Chapter 14 #3
“It’s nice.” A dreamy smile tugs at her lips. “A lot better than going on vacation with Patrick. He almost never took me anywhere. And on the few times he did, he made his mom and dad tag along. They loathed me.”
“What? Why would they do that?”
She groans and stretches on her back, her camisole riding up, giving me a glimpse of her belly button.
“Apparently, I wasn’t good enough for him.
The Delacroix family is old money, you know.
I wasn’t blue-blooded enough for them. I wore the right clothes, went to all of Patrick’s games, and was perfect wifey material.
But because my mom worked for a living, Patrick’s mom always made the most cutting remarks at my expense. ”
“And what did Patrick have to say about that?” I tense, already knowing that it’s going to be awful.
“He blamed me for being oversensitive. He said she was just looking out for him.” Juliet stares off into space, her lips parted.
Seeing a memory, maybe. “You know, the first Christmas I spent at their house, she made me cry. Twice. And Patrick never said a word in my defense. I wish to hell I had headed for the hills right then and there.”
I stare at her, the pillow barrier between us suddenly feeling like a wall I want to tear down. “You deserved better than that. Way better. I would never let anyone talk down to you. Especially not my mom.”
She gives me a tiny shrug, pretending it doesn’t matter anymore. But I can see the way her throat works as she swallows. It hurts more than she lets on.
I clear my throat, searching for something to say that won’t sound clumsy. What do I say? That I wish she had dated me in college? That both of our lives would be completely different if I’d had the balls to ask her out?
That would be absurd. So instead of saying any of that, I reach for a bottle of water on the nightstand. My notebook is lying just beyond that. Of course, her eyes catch on it.
“What’s that?” she asks, tilting her head toward it.
“Nothing.” My hand shoots out to cover it, but she’s already pushing up on an elbow, curious.
“Hunter…”
I take a sip of water. Are we both baring our souls tonight? I wish that having a fake fiancée came with an instruction manual.
“It’s just sketching,” I mutter. “And some journaling. I used to draw all the time back when I was a kid. Darla thought it was a waste. Told me it made me look weak. So I stopped.” My jaw tightens.
“She found some old sketchpads once and ripped them up in front of me. Said no son of hers was going to be a starving artist.”
Juliet’s eyes widen, glinting in the dim light. She doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make a joke. She just looks at me like she sees something I thought I’d buried. “You’re good, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” she says quietly. “That’s… that’s awful, Hunter. No wonder you’re so hard on yourself.”
“I think I chose my profession pretty well. I’m not missing out on anything.” Putting my hands behind my head, I shrug. “I don’t know if you know this, but the Havoc pays very well.”
Her lips twitch. “So I’ve heard.”
She yawns, sinking back onto the bed. I let the silence fall between us, stretching. She closes her eyes, shifts, getting comfortable.
“All that hiking really…” She yawns again. “Took it out of me.”
“Just relax, Monroe,” I whisper. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
“Mmkay. Goodnight…”
Sixty seconds later, Juliet’s asleep.
That was fast. I guess all this fresh air and exercise have really done a number on her. I lie still for a minute, watching her. The first thing she does is kick all the pillows she put up as a boundary straight onto the floor. Take that, anything in Juliet’s way when she’s trying to get comfy.
I smile at that. She’s every bit as much of an ass-kicker and a name-taker when she’s asleep as when she’s awake. Gotta admire that.
But then she rolls over, wiggling until she’s pressed up against me.
My body stirs, as if it’s been called into action.
Which it hasn’t. As much as I glorify having an enormous cock and knowing just how to use it, at this very moment, I would appreciate having a smooth, Ken-like bump on my groin instead of a penis.
What if Juliet wakes up and I’m this close to her, all fucking horny? I don’t want to ruin the fragile maybe-peace we’ve found today.
She moves her head until it comes to rest on my biceps. Oh, this is double trouble. Her dark hair spills across my arm, her red-painted lips parting just so. I can feel heat brush against my skin as she draws gentle breaths.
I should move. Should rebuild the pillow wall and maintain some boundaries. Instead, I lie there listening to her breathe and trying not to think about how right this feels.
She fights me as if she’s trying not to feel something. And maybe that’s what pisses me off most about this whole situation. I feel it too. This pull between us that’s bigger than our fake engagement, bigger than the PR strategy we’re supposed to be executing.
It would be easier, safer, if I felt nothing. If I could just play my part, skate my games, fake a few smiles for the cameras and coast to the finish line when our contract expires.
But now she’s in my head. In my space. In my fucking bed with her hair smelling like something expensive and her body warm against mine.
And I’m not sure I know how to come back from that.
I watch her sleep for longer than I should, memorizing the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the way her mouth relaxes when she’s not guarding every expression.
She looks younger like this, softer. Less like the polished professional who can command a room full of executives and more like… just Juliet.
I think about what it would be like if this were real. If she were really mine, if I could wake up next to her every morning without pretending it’s just for show. If I could kiss her without it being a mistake that we both immediately regret.
But that’s not what this is. This is a business arrangement with an expiration date. And girls like Juliet don’t fall for guys like me, not without regretting it later when they realize what they’ve gotten themselves into.
Still, lying here with her curled against my side, I can almost convince myself that maybe, just maybe, some part of this could be real.
Even if I know better.
Even if I know I’ll probably ruin it, like I ruin everything else that matters to me.
But for now, in this cozy cottage by the sea, I let myself pretend. Just for tonight, as my eyes grow heavy with sleep.