Note to self—skin-tight jeans and biker boots werenotdesigned for running away from poor life choices.
About a quarter mile into my so-called jog through Lincoln’s cookie cutter neighborhood, my big toe starts to burn and I can feel a bunion coming on.
Super duper!
With a quick glance around at the manicured lawns on this quiet, tree-lined street, I drop down on some random curb in front of some random house. I bury my face in my hands. What is this life of mine?
This is so overwhelming. I’ve somehow found myself roped into sharing a bed with a man that I hate. And I also want to fuck his brains out. I jumped into this engagement with both feet, with my eye on the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But the deeper I’m pulled into this mess, the less sure I feel about everything.
I knew what I was signing up for. I guess I just didn’t expect it to feel like…this.
I didn’t expect to want this.
There’s a growing part of me that’s toying with the possibilities. What if this relationship wasn’t just some big performance? What if it were actually real? What if Lincoln actually wanted to be with me…the way I sort of want to be with him?
Stop it, Jules.Don’t make it more complicated than it already is, my guardian angel warns.
Because girls like me don’t get the fairytale ending.
I’ve got to stay detached. Indifferent. Emotionally disengaged. But with every line that Lincoln and I cross, it’s becoming increasingly impossible to keep my heart from getting involved. How much more will I be required to sacrifice? I’ve already given up my autonomy, my home, my bed. I feel like I’m giving up too much. I don’t want to let Lincoln down but I can’t keep chipping away at my identity and still maintain those emotional walls.
I pride myself on being a tough girl, but more and more, I’m feeling myself start to chicken out. Maybe I could call this whole thing off. I’d have to find a new apartment since Laney’s new roommate is moving in next week. But at least, I still have time to call the whole wedding thing off.
As I sit here, I start planning out my speech in my head, the exact words I’m going to say to Lincoln to tell him I’m backing out of our arrangement. But then my phone dings with a notification.
I pull it out of the pocket of my jeans and look down at the screen.
It’s a sale.
A sale…
“I made a sale!” I bark out before I can stop myself, and the sound of my own voice booming in the silent air startles me.
Across the street, a curtain flutters and a nosy nose pokes between the lace panels hanging in a dark window.
But I can hardly contain my excitement as I scroll through the order. Three T-shirts in my most popular designs. I haven’t had a sale in weeks, and this little order has sent me to the moon.
This.
This is the bigger picture.
This is why I’m doing it. Why I’m moving in with a stranger, marrying a man I don’t know, risking my whole identity for a guy who doesn’t even like me.
Because once I get my hands on my trust fund, I’ll be able to expand my marketing and distribution to reach a larger customer base. I’ll finally be able to find success and build the kind of life I’ve always dreamed of. On my own terms.
I just need to put my anxiety aside and go with the flow for the next few weeks. So that everything can unfold as planned.
I can swallow my discomfort for a few months in order to get my big payoff.
This is business. Strictly business. And I’m going to play my role as such. Nothing more. Nothing less. No friendship. No hooking up. And definitely no falling in love.
Right as I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket, the device dings. Once. Twice. Three times. It’s Lincoln’s name on the screen. I don’t like the way my stomach fills with butterflies, so I try to bury them under a wall of indifference.
My strategy is working just fine until I read Lincoln’s messages.
Lincoln: Are you okay?
Lincoln: Where are you?
