Page 92 of Faking It
“Mom!”
“Mija,” she says and I can picture the expression on her face when she does. “Please don’t insult my intelligence and pretend that you aren’t.” She pauses to let me protest but it’s just better if I keep my mouth shut. “You’ve been on some kind of accelerated dating course in a sense. It’s natural for feelings to emerge. I don’t see what the big deal is because if they’ve evolved for you, how do you know they haven’t for him?”
“Because I know him,” I murmur as my mind contradicts my words and pulls up every little thing he’s done away from the public eye that says the contrary.
“Tell him.”
“I hate opening myself up to hurt. Making myself vulnerable.”
“Don’t we all?” she asks. “Look, you’ve always been tough. You’ve always stood your ground and spoke up for yourself, but you’re like that because of me. Because you watched how I let your father push me around. That’s not how it always is, Low. It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes.”
“Mom.” The single word relays so many things. That I’m scared she’s right. That I’m afraid she’s wrong. That I’m so confused and fear I’m making so much more of this than there really is.
“I’m not saying don’t be strong. Men love strong women. But what I’m trying to tell you is don’t be afraid to be weak.”
“Because that’s not confusing,” I say through a laugh and try to combat the tears suddenly welling from falling over.
“A good man will know how to handle a woman in her moment of weakness, mija. He’ll listen to her and try to understand. Then when the moment is passed, he’ll pretend like he never saw that broken moment so he can let her retain her dignity even when she feels like she lost it. That’s the kind of man you’re looking for. The kind of man I secretly have a feeling this Zane Phillips is.”
“The prince you’ve conjured him up to be.”
“No, the man you unknowingly keep telling me he is.”
“Perhaps,” I murmur, loving her words of wisdom but failing to see how it applies to me telling Zane that every time he kisses me, touches me, gives me that shy smile across the room at an event—that I feel every single one of them in my bones.
“Admitting you have feelings for someone doesn’t make you weak, mija. It makes you strong.”
THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR startles me but I honestly am so out of it, I don’t know if I said come in or not.
I think I did.
“Harlow?” Concern. Worry. “Zoey said you weren’t feeling well.” Footsteps on the hardwood floor. “You don’t look good at all.” A cold hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine. Just . . . just tired.”
“Baby, you’re not fine.” Hands taking my heels off. “Zoey!” Fingertips brushing my hair off my face. A kiss pressed to my forehead.
“Yes, Zane?” Zoey’s voice. Hushed voices.
“Zane?” I call to him.
“I’m right here.” His fingers linking with mine. “Just sit tight, Zoey’s going to get us a room so I can take you up there.”
“No sex,” I murmur and his laugh fills the room.
“No. No sex. But a big bed where you can sleep and get some medicine to break this fever.” A squeeze of our hands. “What else hurts?”
“Head. Chills. Dizzy. Hot.” It feels like each word is a labor to say it.
“Okay. Shh.”
More footsteps. Heels clicking on wood. “Right this way, Zane.”
“Hey, Cinder. I’m going to pick you up now and carry you to the room. Are you okay with that?”
His arms slide around me. A soft “Here we go,” before being lifted up.
I don’t remember much other than the scent of his cologne on his neck where I rest my forehead. The feeling that I’m okay now. His repeated murmur of “I’ve got you.”
