Текст книги "The Spanish love deception"

Автор книги: Elena Armas

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“Someone like you?”

“Yeah.” I exhaled heavily through my mouth, my breath fogging up the glass of the window for a couple of seconds. “A woman. At first, I thought it was because I was the youngest team leader and he was skeptical about me. It would be fair. Then, it also crossed my mind that he might have an issue with me being a foreigner. I know a few of the guys used to make fun of my accent. I once overheard Tim call me Sofia Vergara in a mocking way. Which, honestly, I took it as a compliment. Having half the curves or the wit that woman has wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not that I’m unhappy with my body. I’m okay with being … the way I am.” Normal. Plain. And I was. Everything about me was pretty standard where I came from. Brown eyes and brown hair. On the shorter side. Not thin, but not fat. Wide hips but rather small bust. We were millions of women that fit that description. So, I was … average. Not a big deal. “It wouldn’t hurt, losing a couple of pounds for the wedding, but I don’t think whatever I’m doing is working.”

A sound came from my side, making me realize that I had not only overshared, but I had also rambled my way out of the topic at hand with Aaron, who didn’t even compute small talk.

“Anyway”—I cleared my throat—“Gerald doesn’t like me being where I am, and it has nothing to do with me not being an American or me being younger than him. But that’s how the world works, and it will work that way until it doesn’t anymore.”

More silence followed my words.

I peeked at him, curious to know what it was that he was thinking that kept him from lecturing me or telling me that I was whining or if he did not care what I had to say. But he only looked mad. Again. His jaw was all bunched up, and his brows furrowed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the intersection that signaled my street. “Oh, take the next right, please,” I instructed Aaron, taking my eyes off him. “It’s at the end of that street.”

Aaron followed my directions in silence, still looking like he was bothered by something I had said. Thankfully, my block came into view before I was tempted to ask.

“There.” I pointed with my finger. “The building on the right. The one with the dark red front door.”

Aaron pulled up and stationed the car on a free spot that had somehow been magically waiting right in front of my door. My gaze followed his right hand as he killed the engine.

Silence engulfed the confined space of the vehicle.

Swallowing hard, I looked around. I tried to focus on the characteristics of the brownstones of this borough of Brooklyn, the few trees scattered along the street, the pizzeria on the corner—where I usually picked up dinner when I was feeling lazy. Or just hungry. I focused on everything, except the way in which the silence pressed on me, the more I waited inside the car.

Fumbling with my seat belt and feeling the tops of my ears heat for no reason, I opened my mouth. “All right, I’m going to—”

“Have you thought about my offer?” Aaron said.

My fingers froze on my seat belt. My head lifted very slowly until I was facing him.

For the first time since I had placed my drenched ass inside, I let myself really look at Aaron. Study all of him. His profile was lit by the dim glow coming from the few lamps perched on my street. The storm had somehow died, but the sky was still dark and angry, as if this were just a short pause and the worst was yet to come.

We found ourselves pretty much in the dark, so I couldn’t be sure if his eyes were the deep shade of blue that usually told me he was serious and all business—which I hoped wasn’t the case—or that lighter blue that preceded a battle. The only thing I could notice was how his shoulders seemed tense. A little wider than usual. They almost dwarfed the otherwise spacious interior of the car. Hell, looking at him now, his whole body seemed to do exactly that. Even the distance between his seat and the steering wheel was overly wide to accommodate his long legs. So much that I bet a person could easily fit in there.

By the time I found myself wondering what he would say if I jumped on his lap to test my theory, Aaron cleared his throat. Probably twice.

“Catalina.” He drew my attention back to his face.

“Do you …” I trailed off, a little shaken by the fact that my mind had taken me to Aaron’s lap. I am ridiculous. “Do you want to pee or something?”

Aaron frowned and rearranged his body in his seat, angling it toward me. “No.” He looked at me weirdly. “I’ll probably regret asking this, but why do you think I want to?”

“You are parked in my street. In front of my building. I thought maybe you needed to use the bathroom. And I hoped it wouldn’t be number two, honestly.”

I watched his chest inflate with a deep breath and then release all the air out.

“No, I don’t need to use the bathroom.”

His gaze studied me, as if he couldn’t figure out why I was there, inside his car. And in the meantime, I wondered exactly the same thing.

My fingers finally made work of the seat belt, snapping it free as I felt his eyes boring holes into my side.

“So, what’s your answer?”

My whole body froze. “My answer?”

“To my offer. Have you thought about it? And please”—dammit, that word again—“stop pretending you don’t remember. I know you do.”

My heart tripped, tumbling down for a horrifying second. “I’m not pretending,” I murmured, doing exactly what he had asked me not to.

But in my defense, I needed to win some time to figure this out. How to … deal with the situation. And more importantly, to figure out why.

Why was he offering? Why was he insisting? Why was he going through the hassle? Why did he think he could be the one to help me? Why did he sound like he meant it? Why …

Just why?

