Page 18 of Fake Fiancé, Real Wedding
Wake him up. Tell him you’re in love with him.
I hurry from the bedroom and tug on my Doc Martens, sans socks. I’ll come back and get the rest of my costume after I’ve seen Stevie and apologized for being late. I grab the little resort-supplied notepad and pen on the coffee table and scribble a quick note:
Gone to see my cousin. I’ve stolen your shirt, but I’ll be back. BTW, want to come to a wedding with me tomorrow? Ha ha. Kidding. Or not. See you ASAP. XOX Future Wife.
“Good grief,” I mutter, tearing the page from the pad. “You sound like a psychopath.” Rolling my eyes, I crumple it into a ball and write another note:
Thank you for last night. It was amazing.Youwere amazing. I’ll be back
Heart thumping, I place the pen next to the pad, cross the suite, and open the door.
“Oh.” Beryl Stafford recoils on the other side of the threshold, hand raised, knuckles prepped to knock. “Youarehere.”
I blink even as I fight the urge to look back into the suite. To see if Lachlan has stirred. “Sorry?”
Beside her, Angus clears his throat and taps his cane on the ground. “What she means is, we weren’t expecting to see you.” He slides a look at his wife. “To be honest, we weren’t really sure if youwereLachlan’s fiancé.”
My pulse decides to start a rave in my throat. Damn it. Suspicious old coots.
In my bag, my phone vibrates with an incoming text. Bound to be Stevie. “Excuse me,” I mutter, pulling it out—what better way to distract the Staffords from their problematic train of thought than to mention the upcoming wedding. “I just need to…”
My stomach drops. It’s from my Instagram fan. Or should that be Instagram stalker now?
Walk of shame time?
Lifting my head, I sweep a stare at the world behind Angus and Beryl.
Empty. Except for trees, birds, lush gardens, and a million-dollar view.
Angus clears his throat again.
Beryl narrows her eyes, studying me. “He looked so panicked yesterday, you see?” she says. “When you were talking with Stephanie Ricci? We told him not to worry about doing the meeting at that point, that we’d swing by this morning and get you both so the contract can be signed over breakfast, but he seemed quite flustered.”
Words scrape through my head like grit on glass.
Get youboth.
So the contract can be signed.
Angus pats his wife’s arm. “But sheishere, love. We were worried about nothing. That means the salecanproceed.”
Sale can proceed.
An itchy heat crawls up over my cheeks into my scalp as I stare at the elderly couple. My chest squeezes.
Lachlan hadn’t wanted toprotectme last night. Nor had he been responding to what I thought was the amazing chemistrybetween us. He’d wanted to make sure I’d behere, in his room, when the Staffords came this morning.
He didn’t wantme. All he wanted was to make sure the sellers didn’t think he was single. And what better way to do that than to get me into his bed?
Oh God, I’ve been such an idiot.
“Will you excuse me?” I mutter, stepping through the door. “I have somewhere to be. Enjoy breakfast.”
I pull it shut behind me, face burning, and hurry past the elderly couple.
Away from their suspicious stares, away from the suite.
Away from Lachlan.
