The clerk quickly took Grayson’s information, checking his license, running the winery’s credit card, then issuing them a key card. He also seemed relieved, probably thrilled that the two of them weren’t creating a big fuss.
Once they were checked in, Grayson handed her the key card and grabbed the drink tray again. They walked to the elevators together, and she pressed the button for the third floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself.
She had spent most of the day living for the moment when she could escape into her hotel room, alone, and stop pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Guarding her words had been harder than she’d expected, and there were several times when she’d nearly slipped, speaking Lark’s name aloud, which would have sounded like her speaking about herself in the third person.
The idea of keeping the pretense up for the rest of the night, with no respite, felt like a daunting, impossible task. To be honest, she couldn’t believe she’d pulled it off this long. There had been more than a few times when she caught Grayson sending sideways glances her direction, looking confused and maybe even suspicious.
Mercifully, however, it didn’t appear to have occurred to him that she wasn’t who she said she was.
Why would it?
What sane, normal adults would try to pull off a stunt like this?
Sadly, Wren had the answer to that question.
Lark…and her idiot twin, who couldn’t say no to her sister whenever she needed help.
She unlocked the door, walking in first, the sight of the bed—the one bed—the first thing she saw.
She had never, not once, slept in the same bed as a man.
Doing so with Grayson—who was calm, observant, and too perceptive for her fragile act—was adding more stress to a situation that already had the power to break her.
She considered barricading herself in the bathroom and texting Lark, telling her the charade needed to stop, that she wanted to come clean, but her sister was no doubt scream-singing “We are Never Ever Getting Back Together” with seventy thousand other Swifties at the moment.
“I can ask for extra blankets,” Grayson said, noticing the way she was staring at the bed like it was her arch enemy. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No,” she blurted, even though she didn’t totally hate that idea. “I could sleep on the floor,” she offered. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”
Grayson snorted. “So have you.”
Wren forced herself to inhale slowly.
She needed to be Lark, who would have zero trouble sharing a bed with Grayson, even though she considered him a grumpy asshole.
“It’s a big bed,” she said. “And we’re adults. It’ll be fine.”
Because what else could she say?
That she was barely holding it together?
That pretending to be Lark had already pushed her past her limits?
That the one thing that had gotten her through the day—the promise of her own hotel room—had been yanked away?
She pushed all of that aside and, instead, managed a weak smile.
Grayson hesitated, studying her face in that way that made her feel like he could see inside her head.
“Come on,” he said, tossing his duffel bag to the floor. “Let’s eat this food before it gets any colder.”
She perched on one side of the bed, smiling her thanks when he handed her a Quarter Pounder with Cheese, fries, and a Diet Coke. Then he claimed the desk, setting up his Big Mac meal, ten-piece nuggets, and chocolate shake.
“Wanna watch some TV?” he asked, picking up the remote.
“Sure,” she said, moaning in delight when she took the first bite of her burger.
Grayson chuckled. “That good?”
