Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Twila
I can’t remember when I’ve had this much fun.
This morning, Emerson and I had breakfast at the buffet downstairs before heading out to explore the strip.
It was early enough that it wasn’t too hot outside yet, and when we ended up at The Venetian, we took a gondola ride that left us with some great footage for a BingBang video.
After lunch, we ended up at the adult playground in the Luxor. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard. With a couple of cocktails in me, I lost all my inhibitions and just had fun . Emerson, too.
We competed with each other in crazy games like the Bullseye. We pulled on Velcro suits and jumped on a trampoline to get some height before launching ourselves at a giant bullseye on the wall––and stuck there––trying to get as close to the center as possible.
We played puzzle games, ran obstacle courses, jumped in a bounce house, and played a life-sized game of Operation .
Exhausted after hours of fun, we ended up back here in our suite. I went straight to my room, showered, and took a power nap. Now awake, I yawn and shuffle into the main area of the suite to find Emerson.
“Hey,” he says when I emerge. “Good nap?”
“Definitely,” I answer, plopping down onto the couch beside him. “What have you been up to?”
He holds out his phone. “I posted some footage of us from today, and people are going nuts over it.”
I take the phone from him and watch the video.
I ignore the analytics completely as I watch myself, mesmerized by the happy smile on my face.
I wasn’t acting. Hell, I don’t know if I even realized he was filming.
Then, Emerson flips the camera around to show his face, and he’s smiling just as honestly as I was.
“That’s good,” I say, handing the phone back to him.
He cocks his head as he takes it. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly and force a smile. “I’m good. I’m just still waking up, I guess.”
“Do you still want to go out tonight?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. “We don’t have to. We can order room service and stay in, if you want.”
“No, I’m good. I want to go out. We need to be seen, right?”
“Right,” he says, the word vibrating with uncertainty.
“It’ll be fun,” I say brightly. “Should we get ready? I’m kind of starving.”
“Me, too,” he says, visibly relaxing.
“See you in a few,” I call out as I turn, then hurry back to my bedroom, closing myself inside.
Moving to the bed, I plop down with a sigh. I really need to get myself together. This romance, relationship, or whatever you want to call it is fake . It’s not real, and I cannot allow myself to develop real feelings.
Yeah. Too late for that.
“Fuck,” I whisper and push myself up off the bed.
Grabbing the lavender dress I brought from where I hung it in the closet, I drop it to the bed and strip off the comfy clothes I threw on after my shower earlier.
I strap the girls into my fanciest push-up bra, pull on the matching underwear, then head into the bathroom to style my hair and apply some makeup.
The dress is short and snug, but has a mock-turtleneck and long sleeves, so I’ll be waiting until the last minute to pull it on so I don’t sweat through it while I’m getting ready.
I stare at my reflection for several beats without moving. I really like Emerson, and my feelings aren’t as “friendly” as they’re supposed to be. I’ve accepted that. Now, I just need to figure out how to lock those feelings down before he realizes it.
I don’t know which would be worse––his rejection, itself, or the pity I’m sure would be in his eyes as he gives it.
No. I have to get this under control. I have to be okay with being friends.
And I have to pretend I’m faking it with Emerson without letting my budding feelings rise to the surface.
Giving my reflection a firm nod, I steel my spine and pull my long hair up into a messy bun at my nape, leaving a few loose tendrils in the front to frame my face.
I take my time painting on eyeliner and shadow, giving myself a smoky eye that makes my bluish-green orbs pop.
After applying some mascara, a little cream blush, and a layer of pink gloss, I’m happy with the effect.
I walk back to the bed and carefully put on the dress before pulling on a pair of knee-high boots. Then, I go back into the bathroom to give myself one more perusal. I look good. If anyone tries to take pictures or videos of us, I’ll be ready.
At least, as ready as any woman who’s definitely falling for her fake boyfriend can be.
Yeah.
I’m ready.