Fake Fiancée

I didn’t buy it. Unless Felix had been behind it. “Maybe it was Bart and he got some girl to do it.”

She shook her head. “He might be a liar, but he’d never do this. I always felt safe with Bart—even when he was angry in class that first day. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Because he still fucking loved her, I thought. I pushed away how insecure that made me feel.

I sighed. “Then we’re back to square one. Maybe the police can check the cameras and figure it out.”

She nodded, and I tried to play it cool, but worry pricked at me. First the daisy thing and now this—what was next? The thought of anyone trying to mess with her drove me nuts. “Maybe you should resign from your library job.” I tapped my hand against my thigh, thinking. “Once football is over, I can keep my eye on you more, but right now . . .” I stopped. Feeling frustrated. Shit. I was hardly ever home. How was I going to watch over her?

“I appreciate you being worried for me, but I can’t quit my job. I can take care of myself . . . alone. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

We stared at each other in the cool parking lot as a range of emotions flitted across her face. I couldn’t read them.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked, grasping her hands in mine. Since the moment we’d come out of the basement, I sensed that somehow I’d disappointed her.

Sadness flickered in her eyes. “The past.”

“Don’t judge me by Bart, Sunny. It isn’t fair.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’m not judging you by him anymore. It’s not that. It’s just you have this big future. You’re you and—” she cut her words off and swallowed, shaking her head. “I’m scared. I can’t handle my heart being broken again, Max. I just can’t.”

“You’re the only girl on my mind right now. You.” I eased over to her, tilted her face up, and pressed my lips to her still swollen ones.

She nodded still looking uncertain, but I let it go. I had other things I wanted to talk about. I leaned against my SUV and laced our fingers together. “Will you tell me about the scars on your back? Was it your dad? It’s just . . . Isabella said something once, and last night . . . they didn’t bother me,” I assured her softly. “They’re beautiful. They’re you.”

She bit her lip and nodded, staring at the ground. “My father . . . he changed after my mom died. He . . . he wanted to control me and make sure I didn’t turn out like her. He lashed me with a belt and the buckle left scars. It only happened a few times—but the last time, I knew I couldn’t stay anymore. I came to live with Mimi.” She paused, her hands twisting. “He didn’t ruin me—I want you to know that. I don’t even hate him . . . I think. He was so in love with my mom, and when she left us and then died—it ripped his whole world apart.”

I couldn’t relate to the abuse, but I got that love could be a powerful thing and that it could change people.

“Anyway, there’s a core of strength inside me . . . this need to just live and be happy. And I know that fate has a big life ahead of me, and whatever happened to me back then isn’t going to screw it up. And maybe . . . just maybe, awful things had to happen to me before I ended up in the right place.”

Her gray gaze connected with mine, and I read hope there.

I held my rage for her father in and focused on her. I’m sorry might come across as pity, so I didn’t say it. Instead, I kissed her lightly and hugged her, wrapping my forearms around her small waist and pulling her tight against me. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “And you are in the right place.”

Sunny

ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON NEARLY two weeks after the library incident I stood outside one of the premier wedding shops in the Atlanta area, a chic little place called Boutique Celeste. I was fake dress shopping.

It was rather cold for the first week of November. I shifted closer to the store, anxious to get inside and get this task over with.

Isabella and Mimi flanked me on either side, my bodyguards. I say that because they’d both been sending me concerned looks for the past week. Just this morning Mimi had commented on the hollows in my cheeks. Isabella had chimed in about the shadows under my eyes.

I just missed Max.

Since the library, I’d seen less of him. We’d had lunch together several times, but for the most part we hadn’t been alone. I had my car back, so we weren’t driving to class together. Of course, he’d check in with me, texting late at night after practice. He always sounded exhausted. Most times he wanted to come over, often insisting, but I brushed him off with excuses that I was in bed or studying. He was in the thick of football season, or he probably would have pressed me more.

We’d had our magical night in the basement, and it had been everything, but since then I’d decided to give him some space until he figured out exactly what we were. Shit. I didn’t know what we were. Perhaps sex only complicated us. I didn’t know. What I did know was that he had a ton of pressure on him, and I didn’t want to mess with his head like Bianca had.

Thankfully there hadn’t been any more crazy incidents or flowers left on my stoop. We still didn’t know who the culprit was though. There was no video footage from the stairwell, just views of the library entrances and exits. Campus police had pored through them, along with my manager Pam, but there was nothing suspicious. It was frustrating—and scary. If the culprit had planned it, it meant they’d been waiting for me to finally make a trip down to the basement. My hope was that it was a harmless prank decided on a whim by someone who didn’t even know me.

A pretty young girl in her mid-twenties with long brown hair rushed toward us from across the street. “So sorry I’m late,” she gushed with a sheepish grin. She stuck her hand out. “I’m Carrie Longmire with WBBG Channel 7, and I also freelance with the Atlanta Gazette for their Lifestyle section. Millicent asked me to write the article about your engagement.”

“Of course.” I shook her hand and introduced Mimi and Isabella. Max had informed me of this a week ago, and I’d agreed. I was seeing this darn thing through to the end for him.

We went inside the mirrored double doors and one of the shopkeepers met us immediately, a huge smile on her face. Of course, Millicent had prepped the owner of the boutique of our arrival.

After air kisses and introductions, we made our way through the store to a small posh sitting area surrounded by a wall of mirrors. Mimi and Isabella both took a glass of champagne that was offered by the sales girl. Carrie declined.

“Miss Blaine, would you like a drink?”

I shook my head, my gaze bouncing off the heavy crown molding of the ceiling, the beautiful gold filigree wallpaper, and the wraparound leather seating. This place was insanely beautiful. And the dresses were a sea of billowy soft whites and creams that glittered under the sparkly lights of the diamond-drop chandeliers.

It wasn’t real, I reminded myself. I gnawed on my lower lip, fighting back tears—God, it was so entirely stupid to get emotional, but since the night we’d been together, I was walking a tightrope with emotions, and at any moment I was going to fall and break into a million pieces.

The saleslady brought me back with a clearing of her throat, making me start. “If you don’t want champagne, I’d be happy to run to the back and grab you a water or a soda?”