I press my lips into a tight line, willing them not to bend at his words.
“Never for a second think that your ideas, your songs, shouldn’t be heard. Your opinions matter just as much—more—than any of theirs. With them or without them, everything you’ve accomplished isyours.” He veers across the small table between us, resting his elbow on it. He wants to be closer to me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want the same thing. “Forget everyone else. Just be you, Lena. That’s more than enough.”
The sentiment feels like blasphemy. Forsake my fans? My team? But the lightness that replaces my question is answer enough, and I know he’s said exactly what I’ve been needing to hear.
For a split second, I give in and lean, soaking in what could be one of the last times I see him besides the gala. Our arms touch, and I let my hand give into the urge, lacing my fingers through his amid the crumpled napkins and now-cold deli food atop the table. Blood whooshes in my ears as he stares at our interlocked hands.
I suck in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it gush from my mouth in one rushed explosion. “I worry people only love me for what they can get from me. What I can offer them.”
He shakes his head, pinning me with a steadiness in his eyes I didn’t know I craved. “Lena, you’re easy to fall in love with. Trust me on that one.”
I lean closer from where I sit, wanting to fall to the floor again and launch myself back into his arms. I want to feel his heart beating in my ear as the rhythm of his breathing soothesme. I want to bury my face into his shirt so I can smell nothing but that comforting scent ofhim. My mouth is desperate for his, but still, despite the things he’s said, I fear that if I kiss him now, I may ruin everything we’ve worked for so far. What if this fake relationship blows up in my face, too? So I resist, bringing his warm hand to my lips and gently pressing them against his knuckles. His free hand finds my cheek, and he cups it there, holding me together for a shadow of a moment.
My eyes sting, and all I can do is think about how desperately I want to reciprocate his sentiment, but I’ve been here before. In my last relationship. Callum always knew what to say to talk me down, to get what he wanted. Because words are words. As sweet as they may be, they’re empty until proven otherwise. But there’s one thing Decker and I can both agree on. I’ve worked too hard. I can’t let my heart keep pulling me back into my judgment patterns that take me—and my relationships—nowhere. Falling too fast, too soon, is part of the problem. It isn’t romantic. It’s reckless.
“I think I should go home,” I whisper, releasing him. “I need to rest.”
Decker hesitates, his other hand falling from my face. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. “Gustav is waiting around back with a driver.”
He won’t argue, but I know he doesn’t want to go. I wonder if he wants what I do, to tangle up on these chairs together and never leave.
Decker’s eyes are sad little green pools as he nods. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” It’s not a statement. It’s a question.
“We’ll make plans for the gala. Maybe squeeze in one last public appearance before it.”
“If that’s what you want,” he says.
I smooth my trembling lips into what I hope looks like a smile. “It is.”
His jaw tics as he stands and shows himself out without another word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DECKER
Ives is waitingdown the block when I emerge from the studio. The walk isn’t long, but it’s lonely. I run a hand through my hair, prying loose the pomade I’d used to perfect it earlier. I’d hoped maybe Lena would be the one undoing it, but nothing ever seems to go the way I hope.
My ride kicks on as I approach, and I attempt to smile at Ives as I jerk open the back door. A couple of teenage boys pass by, yelling something about football, and I nod back. I think one even snaps a picture, but I’m too wrapped up in the fact that Lena had nothing to say to me. I told her she was easy to fall in love with, and she had nothing to say. I wish she would have at least denied me, told me I was outkicking my coverage, anything. The way she looked at me, touched me, the way her lips brushed my hand… There’s no way she feels nothing. Something’s there—we both know it—even if she won’t say it out loud. So why didn’t I come straight out and tell her?
Lena Lukowski, I’ve fallen in love with you.
It’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever not said.
More confused than ever, I sink into the leather seat and pull out my phone. Lena’s name is at the top of my inbox, and though I wish I could text her right now, I wish even more that Iwere still with her. Maleko’s name is next, some drunk gibberish asking where I went, followed by an uneventful group chat with Mom and Ian.
Fake dating someone is incredibly isolating. No one else is in on it, so when you fall hard for the other half of your faux relationship, there’s no one to talk to when you need it most. Except someone else does know. He’s the reason I’m in this situation. I open my call logs and scroll until I find his name. Jason Lancaster. Sucking in a deep breath, I click it.
He answers in three rings. “Decker, what is it?”
“Well, hi to you too, Jason.”
“You never call me first. What’s wrong?” he presses.
“Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to touch base about wrapping up this relationship with Lena. She mentioned something about another public appearance this week and then the gala. Wasn’t sure if you knew details about either.” I put the call on speaker and tilt my head back against the seat.
“Antonia’s been taking the reins on most of that. I’ll have to revisit the contract.”
