Page 39 of Fake Southern Fiancé

Chapter 9

Beau

As soon I exit the airport, I spot Lucy waiting for me, leaning up against her white SUV, scribbling furiously in some kind of notebook. She doesn’t see me yet, and I throw on my aviators and take my time appreciating the view.

The blue sundress she’s wearing stops midthigh, but my eyes follow the curve of her long legs all the way down to her feet—and right back up. She looks chic in her oversized black sunglasses, long, blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulders. The feel of the silky strands tangled in my fingers is burned into my brain. Along with about a hundred other things about that night.

My chest aches at the sight of her, but that’s not the only part of me that’s aching. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

One-night stand to fake fiancé. Talk about a three-sixty turnaround. Whatever it takes to sell magazines. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Hey, Sunny.”

She startles and looks up at me over the rim of her glasses. “Beau.”

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem.” She pops the trunk open, and I quickly load my bags in. “What are fiancés for.”

I’ve been rolling the word around in my head all week, but hearing her say it—“fiancé”—hits harder than expected, stirring something inside me. Now is not the time to get caught up in something I usually avoid: my feelings. I brush it off with a joke. “I was expecting one of those cute little signs.”

“Yeah, I was going to make one that says ‘fake fiancé,’ but the last thing we need is somebody finding out our secret,” she quips about our little inside joke that’s not so little.

It’s fucking massive, and the weight of what we have to pull off sits heavy on my chest.

Everything is riding on this. My place at Holden Media and the future of Blissful Bride. Her own reputation and business.

“How was your drive up?” I ask, trying to make conversation.

“Pretty uneventful,” she answers simply.

“Magnolia Grove is what, about an hour away?”

“Yeah.”

I wish I could see her pretty blue eyes.

“That’s what I thought.” I swallow.

“Can we do the whole small-talk thing in the car? I’m about to melt,” she asks, side-eyeing me. “Sorry, I’m just a little hungry.” She sighs. “And nervous, if I’m being honest.”

I fight the urge to reach for her, to comfort her with my touch. So, I use my words instead. “Same—on both counts.”

The last thing I need is for her to confuse my desire for her for anything more. We can’t cross that line… again.

“Want me to drive?” I hold open the passenger door for her.

“Sure.” She climbs in hesitantly, and I gently shut her door before rounding the hood. I start to get behind the wheel, but the seat is way too close. A lesson I learn the hard way when I whack my knee on the dashboard.

“Shit!” I slide the seat back a few inches and adjust before buckling up.

“Sorry, I didn’t think.”

“Hey, stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for.” I glance over at her and instantly regret it because she’s worrying her plump lower lip between her teeth.

This is going to be a long-ass car ride.

“Sor—” she starts. “I guess my legs aren’t as long as I thought… at least not compared to yours.”