Page 33 of The Temporary Fiancée
Still, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about how I’m not alone—how Reed is just down the hall. How he was in my bed last night, the cheap one from the internet. How he seemed more comfortable there than he did in his own living room just now.
I drift off a couple of times, but I keep jolting awake despite my best efforts. I tell myself each time that the lights fromoutside are too bright, or it’s too cold in Reed’s penthouse, or the bed is too soft… but I know the truth. None of those things are the problem.
At around three in the morning, my mouth feels parched. There’s no way I’m falling asleep without a glass of water. With a sigh, I slip out of the bed and trudge into the hall.
My feet are soundless on the gleaming hardwood floors. When I reach the kitchen, I fumble on the wall for the lights. I flick the switch, and almost jump out of my own skin.
Reed is standing there on the other side of the granite island with a glass of water in his hand. He fumbles with the glass for a second, almost dropping it in his surprise, then blinks at me.
“You’re still up?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I just needed to get some water.” I nod at the light switch. “I guess you know your way around well enough that you don’t have to turn these on.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I probably should’ve shown you where everything is, just in case you needed something.” He sighs and sets his glass on the counter, then opens up one of the drawers above the sink. “There are glasses in here.”
“Crazy that we both woke up at the same time,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“Right,” he says slowly. “Crazy.”
Immediately, I know that he has the same problem I do. He probably hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep, either.
“Where’d you get that shirt?” he asks as he pours me a glass of water from the filter in the fridge.
I glance down at the old T-shirt, trying to remember where it came from. There’s a logo on the front for a band I don’t listen to. “I think it belonged to one of my exes,” I admit.
As he slides the glass of water across the counter toward me, I notice that there’s a strange tightness in his jaw.
“By the way,” Reed says, “I might as well tell you, since I didn’t get the chance earlier—I have a meeting with the Eastwood PR team next week. We have to figure out how to plan the public announcement. I figured I’d let you know, in case you want to be there.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. I take a sip of the water, then add, “Of course, I want to be there.”
Reed nods, strangely subdued. It’s probably the awkwardness of the evening. It’s weirdly intimate to be living with someone I’m technically engaged to, and I can only imagine that he feels the same way. “That’s perfect. In fact, you can sign the contract paperwork at the same time.”
“Contract paperwork? I thought we already took care of that.”
“We have our own contract, but the lawyers at Eastwood Hotels have theirs, too.”
“Oh,” I say. I guess I should have expected that. “That’s fine by me.”
“Good.”
Before he can slink back off to his own room, I say quickly, “Actually—before the news goes public…”
He pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, looking back at me. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to go to dinner with my parents.” I look at the floor, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. “I want them to hear it from me first, before they see it on a magazine cover at the grocery store, or something.”
I’m half-expecting Reed to scoff, or to tell me that would be a breach of our agreement. To my surprise, he nods.
“That makes sense,” Reed says agreeably.
“Really? You mean it?”
“Of course. I told you—I want to make sure you feel comfortable with all of this. If it’s not going to jeopardize our plans, then I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Okay,” I say, with a feeble smile. “Great. I’ll give them a call.”
We stand there for a few seconds, ten feet apart, watching each other. There’s heat in his gaze that makes me feel weak in the knees; I lean against the counter, trying to hide that fact.
