His expression grows pained. “It got out of hand. I… I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
Why is my heart fluttering in my chest? It’s a lame excuse. Not really an excuse at all.
Hedidmean for it to happen. He planned it.
“You mean so much to me,” he says. “I know you don’t feel that way for me. Yet. But I feel like you’re starting to see me differently.” His voice grows hushed. “Am I right about that?”
My throat grows tight. “Yes,” I manage to whisper.
The grin that overspreads his face is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. As bright as the sun yet as soft as morning mist. “That’s all I wanted. I arranged this whole thing just for this.” His blue eyes flash. “I’m going to win you, Amelia. I’m determined.”
I search for any hint of deception in his face, but I find nothing.
Could he mean this? Is it possible that this is the truth? It seems crazy that someone like Tristan would need to go to such great lengths to hang out with a girl, but maybe…
I’ve been cold to him. I’ve been bitter since the dissolution of my friendship with Harper. Maybe I’ve been unapproachable.
He’s tried to talk to me many times over the years, and I cut him off. I shot out a snarky comment and walked away. The only time I didn’t was that day in the library. Something about his demeanor that day—his openness and vulnerability—got to me. I felt like I really saw him. The real Tristan.
Then he betrayed me. And I shut myself away once again.
My voice, when it finally comes, is barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because I was scared,” he says immediately. “I never found the right time. You hated me. If I’d told you how I feel, you would have thrown it back in my face. Made fun of me for it.”
I avert my gaze, my cheeks growing hot. “Maybe you’re right.”
He chuckles softly. “I am right. I know you well.” There’s a wistful hush to his voice. “I’ve watched you over the years. Like I said, I could never look away. I never did.”
My throat grows tight, and my heart pounds like a hammer. Why does he sound like he’s in love with me? Is he really this good of an actor?
“Let me show you something. Let me prove to you that my intentions are genuine.”
I nod hesitantly, and Tristan leans forward. His scent, a mixture of cologne and sweat, is thoroughly intoxicating.
Even this man’s sweat smells good, damn it.
He grabs my hand and places my palm against his chest. The rapidly pounding rhythm matches my own.
“This is what it’s like,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Every time I’m with you, this is what it feels like.”
The pounding rhythm against my palm sends liquid heat into my belly. What does this mean? Is he trying to tell me that this “confession” is real?
“I don’t…” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says softly, pressing his lips to my forehead. “But I’m asking you to stay open-minded for the rest of this competition. Let me show you who I really am.”
“Cut!” the director yells, and I jerk back.
The heady, dreamy haze to the world around me vanishes in an instant. I’m sitting on a blanket on the beach with a camera crew around me. How did I manage to forget?
“Did you enjoy that?” Tristan asks, and a chill runs down my spine.
His tone is arrogant. Smug. Deceitful.
Oh fuck. It really was all a performance. A lie. How did I let myself get swept away in it?
Stupid, stupid Amy.
