9. It works #2
Something else moves over his face now; his brow furrows and he worries his bottom lip. I need to learn to read that face, and this whole ordeal will be much easier.
“What are you thinking now?” I ask, studying his expression.
“Not telling Mark, lying to him… We had some trouble with a former friend who hid things from us, and this stirs up bad memories.”
“Oh.”
His gaze meets mine.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
I contemplate how to answer that. No? But even I can’t be that blunt.
“I’m apprehensive. I stand to lose a lot more than you.”
“That’s wise, but I’ll do my best to show you that you can. I won’t risk ruining your reputation by telling anyone. Even Mark.”
I have a strange urge to pat his hand in front of me. That’s never something I’ve felt the need to do.
I don’t do it, of course.
“Thank you.”
His gaze holds mine for a moment until I need to shift mine away, finding his hairline instead.
Trust. He’s the only client that’s stuck around. Willing to lie to his friends for me. But my disgraceful Halloween incident is always going to sit there between us.
I don’t trust his view of me.
“So,” I say, filling the heavy silence. “No telling anyone, no seeing anyone else,” I say, trying to come up with something lighter to say, but instead my chest tightens as more challenges flood my mind.
“You’re quite tactile,” I blurt out, and he cocks his head at me.
“I mean, I’m not,” I add. “Never been. How do I make this look real?”
“I’ll only do what you’re comfortable with, Linnea.”
“Okay.” I nod slowly, trying to determine where my boundaries lie. What am I okay with? “I’ll just play it by ear. But no… Umm…” I’ll just say it. The only rule I can think of that worked for Vivian, sort of. “No kissing.”
Aiden’s jaw flexes, and his eyes land on my mouth, just for a second, but it makes my stomach lurch. “Pretty Woman,” I add. “Too intimate.”
“I know. It makes sense.”
“And no unnecessary hand-holding.”
“Hand-holding?” He cocks his head at me, a mocking glint in those grey-blue eyes.
“Yes.” I cross my arms, feeling silly. “Is there a reason for you to hold my hand?”
“What if you fall over, can I grab your hand?”
“I won’t fall over. Why would I fall over?”
“Okay, what if I fall?”
I stifle a laugh, but it comes out as a small huff.
“Find me funny, do you?”
“No.” I press my lips together. “Fine, you can hold my hand if you fall over.”
Aiden leans his elbows on the kitchen counter, steepling his hands in front of his chin.
“If you’re going to be my girlfriend, sorry, fake girlfriend, don’t hold back your laughs. If there’s anything that makes this seem more genuine, it’ll be you being happy and laughing when we’re together.”
“Okay, I’ll try to remember that.” I try on a half-smile under his scrutinising stare. “I’m on auto-stifle mode most of the time. Staying professional.”
“Not when you’re on a date with me.”
“Yes, master,” I say, doing a theatrical bow over my plate, and Aiden cough-laughs, which makes me weirdly proud.
It hits me—is he doing the charm thing now? Is this me getting swept away with his … ways? He must think I’m such a gullible fool.
I straighten up fully, suddenly too aware of where my hands are. My ears burn under my hair.
“Maybe we’ll have to do a practice date,” he says. “Somewhere we don’t know anyone.”
“How about the pop-up summer market on the South Bank?”
“The South Bank?”
“Yes, Mr Mayfair. It’s aaaall the way across the bridge. Ever been?” Turns out I can pretend to be normal with him. I’ll keep trying, and maybe it’ll become natural.
“Cheeky.” He smirks at me. “But okay, let’s do it.”
“Friday night?”
He nods.
“Last thing to agree on that I can think of,” he says, focusing on his plate now, collecting the last pieces of egg with the back of his fork. “When does it end?”
“End?”
“You weren’t planning on fake moving in and fake marrying me, were you?” he asks, repeating what I said the other day.
“Well, I guess I’d need to make sure I’ve got the work with Lady Beauchamp, and maybe get introduced to her friends. How do I put a time limit on that? And it’d have to end amicably, so neither is seen as the bad person.”
“Agree. Mum and Will are getting married in August, and it’d be good not to give her bad news right after, so maybe … end of September?”
“Three months?”
He shrugs.
“I know we just established you have self-control, but can you really go three months without … umm?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Without sex?”
“Yes.” I nod curtly.
He hums. Oh, he’s really having to think about it.
Ugh, why do I care?
Why did I bring it up again? It’s like I’m testing him. What do I even want him to say? That he can easily do it because I’m worth it? Because he respects me?
I squeeze my eyes shut. Don’t let your mind go there.
“I mean,” I continue when he doesn’t answer fast enough. “Do whatever you need to do, but at least tell me, will you? I don’t want to feel lied to.”
“I won’t see anyone else in any capacity. I’ll be fine,” he says, and I’m not as relieved as I thought I would be. He’ll be fine … because he’s not tempted by me.
“Are you sure you will?” he asks.
I laugh, my first go at letting it out when he’s being funny, and his face lights up in response.
“Yes, I’ll be more than fine,” I answer, waving a hand.
The blushing ears and flutter in my stomach are just nervousness about this whole arrangement, not related to his devastating smile in reaction to my laugh.
And definitely not related to the way he forces it back down, rolling his lips, making that dimple appear again.
I’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.