Nigel tosses his hair. It’s short, and he still tosses it. “No one’s going to question my presence.” He peers down his nose at me. “Not like I’m going to question why I haven’t seen you withSteveall day.”
Oooooh, fuuuuuuuuuuccccckkkk.
“Rawk! Steve’s a dick! Rawk!” Long Beak Silver, the Rock family patriarch’s pet parrot, screeches from the back of a folding chair at the edge of the dance floor.
“Why are you cussing again?” I ask the bird. “Max taught you to say nice things.”
“Rawk! Fuck off! Rawk!”
I glare at the bird, who’s causing enough of a commotion that people are starting to look our way.
People who might realize Nigel’s not supposed to be here.
They won’t realize that, Sloane. They cannot possibly realize that.
Except a rule is being broken by a person who spent a lot of my childhood telling me to follow the rules, and I’m sweating and I’m cold and I haven’t had enough alcohol to deal with this, except you don’t drink alcohol if you’re from Two Twigs, because that, too, is a sure path to eternal damnation.
Which isn’t a problem when I’m not in Two Twigs.
But having someone from my past breathing down on me is making it a problem now.
Nigel angles closer, making me want to jump out of my skin. He smells like sweat—the bad kind—and medieval torture devices. “I know the truth aboutSteve.”
“My b-boyfriend?”Dammit, don’t stutter. The new and improved Sloane Pearce doesn’t stutter.
Even when being confronted about the fact that I’ve spent the past year sending doctored photos back home to my grandmother to make her believe I have a boyfriend so that she won’t worry that I’ll die alone and childless.
And so that she won’t do something extreme.
Like send Nigel to check on me.
“You told your grandma he proposed.”
They’ve talked. Of course they have, but I only told my grandmother that last night.
Shi—shoot—no,shit, dammit. This is worthy of cussing, and it’s only in my head.
So why is Nigel frowning even heavier at me like he knows I’m cussing in my head?
Screw—fuck this. I lift my head and stare directly at Nigel. “He did.”
“And he’s not here.”
There was a fifty-fifty chance that the man whose picture I’ve been sending to my grandmother would’ve been here today. He comes through town regularly, and I know he was on the guest list.
He, however, has no idea that he’s my pretend boyfriend.
Fiancé.
Love of my life.
Whatever.
So it’s a massive relief that I haven’t seen him at all today. “He hates crowds.”
It’s also a massive relief that I’m nearly certain that statement is true.Thank you for not being here today, fake Steve.
“You told your grandma he’d be here with you today.”
