Page 43

Not even the kiss.

Which means the coffees after, all that talk of respecting me—it was just Patrick being in character. Playing the role of a man wildly in love with me.

And he sure is convincing. Because he managed to convince me, too.

I wait, stupidly, for him to say something when he catches up to me in the lodge. I wait for him to tell me that what he said to the Morenos wasn’t true. That he was just protecting this new thing between us, or some other reason.

It would have been awkward to explain to the entire family that, while at the beginning it might have been about faking it, it eventually became real. That might explain why he said the kiss meant nothing. That it was just acting.

But he doesn’t catch my arm. Doesn’t kiss me again. Doesn’t try to convince me that he didn’t mean what he said.

My stupid, romantic heart even thinks he might tell me that he doesn’t care about the toy company anymore. That all he cares about is us being together.

But it’s silent as we pack up our things. It’s silent as Patrick sends out an email to his assistant, getting her to book us a different hotel near the airport, getting her to call us a car to the lodge.

It’s quiet between us as we step back out into the winter storm, letting up now, and walk over to the waiting car.

He doesn’t say a thing about it.

Which means he really meant what he said to Patrick. Nothing was real between us.

And, as I sit first in the car, then on the private plane that takes us home, I have to stare out the window and pretend it’s not breaking my heart right in two.

“Oh, honey. I wish you’d called to talk to me before it all went down. I would have told you not to do it!”

“I know, Mom,” I say, working hard to talk through the tears that gather at the backs of my eyes. I’m sitting on the floor in my apartment. Patrick’s driver dropped me off just five minutes ago. The first thing I did was walk inside, drop my stuff, and call my mom.

I could have called my sisters, but I think they might be a little more ruthless about what a stupid idea this was. My mom, at least, softens her voice when she calls me a “silly girl.”

“That’s probably why I didn’t tell you about it,” I admit, swallowing through my tears. Twisting around, I reach for the water bottle in the side pocket of my backpack. Now I have all these ridiculous designer pieces and no reason to own them. I’m not the rich fiancée of Patrick Dunne. I’m just an embarrassed girl sitting alone in her apartment, all the Christmas lights turned off because it hurts too much to look at them right now.

Mom’s voice is gentle when she speaks again, “Do you regret going on the trip, Cami?”

“No.” The word comes out of my mouth before I’ve really thought about the answer, so it must be the truth. “I don’t regret it…it was amazing. Dogsledding, the snowmobiles, seeing the northern lights. Just spending time with them like that reminded me of being with you guys. Except, you know, they’re rich.” Mom laughs, and it lightens something in my chest. I go on, staring at the dull, lifeless lights on my Christmas tree. “I just regret the lying. I regret ruining their vacation, their memories together. I know they hate me now.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure you didn’t ruin their vacation. And I’m sure they don’t hate you. I mean, it probably wasn’t a fun moment, but do you think something like that would ruin our memories together?”

“You mean if a couple of new friends lied to us for weeks?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

I laugh wetly into the receiver, then reach for the tissues on the side table. There’s no point in pretending like I’m not crying at this point. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Why don’t you move your flight? Come up early? Dad and I could cover the difference.”

“No, Mom, it’s okay. I want to see my friends before I come home.”

“Drown your sorrows in wine?”

I laugh, knowing that’s exactly what my mom would do. And feeling slightly better—I was right when I thought talking to her was going to at least take the edge off all the sadness. “Something like that. So, has Carol dropped off her card yet?”

“Oh, boy, you’d better believe it,” Mom says, and I can basically hear her rolling her eyes. “Old Carol thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood! Let me find it and I’ll read it to you.”

Sighing, I settle in with my back against the bottom of the couch. I still feel terrible, but it’s good to know that my mom is still at home, still being herself. I might have just gone through something terrible, something that feels like it’s totally changed the world, but Carol is still sending out the most pretentious Christmas cards of all time.

When Mom comes back to the phone, I keep her on for ages, just talking to her about the holiday and what everyone else is doing. Dad comes on briefly to tell me that the deer are up on the roof, just like always, but they did have to replace one, so don’t be alarmed at the fact that one has a much better paint job than the others.

He makes me laugh, then tells me he’s proud of me, even though he has no idea that he absolutely should not be.