, hiding in the shadows as he pressed me against the trunk, felt reckless. At least it did for the first time when two souls came together the way ours would.

Taking him back to my cabin, where my coworkers might see him, felt equally dangerous. Honestly, I hadn’t read the employee handbook enough to know whether sleeping with a guest was off-limits. But surely they couldn’t hold it against me if I pleaded we were meant to be. Even though we were pretending with so many unasked questions, this was so much more.

It was so much more than a fling, an affair, or fantasy. I was falling deeper. When the week was over, all the uncertainty settled, and I had the answer to what happened next … If it weren’t the future I hoped for, it would shatter me, and I would never be the same again.

He pulled his mouth away, resting his forehead against mine. “You are more intoxicating than even the highest proof alcohol there is. One taste of you, and I am totally drunk.” He laughed, and an adorable bashful smile crossed his features.

I smiled back at him. “Trust me. I know exactly what you mean. I was never one for drugs, but you are the most addictive thing I’ve ever tasted.” His lips swept against mine once more before he reluctantly pulled himself away, his hand wrapping around mine as we meandered back toward the staff cabins.

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