Her brows lifted.
“You sound very sure.”
“Baby, everybody loves me.”
“Drew.”
“What?”
She looked at the house again.
I followed her gaze.
A woman stood behind the glass beside the front door, slim and blond and backlit by the kind of warm expensive light that made everyone look better or meaner. From this distance, I couldn’t tell which.
Maybe both.
Isa drew in a breath.
“She’s going to make it weird.”
“Then we’ll make it weirder.”
That got me half a laugh.
Not enough.
So I leaned closer and dropped my voice.
“They’re going to love me because you love me.”
The words came out before I could tackle them.
Shit.
Isa went still.
So did I.
Love.
There it was again.
The word I kept letting slip— like my mouth was trying to stage an intervention before my pride could stop it.
I shrugged, because apparently I was committed to dying by arrogance.
“You know. Fake-love me. As a concept. Very persuasive.”
Isa looked down at our joined hands.
Her throat moved.
Then she pulled her smile into place and said, “Right. Fake-love.”
That should’ve been relief.
It wasn’t.
