Page 44 of My Real Love Affair

“I—no.” She fumbled for words, flustered in an adorable way that made me want to push further. “It’s just being friendly. Partners in crime should be friendly.”

“Rule number two says no flirting in private.”

“That’s not what I was doing.” She stopped and bit her lip. “Fine. Maybe it was a little flirty. But it was accidental flirting. That doesn’t count.”

“Sure it doesn’t.”

“Austin—”

“I’m kidding. Mostly.” I sat back, giving her space. “Thank you. For tonight. For agreeing to this insanity.”

“Thank you for the excellent dinner and the public defense of my honor.”

“Anytime, ba—” I caught myself. “Melody.”

She smiled, gathering her bag. “Good catch.”

“I’m learning.”

She opened her door, then paused. “We should probably be seen together regularly if we want to make this believable.”

I nodded. “I’ll text you. We’ll coordinate.”

“Very romantic.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted rules and boundaries. This is me respecting them.”

“I appreciate that.” She hesitated, then leaned back into the car. For a second, I thought she might kiss me. Instead, she just smiled. “Goodnight, Austin.”

“Goodnight, Melody.”

I watched her walk up to her door. Watched her unlock her door and slip inside. Lights flickered on in the windows. Then I pulled away, heading back to my hotel suite.

I thought about Melody’s words. About domestic bliss and home and all the things I’d never really had despite having everything money could buy. I’d grown up in mansions but never felt at home in them. I had access to world-class chefs but never had someone cook for me with love. Well, maybe my mother did, but I didn’t remember. It was so long ago.

What would it be like to have what Melody was describing? To have someone who cooked for you not because they were paid to, but because they wanted to. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I conjured up a vision of Melody in my kitchen, wearing nothing but one of my shirts and an apron, teaching me how to make something simple and delicious. Flour on her nose. Laughter in her eyes. The domesticity of it. The intimacy.

Melody had been right. Even billionaires didn’t have it all.

I had money, freedom, access to almost anything I wanted. But I didn’t have a home. Didn’t have someone who looked at me and saw past the Bancroft name to the person underneath. Didn’t have Sunday mornings with coffee and lazy conversation. Didn’t have someone to come home to who was excited to see me just because they liked me.

I’d been missing all of that without even realizing it.

CHAPTER 14

MELODY

“Hold that pose,” Cleo commanded, circling me with my camera like a prowling cat. “Chin up just a touch. Perfect. Now give me attitude.”

I adjusted my stance, one hand on my hip, the other holding the strap of the designer bag we were featuring today. The lavender dress I’d changed into was beautiful. Perfect for a spring day or Easter brunch and that’s exactly how we were going to tag it.

“Gorgeous,” Cleo said, reviewing the shots. “Your followers are going to eat this up. The dress, the bag, that little smirk you’re doing is perfect.” She made a chef’s kiss gesture. “Perfection.”

I relaxed my pose and grabbed my phone from the nearby table, scrolling through our shot list for the day. “What’s next?”

“The denim look. Then we need to shoot that sponsored content for the jewelry brand.” Cleo consulted her own phone, which contained my meticulously organized content calendar. “But first, you need to spill. Immediately. How did dinner go last night?”