Page 3 of Fake Crown

A boarding pass appears on my screen and a thank you for my payment.

God, that was expensive. It’s a good thing he’s paying for everything else. At least I can justify it to my parents that way.

I screenshot the transaction and send it to BF in our private chat. He sends me another picture of the hotel name and location. Immediately, I save it to my phone, and then I text it to Monica.

In case he’s a murderer. This is where I’m supposed to be for the weekend.

Monica responds immediately with an LOL and heart eyes. One of us is a bad influence, and I’m starting to think it’s not me.

When I click back over to the chat with BF, he’s left another message.

I’ll text you at the airport. Glad you’re a dude. So tired of the drama!

I frown at the message. He thinks I’m a dude? Why would he think I’m a guy? On my chat profile, the other shoe drops. My avatar is a J in Bellerive blue, and the only name visible is my last one: Jensen.

My fingers hover over my keyboard. I’ve already paid for my flight. Do I tell him I’m a drama-rama girl or leave him to be surprised at the airport?

My lips twist into a smile.

See you tonight!

Brent

Valentina falls into step beside me as soon as I exit the locker room. “Brent, I know you weren’t in the mood earlier,” she says, “but I haven’t posted anything today.”

Lately I’ve been wondering whether her interest in me is directly tied to the influencer status she’s building off my abs. Last week she told me about another brand who’d reached out to her for a deal…as long as I was willing to participate. When I told her no, we got into a giant fight. Seems to be the pattern. She oversteps. I tell her no. She flies to Mars on the strength of her anger.

Don’t get me wrong. She has a banging body, and the make-up sex is next level. We used to have fun together, but I’m not sure we’ve ever wanted the same things.

“Not today, Val.” I sigh. “And not tomorrow or anytime this weekend either.”

“Oh please. We’re going to Bermuda for Trev’s wedding. Of course I’m going to be taking photos. People are dying for them.”

“But they’re not dying for them, are they?” I shove my swim bag higher onto my shoulder. “Trev already asked for a social media ban on the wedding.” I glare at her. “For everyone. That means you too.”

“Fine. I’ll just post them when we get back.”

I whirl on her in the courtyard outside the athletic center. “You’re missing the point.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “This isn’t working anymore.” The words are out of my mouth before I can consider them. But they’re true. I’ve been frustrated and angry with her more than I’ve been happy for months. We’ve broken up before, and I’ve let us slide back together. My swim schedule has allowed me to ignore my feelings for the most part, but the thought of an entire weekend with her isn’t a joy.

“If I don’t post every day, the algorithm penalizes me.” She’s staring at her phone, flicking through various apps.

Her dismissive attitude hardens my resolve. “We aren’t working anymore.”

She snaps to attention, and she slides her phone into the pocket of her winter coat. Her dark eyes blaze when she meets my gaze, and she tosses her jet-black hair over her shoulder.

Here comes the onslaught, and I’m done with the dramatics. With her, it never ends.

“I’m building your brand. You’re not going to be an Olympic athlete forever. We have to think about the future. Beyond all this.” She makes a sweeping gesture to the athletics’ facility behind us.

“I never asked you to do that.” In fact, I don’t want it. My master’s degree at Northern University is my exit strategy. Business management is pretty fucking versatile. Pimping my body on social media isn’t on my to-do list when this is over.

“You don’t need to, baby. I’m building everything for us.”

“Except it’s starting to feel like you’re doing it for you. The latest brand that wanted to leech onto me sells high-end makeup. I looked it up, Val. Why would they want me in their ad campaign?”

“Brent—”

“We’re done. Seriously. D. O. N. E. I’m out.”