Instead, he simply pulls the still-damp baseball cap out of his pocket and pulls it back on, making sure the brim covers his eyes.
“Well.”
“Well.”
He shrugs his shoulders, and then turns around to walk back to the house, me trailing awkwardly behind him.
“Oh, Lady M?” he says, stopping to look back at me.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t ever say I didn’t want to kiss you, by the way,” he says over his shoulder. “Just so you know.”
That’s when I know, beyond doubt, that he’s going to break my heart.
And there’s not a single thing I can do about it.
Chapter 19
The ‘beach kiss’ photos are a huge success. Even Asher is grudgingly impressed by my “performance” as he calls it, and, when we got back to the beach house, I thought Grace was going to pass out from excitement.
It’s the third time Jett and I have been seen together now, which makes us practically an old married couple in Hollywood terms. I’m being referred to as his “new girlfriend” rather than as his “latest squeeze”, and I have 24 voice messages from Mum on my phone, none of which I’ve plucked up the courage to listen to yet.
Things are going well, in other words.
So why do I feel soempty?
It’s two days after The Kiss. I’m still living at the hotel, and Jett hasn’t called me. Or gotsomeone else to call me, even.
Not that I was expecting him to, obviously. Why would he? This is just a business arrangement, right? It doesn’t mean anything to him, and I’ve spent the best part of the last 48 hours trying to convince myself it doesn’t mean anything to me, either. It’s not like we’reactuallydating, after all. He doesn’t owe me a phone call.
He doesn’t owe me anything.
Instead of dwelling on The Kiss, then, I do my best to keep myself busy, so I’m not tempted to read whatever’s being said about me online. Or to keep checking my messages to see if there’s one from him. The problem is, there’s just not much to do here when you’re a fake girlfriend trying her best not to get into trouble. I’m too scared to leave the hotel in case the paparazzi are out there waiting for me, and although I’ve sent Summer a couple of brief messages letting her know I’m okay, and will explain everything as soon as I can, the thought of having to lie outright to her makes me refuse her offers to meet up, or even talk on the phone.
All of which means I’ve spent the last two days hanging out in my hotel room, working my way through the room service menu, and venturing out only to use the gym and pool, although only at the times I think they’ll be least busy.
As it turns out, fake-dating a movie star is a lot less glamorous than you might think — which is why, when a knock on the door jolts me awake from my second nap of the day, I’m almost giddy with excitement as I rush to see who it is.
Then I open the door, and all that excitement disappears in a flash.
“Trust me,” says Jakob, heaving a couple of giant bags into the room behind him, “I’m as happy to see you as you are to see me. We’ve got work to do, though.” His nose wrinkles in distaste as he takes in the leggings and over-sized t-shirt I haven’t bothered to change out of since my trip to the hotel gym. “Quite a lot of work, by the looks of things. Is thatsnotin your hair? I mean, seriously?”
“It’s popcorn,” I say, tugging impatiently at the offending item. “I fell asleep watching a movie.”
One of Jett’s movies, actually. Which I was watching purely for research purposes, I swear. Thank God I had the sense to switch it off before I opened the door.
Jakob heaves the world-weary sigh of a man who has been putting up with other people’s shit for way too long, before striding across the room and starting to empty the bags he’s carrying.
Interested in spite of myself, I step eagerly forward, letting out an involuntary squeal of excitement at the sight of the selection of dresses Jakob is laying reverently on the bed, handling each one as carefully as if it’s made of china.
“Wow, check this out,” I say, picking up a gold sequined evening dress and holding it up against me. “Where would you evenwearsomething like this?”
“I mean… to the Carter Foundation Gala?” Jakob replies, as if this is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “D’uh!” he adds for good measure.
I frown, watching him pluck another dress out of the pile on the bed and hold it up to the light appraisingly.
I’ve heard of the Carter Foundation, of course. Jett’s parents founded it years ago, and its main aim is to raise money for… orphaned jellyfish? Wigs for bald orangutans? Seven-legged spiders? Okay, so I don’t actually knowthatmuch about the Foundation itself, obviously. I do knowaaallabout its annual fundraising gala, however; mostly because the guest list is basically a Who’s Who of Hollywood, and the red carpet fashion is To. Die. For.
