“Director from a project I turned down last month,” he says quietly, glancing over my shoulder. “Guy's been harassing me about it ever since, and he just spotted us. He was heading over here, but he won't interrupt what looks like an intimate moment with my girlfriend. Coast is clear now.”
Before I can process this information, my mother reappears, looking satisfied and ready to go.
“Well!” she says, fanning herself dramatically. “What'd I miss?”
“Just telling Stella how beautiful she looks tonight,” Brandon says smoothly, though I notice his voice is slightly rough around the edges.
“You two are just precious,” my mother coos, pulling out her phone. “I absolutely must get a picture. You look so perfect together.”
I'm still processing what just happened, the urgency of that kiss and the way my entire body responded to it, so I barely register Brandon pulling me against his side for the photo. His hand settles on my hip, and when his fingers tighten slightly, I'm reminded of how solid and warm he felt pressed against me just moments ago.
“Beautiful,” my mother says, snapping several photos. “Oh, this one's perfect.”
She shows us the image, and through my daze, I can see that we do look good together. Natural. Like we actually belong in each other's arms.
“We should probably get you home, Mrs. Rhodes,” Brandon says, his voice carefully controlled. “It's getting late.”
But as we walk to his car, I catch him glancing at me when he thinks I'm not looking, and I wonder if he's feeling the same confusion I am. Because that kiss felt like a lot of things, but acting wasn't one of them.
fourteen
. . .
Brandon
“Thankyou for such a wonderful evening, Brandon,” Caroline says, pulling me into one of her signature hugs.
“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Rhodes. It was my pleasure.”
“Please, call me Caroline. We're practically family now.” She beams at me, then glances at Stella. “You two have a good night. Don't keep her up too late.”
The implication in her voice makes my face warm, but I just smile and nod. “Of course. Goodnight, Caroline.”
As soon as her door closes, Stella and I are alone in the hallway. The space between us crackles with unspoken tension. She's still not quite meeting my eyes, and she's fidgeting with her purse strap.
“Well,” she says brightly, her voice pitched slightly higher than normal. “That went well, I think.”
“Really well,” I agree, unlocking my apartment door. “Your mom seems happy.”
“She loves you. I think she's already planning our wedding.” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “Which is ridiculous, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
We step into my apartment, and suddenly, the space feels too small, too intimate. The memory of that kiss hangs between us like a live wire, and I can see from the way Stella is carefully not looking at me that she's thinking about it, too.
We're both talking too fast, being too polite, working too hard to pretend that nothing earth-shattering happened outside the restaurant.
“Thanks again for tonight,” she says, pausing near the hallway. “You were really great. Very convincing.”
“So were you.”
It was just acting, I remind myself. We were selling a performance for her mother. The fact that my heart is still racing and I can still taste her on my lips doesn't mean anything. It can't mean anything.
She nods once, then shifts awkwardly. “I'm going to get ready for bed. Thanks again for letting me take the bed.”
“Actually, do you mind if I grab a quick shower first? Won't take long.”
“Of course. Take your time. I'm just going to read for a bit.”
