“I’m fine,” I croak, shaking my head as I attempt to concentrate on the dough on the table. I try to focus through the blurs, hoping it’s just a fluke and not real tears.
I punch the dough.
“Natalia, stop, you’re?—”
I whirl around to face him, sizing him up as if he isn’t an entire foot taller than me. “What do you think you’re doing? Why would you come in and pretend to be my boyfriend?”
He blinks several times, his mouth opening and closing as he stammers quietly, “I was trying to help you. I’m sorry?—”
“That wasn’t helping,” I snap. “Now they think you’re my boyfriend.”
“Didn’t you want them to think you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, but not you!”
Rowan laughs, surely trying to lighten the mood. “But they love me; everyone loves me.”
“Ihate you,” I mutter.
“We’ll just date when your parents are around,” Rowan reasons gently. “This way youat leastget what you wanted by lying about a boyfriend.”
“You know nothing,” I say under my breath. “And they’re leaving next week.”
He shrugs. “Then we’lldateuntil then so they stay off your back about your life choices. Because I’m assuming that’s why you lied…” he says. “Did you not see how happy they were when they found out we were together?”
I wipe the tears as they fall and hope he doesn’t see them. “It isn’t real!”
“I think the point is, they approve of me.”
“That isn’tanyof the points, Rowan.” I groan. “Stop trying to be funny and happy!”
“Natalia, it’s fine.” His hand wraps around my upper arm, comforting me again. It makes my stomach dip and twist, my body heat with suppressed wanting.
“I don’t think you understand,Rowan,” I say. “My dads are vicious.”
“No they aren’t; I love your dads,” he scoffs. “Andtheyloveme.”
I glare. “They’re my dads, which means they have to be on my side, which also means they hate you too.”
His eyes narrow, lip tipping upward. “One day, you’ll love me too.”
As if I don’t already.
I roll my eyes and wipe my nose with my sleeve. “I can promise you that I won’t.”
I turn away from him, not capable of staring up at his face any longer. I think that if I were okay, if I felt better about myself, I’d look at him for as long as I want. I might indulge in this…crush.
Crushes are dumb. They hurt. They especially hurt when you like someone who you know can’t like you back.
“Natalia?”
My body shudders as he stands beside me, his fists on the edge of the stainless steel workspace, before I say, “We aren’t dating.”
“Okay.” A huff of laughter.
“We aren’t,” I insist again, slamming my hands into the dough.
“Okay,” he says again and I stop, facing him.
