“We’re not really lying. We’re just not correcting assumptions. Plus, actors always tell directors what they want to hear.Why, yes, I’d love to play a green lizard man. Sitting in hair and makeup for six hours a day would be a pleasure,” he mimics.
I laugh. I’ve been around enough actors to know that much is true. But there are little white lies. And then there are fake-fiancée lies.
“Come on, Em.I dare you.” His eyes sparkle in mischief and mayhem.
Sebastian has always been pure chaos, and this is one more example of it. While I’m the type to stand at the end of the pool, testing the water, deciding whether I really want to get wet, he just dives in. And encourages me to frolic next to him.
I’ve been cliff diving in the Bahamas because I can’t resist his dares. It turned out to be exhilarating, one of my top three memories in life.
But then there was the time he got me to skydive. He learned for a movie. And once again, he goaded me into it. I hated every terrifying second. Humans are not meant to fly without the aid of a large metal contraption. And we’re definitely not meant to plummet to the earth at high speeds.
I’m almost afraid to wonder what type of adventure this trip will be.Fake fiancés. I suspect we might be in the terrifying death-dive territory.
I take a deep breath. Let out a shaky exhale. And jump. “Okay. We’ll go together. If they haven’t already given away your spot at the party to someone who properly RSVPs.”
“I’ll have Matt sort it out today,” he says with a wave of the hand. His eyes linger on me. “So we’ll be engaged for a little longer…”
“And when the trip is over, your publicist can leak a story about our breakup. Then you’ll head off to your next movie. And I’ll get back to my job,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. What would pretending entail? Longing looks, brushes of skin on skin? Or more?
This is a terrible idea. A wildly thrilling terrible idea.
CHAPTER 26
Emma
Sometimes waking is a soft endeavor,a slow arrival into the world of reality.
Other times, it’s fast and rude. One moment, you’re in dreamland, and the next, you’re viscerally aware of the world.
This morning is the latter.
Consciousness arrives, sharp and swift, with the awareness that someone is staring at me. My eyes pop open. And I gaze into Sebastian’s handsome face peering down at me as he stands at the side of the bed.
I squeak and pull the covers up to my chin. “Shit. What are you doing?” I croak out.
He straightens to his full height. “Just making sure you’re still alive. You slept in longer than I did again.”
I yawn and stretch. My whole body feels heavy. I fell into another deep stupor last evening. I must still be feeling the lingering effects of the concussion because once again, I passed out on the couch watching movies. Or, I should say, passed out on Sebastian.
All I can recall is the feeling of being warm, safe, protected, as if everything would be okay, no matter what. I felt secure on an existential level. Like I didn’t have to be vigilant for every unnamed battle that could occur. For every worry. I knew there was someone, even if just for the night, on whom I could rely.
I only wish I could remember more. I want to know if he held me like he did the other night, as if he’d never let me go, as if his arms would still shelter me, even if the world tore apart.
“Lord, I need a vat of coffee,” I mutter to myself.
“Your wish is my command.” If I recorded a voice note of him saying those words—and charged for it—I’d become a rich woman.
I’m a mass of confusion and longing before I’ve even had caffeine.
Sebastian pulls a hand from behind his back, and my favorite mug appears, filled with the elixir of the gods.
“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, thank you. I take back all the nasty things I mentally said about you.” I take a large gulp.
I almost spit it out. “What is this?”
“Coffee.” His dimple appears.
I glare. I don’t play about my morning cup. “And…”