Expecting a sarcastic comment, or a roll of his blue eyes at me playing dumb, or even him to retract his words because I was being difficult on purpose and he never had patience for that, I braced myself. But of all the things I expected him to go with, he went with the only one I wasn’t ready for.

A defeated sigh left his lips.

I blinked.

“Your sister’s wedding. I’ll be your date,” Aaron said. As if he’d be willing to repeat himself as much as he possibly could as long as I gave him an answer.

Or as if he were offering something simple. Something that would obtain a straightforward answer that didn’t require much consideration. Something like, Would you like dessert, Lina? Why, yes, of course. I’ll have the cheesecake, thank you. But Aaron’s offer was everything but simple and as far away from cheesecake as one could get.

“Aaron”—I shot him a look—“you can’t be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

How about everything? “Well, for one, you are you. And I am me. This is us, Aaron. You just can’t be,” I repeated. Because he couldn’t be.

“I’m perfectly serious, Catalina.”

I blinked. Again. Then, I laughed bitterly. “Is this a joke, Blackford? I know you struggle with that, and let me tell you, you shouldn’t go around, making jokes without a real feel of what’s funny and what’s not. So, I’m going to help you here,” I looked at him straight in the eye. “This is not funny, Aaron.”

He frowned. “Not joking.”

I kept staring at him for a long moment.

Nope. No. He couldn’t not be joking. He couldn’t be serious either.

Bringing my hands to my tangled and wet hair, I shoved it back a little too briskly. I was ready to get out of here. And yet, I remained rooted to the place.

“Did you come up with any other options? A better option than me?”

Both his questions hit the mark I assumed he’d aimed at because I felt my shoulders fall in defeat.

“Do you even have any other options?”

No, I did not. And the fact that he was being so blunt about it didn’t feel all that great either. My cheeks heated, and I remained silent.

“I’m going to take that as a no,” he said. “You have no one.”

And that felt a little like a kick to the stomach.

I tried really hard to keep the hurt off my face—I did. Because I didn’t want Aaron Blackford to get a glimpse of how pathetic and silly his words had made me feel.

How lonely I must be when my only option was a colleague who didn’t even like me all that much in the first place.

But he wasn’t wrong. And as much as it hurt to admit it, at the end of the day, I had no one else. Just Aaron Blackford. He—and only he—completed my list of options. In a world where I’d consider taking him to Spain as my made-up boyfriend, that was.

Unless—

Oh my God. Holy shit. Did he notice—understand—what happened back in my office? That I accidentally told my mother that my boyfriend’s name was Aaron?

No. I shook my head. No way.Impossible.

“I don’t understand why you are doing this,” I told him with what I was sure was the most sincerity I had ever spoken to him.

He sighed, the air leaving his body almost softly. “And I don’t understand why it’s so hard to believe that I would.”

“Aaron”—a bitter chuckle left my lips—“we don’t like each other. And it’s okay because we couldn’t be any more … different. Incompatible. And if we barely manage to share a space for more than a handful of minutes without bickering or wanting to bite each other’s heads off, why in the world would you believe this was a good idea?”

“We can get along just fine.”

I bit back another laugh. “Okay, that was actually funny. Good job, Blackford.”

“Not joking.” He scowled. “And I am your only option,” he shot back.

Maldita sea. He was still right about that.

My back leaned against the closed passenger door as he continued delivering blows, “Do you want to attend that wedding alone? Because I’m the one who can fix that.”

Ugh, he truly believed I was that desperate and resourceless.

Yes, a voice said in my head. Because you are both those things.

I shook my head, desperation inflating inside my chest and pushing me to consider this crazy alternative that involved him.

“Okay,” I said very slowly. “Let’s say I entertain this ridiculous idea. If I accept your offer and let you do this, what’s in it for you?” I crossed my arms, noticing how my still-wet clothes were sticking to my skin. “I know you, and I know you don’t do stuff just for the sake of it. You must have motivation. A reason. A goal. You must want something in exchange; otherwise, you would never help me. You are not that kind of person. At least, not with me.”

Aaron’s head reared back, almost unnoticeably, but I was sure I had seen it. He was quiet for a long moment, and I could almost hear the wheels in his head turning.

“You could do the same for me,” he finally said.

The same? “You’ll need to be more specific, Blackford. Is your sister getting married too?” I paused in thought. “Do you even have siblings? I don’t know, but, well, I guess it doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. Is there a wedding you want me to go to as your date?”

“No,” he answered. And I didn’t know if he was talking about having siblings or not. But then he added, “Not for a wedding, but you could be my date.”

Be his date?

Why did it sound so … so … different when it was him asking me? Why did it sound so freaking different when Aaron was the one needing someone and not me?

“I—” I stopped myself, feeling self-conscious for a reason I didn’t understand. “Do you need a date? Like”—I pointed a finger at him—“you? A woman to be your date?”

“I don’t intend to show up with a chimpanzee, like you suggested. So, yes, a woman.” He paused, that scowl taking shape slowly. “You.”

