Lifting it to her lips, she takes a bite of the cinnamon bun and moans in delight.
“What are you doing? Come and sit down and have one,” she says once she’s swallowed, placing the box on the cushion beside her.
I saunter over, swipe a sweet treat from the box, and sit on the opposite couch. Sitting beside her as I did earlier is too tempting.
If we’re going to make this work in any way, it’s better that I keep my distance.
It’s too easy to lose myself in what I want. But for the first time in my life, what I want isn’t the most important thing. I need to do what’s right for Bea, and I know without a doubt that it’s not me.
She watches me with a frown, but she doesn’t comment as I devour the pasty in three huge bites.
“I know it’s late and it’s probably not the right time,” I explain, my heart rate picking up with the words I’m about to say. “But we need to talk.”
49
BEATRICE
Istare at Everett, my heart in my throat.
It doesn’t matter the situation. No one ever wants to hear those words.
“O-okay. What did you want to talk about?”
I don’t know why I’m asking. I already know.
He wants my answer about us.
Am I willing to stand by his side and pretend that we’re in a relationship over the coming…fuck knows how long, to save his career? Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
I know what my head wants. I know what my heart wants. Unfortunately, they’re very different things.
“I…um…” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. I hate that he’s feeling tense over this, but as much as I also don’t want to have this conversation, it has to happen. His eyes drop to his coffee table before he blurts, “Where are you at with this whole ‘faking it’ thing?”
“I guess that depends on where you’re at with our fake engagement,” I counter, because if he agrees to that, then I can’t refuse. It would be stupid to stand in the way of inheriting enough money to secure mine and our baby’s future.
His eyes find mine. They’re full of indecision.
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. I start to think he won't respond, but eventually, his lips part, and he begins to speak. “I’m afraid of throwing you into the spotlight and taking something from you that should be special.”
My brows pinch.
“You’re…you’re worried about me?”
A laugh of disbelief tumbles free. “Of course I am. I’m…I’m a fucking disaster, Bea. You’ve spent enough time Googling me to know that. You told me only a few hours ago about living a quiet life and fulfilling your dream. It would fucking kill me to ruin that.”
“Everett, being connected to you is very different from my family.”
“Is it?”
A smile plays on my lips. “Yes. It is.”
“But an engagement. That should happen with someone you’re in love with, someone you can picture spending the rest of your life with.”
“Yeah, maybe. But it’s not always the case. Do I read romance books and secretly fantasize that one day a man will come in and sweep me off my feet, treat me like his queen and—” My words abruptly stop the second I realize that Everett has done all of that.
My hands tremble.
Needing to do something with them, I reach for my mug. The cream has melted into the chocolate now, and the marshmallows are all soft and gooey. Perfect. And he did it for me. At two A.M., when I mentioned craving hot chocolate, he went out and got everything without even questioning it.
