He brings me to the dance floor, among the other couples: my mother and father, Parker and Caroline, and so many others. My throat tightens as I meet his blue eyes. They’re searching mine, like he’s looking desperately for something, hoping to find it.
But what?
As we sway, he parts his lips, and says, “That was…a wild day.”
“It was. And you have been the best fake boyfriend ever. So thank you.”
He tenses for a second or two. Maybe more. Then he presses a kiss to my forehead, his voice tight as he says, “You deserve everything.”
But what I want most is you.And I want so badly for him to ask me to stay the night at his place. Just one more night where we’re together.
But his motivation to fake date me is gone.
And now my heart is breaking for real.
It’s shattered in a fresh and painful way, so much worse than when I was dumped on a Jumbotron.
This time, I ache everywhere.
I keep those thoughts locked up, where they’re safe.
52
THE TIME I WENT ON TOUR
REMY
I peel off my maid of honor dress before midnight and hang it up in the closet, finding just the right spot, then running a hand down it since I don’t want to let go of it.
I miss Lake so much. But I have to move on.
Turning around, I tug on a T-shirt and leggings, but I don’t get into bed.
I get to work.
I worked after Jameson broke up with me publicly.
This time, though, I don’t need work for a hideout. I need it for a future. I stay up late, researching, outlining, planning.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and this PowerPoint won’t be either.
But I can start a new foundation, even while this missing burrows under my skin.
* * *
I’m a bit of a broken record, but I have to answer for the con job. The next day I sit across from Daniel at lunch at Happy Cow, a restaurant in Hayes Valley, and say the words thatmight as well be tattooed on my tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Daniel drags a hand through his sleek hair and laughs. It sounds self-deprecating. “I gotta say, I have a pretty good bullshit detector, and I didn’t see that coming.”
Yeah, I thought it was going to be real too.“I should have told you. As a friend. Not just as a boss,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to produce so manymea culpas, but knowing that’s the price I have to pay.
He holds up a hand. “Actually, you don’t need to tell me if it’s fake or real as a boss. That’s not really anyone’s business at work. But you’re right. I think of you as a friend, and I feel a little misled.”
I take that on the chin. “That’s fair. I understand,” I say, folding and unfolding the napkin on the table.
“Make that a lot,” he admits quietly, his brow knitting. “I was rooting for you two. As a couple, I felt like every time we talked about it, we were…” He sighs, his mouth turned down, “Speaking the same language. I gave you advice. I wanted to see it work out for you because I care about you. I asked how it was going as a friend.”
His disappointment is the sharp edge of a knife. I let so many people down. “I know. And it probably doesn’t matter that it felt like I was speaking the truth. Since even though it started as fake, it became real for me.”
