“That’s… a really nice thing to do.” My voice wobbles, damn it. I clear my throat. “Honestly. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”
He glances up quickly, like he’s afraid of what I might say next.
And for a fraction of a second I think: he didn’t have to tell me.
He could’ve kept it to himself.
But he chose to share it with me.
I don’t know what that means, but I know it changes something.
He rushes to pull his mask back on—the usual theatrical arrogance.
He straightens his shirt, squares his shoulders, recovers his grin.
“Anyway… the point is I need to win this ridiculous reality show.”
He lifts his brows. “And with you by my side, my odds are better.”
There it is.
My brain thanks the universe for the logical lifeline.
It was one breath away from short-circuiting.
“Oh, so you want to use me,” I say, folding my arms.
“I don’t use people,” he shoots back, maybe a little too fast.
I catch the flash in his eyes.
It’s the truth.
“You’re the one who doesn’t give herself enough credit, Angel.”
My whole body tightens.
And he notices.
Of course he notices.
“I didn’t mean…” He stops, pivots, lowers his voice. “I just meant that with you, I don’t have to pretend to be someone else. And… that never happens for me.”
There it is again.
That part of him I didn’t account for.
The one I didn’t ask for.
The one that scares me.
I need air. Distance. Something stupid and logical so I don’t melt in front of him.
I sit up straighter, stiffer.
“So your brilliant plan is: I, your fake girlfriend, help you win… and you never have to get into a real relationship.”
“Exactly. Clean solution. No drama. No broken hearts.”
