“Fish and chips.” I grab the glass of wine and swallow my panic.
I need to tell him but that would put my father’s business deal in jeopardy, and I’d no longer have Owen.
And I don’t want to give him up. Not until I have to.
Why did my father have to lose his mind and invest everything in a business he wasn’t passionate enough about to make it work?
And why did marriage have to be a part of the deal?
I’ve spent my life making myself uncomfortable and putting other people’s needs first to make sure they are happy and get what they want. I quit art school and focused on business because it’s what my father wanted. I played stand-in bride so my sister could interview for her dream job.
I’ve put my heart on the line for everyone else.
For once I want to put myself first, confess everything and ride off into the sunset with my romantic lead.
But this isn’t a romance novel or a sketch I can lose myself in.
Owen already admitted to not being able to trust women’s motivations. What is he going to think when he finds out I’ve been lying to him since we met?
But have I?
He’s seen me sketching. We’ve talked about my past. Outside of wearing Eloise’s clothes, it’s been me he’s spent time with.
Is it me he wants?
This is so confusing.
I gulp the rest of my wine and pour a second glass.
Two hours later the lights are dim, the music is thumping, and tables are pushed to the side to create a makeshift dance floor.
Alcohol and the avoidance strategy I’ve employed have kept me dancing. I don’t know how long I’ve been moving to the music, but I have that fluid lightness that goes with too much alcohol and dopamine.
Owen watches me from the bar, his gaze slowly sliding down my body, tightening the sensitive skin between my thighs.
I lift my arms in the air and rock my hips from side to side, calling him to me with my body.
His fingers grip the glass tighter.
I shouldn’t have had that last drink. It tipped me over the edge from avoiding Owen to burning with the need to feel him pressed against me.
He stands, pushing the barstool out of the way.
My belly tightens until Amy touches his arm.
Jealousy is hot and fiery in my veins, but I’m not quite drunk enough not to realize that if I go over there, sober Charlotte will regret it in the morning.
I should go home, get into bed, and sleep away the rest of the week until I figure out what the heck I am going to do.
“Your face is pretty even with that scowl.”
I look over my shoulder. The stranger’s voice is as smooth as his appearance, but there’s an arrogance about him that makes me feel uneasy.
“I like this dress.” He traces the lace pattern of Eloise’s dress down my waist and flattens his palm over my hip.
My body tenses, fear and panic taking over.
I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Logically I know this is one of those moments when I need to stand up for myself and say what I want—for him to get his hands off me and back the hell up—but my mind goes blank and my tongue feels paralyzed.
