“Maybe she’d want to come back to London with me…” It’s a hopeful thought.
“Her life is here.” Pierce isoh so helpfulin pointing that out.
“I know, but it’s worth a shot, right?”
“And the store you’re helping her try and save?”
Fuck. I scrub a hand down my face.
“Look, I don’t know what I’m going to do, but you can’t tell anyone. Especially your wife.”
A shoulder bumps into me from a passerby. I’m ready to call them out until I see who it is.
Fucking Brad.
“Gentlemen. I hope you’re enjoying your evening out.” He dips his head our way as he continues down the street.
The look on his face tells me nothing.
“Oh fuck. Do you think he heard us?” Pierce whispers.
“This is all your fault,” I grumble.
“Mine? How is this my fault?”
“If you didn’t keep poking and asking questions, I wouldn’t have snapped.”
He throws his hands up in defence. “I can’t help it if I thought you were lying to me. Which, you were, mate.”
He’s not wrong. I just hate it when he is right. “God. This is so fucked up.”
“Listen”—Pierce clasps me on the shoulder—“I won’t tell anyone. I’ll even keep it from Charlotte, which she won’t like, but you need to figure out what’s going to happen. Because I can tell you have feelings for her.”
“When did you become so observant?”
He gives me a smug look. “From one bloke in love to another, it’s easy to tell.”
I hate it. I hate that he can see right through me. “Is it that obvious?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Why are you two out here?” Nash yells from the door of the bar.
“I needed some fresh air,” Pierce shouts back. “We’re coming.”
Nash disappears back inside the bar.
“I’m here if you need me, Simon.” Pierce falls into step beside me.
“Appreciate it.”
Nothing about this conversation makes me feel better. If anything, it makes me feel worse.
Because no matter which way I try to spin it in my head, the wedding is this week and then I’ll be back home. Charade over.
And I have no idea how to make this thing with Layla work.
Fucking real feelings are involved. If only they could’ve been fake too.