My lips snapped closed and then opened back up, probably making me look like a fish. “So, you want me”—I pointed at myself—“to pretend to be your date?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I interrupted him, the question bursting out of me.

“No, I don’t.”

I watched his eyes close for a heartbeat, his head shaking once.

“Not even a casual someone you are seeing?”

He gave me another shake.

“A fling?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Let me guess. No time for that?” I regretted it as soon as it had left my lips. But frankly, I was curious. So, perhaps, if he answered, I wouldn’t regret the question completely.

His shoulders shrugged lightly, his back relaxing slightly. Just as if he had accepted that he’d have to give me an answer or I’d press for one. “I have time, Catalina. Plenty of time in fact.” Even in the darkness of the car, I saw those ocean-blue eyes of his pin me down with an honesty I hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m simply saving it for someone who’s worth it.”

Well, that was incredibly smug. Sort of conceited too. And shockingly, kind of … sexy.

Whoa. I shook my head. Nope. The only S-word Aaron Blackford could ever be thought of was … sarcastic. Scornful. Secretive. Stoic. Maybe even sour. But not sexy. Nope.

“Is that why you don’t have a date already?” I managed to ask him next, feeling the need to sound indifferent and cold. “Because your standards are as high as the sky?”

Aaron didn’t miss a beat. “Is that why you have no one to take to that wedding?”

“I …” I wished that were the reason instead of plain stupidity and being a compulsive liar with no instinct of self-preservation. “It’s complicated. I have reasons.” I let my hands drop in my lap, keeping my eyes on the section of the console in front of me.

“Whoever claims to act without having a reason pushing them to do so is lying.”

“So, what’s pushing you to do this?” I asked him with my eyes still on the dark and smooth material that adorned the interior of the car. “What pushed you to ask me, out of all people, to pretend to be your date?”

“It’s a long story.” Even if I wasn’t looking at him, I heard his exhale. It sounded as tired as I felt. “It’s a social commitment. I can’t promise you it will be fun, but it’s for a good cause.” He paused for moment, in which I didn’t speak and I limited myself to take in the scarce details he had given me. “I’ll tell you everything—if you accept, of course.”

My head shot in his direction, and I found Aaron’s blue eyes already on me. They were filled with a little challenge. And a little expectation.

He was baiting me. Offering me an insight into Aaron Blackford’s unknown—and presumed to be nonexistent—personal life. He knew I’d want to know.

Well played, Blackford.

“Why me?” I asked him, being drawn to the light like a stupid fly. “Why not anyone else?”

His gaze didn’t waver when he answered, “Because if all these months we have worked together have taught me anything, it’s that you are the only woman I know crazy enough to do something like this. You might be my only option too.”

I wouldn’t take that as a compliment because it hadn’t been one. He had just called me crazy. But shit. Something about it—about the way he had said it, about this bizarre day and this unexpected turn of events in which I had found out he also needed someone, just like I did—seemed to wear me down.

“You do know that you’ll have to fly to Spain with me for a whole weekend, right?”

A simple nod. “Yes.”

“And in exchange, you want just one night? One single night of me pretending to be your date?”

He nodded again, and this time, something solidified in his stare. In the way his jaw was clamped and his lips formed a flat line. Determination. I knew that look. I had argued against that look on many occasions.

Then, he spoke, “Do we have a deal?”

Have we really lost our minds?

We gazed at each other in silence as my lips played with the answer, moving wordlessly until they didn’t. “Okay.” There was a big chance we had really lost our minds, yes. “Deal.”

Something flickered across Aaron’s face. “Deal,” he repeated.

Yep, we have definitely lost them.

This deal between us was uncharted territory. And the air was suddenly thick with something that made it hard for me to take in a full breath.

“All right. Okay. Good.” I brushed a finger over the surface of the impeccable dashboard. “So, we have a deal.” I inspected an imaginary dust particle, feeling my anxiety rise with every extra second I spent inside. “There’s a mountain of details we need to discuss.” Namely the fact that he’d need to pretend to be the man I was supposedly dating and not just my wedding date. Or the fact that he’d have to pretend he was in love with me. “But we can focus on you first. When is this social commitment I’m helping you with?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven p.m.”

My whole body came to a halt. “Tomorrow?”

Aaron shifted in his seat, facing away from me. “Yes. Be ready at seven. Sharp,” he remarked. I was so … out of it that I didn’t even roll my eyes at him when he continued shooting orders, “Evening gown ideally.” His right hand went to the car’s ignition. “Now, go home and rest, Catalina. It’s late, and you look like you could use some sleep.” His left hand fell heavily on the steering wheel. “I’ll tell you everything else tomorrow.”

Somehow, Aaron’s words registered only after I closed the front door to my building behind me. And it was only a few seconds later, right after Aaron’s car roared to life and faded away, that I allowed myself to really process what it meant.

I’d be going on a date tomorrow. A fake date. With Aaron Blackford. And I needed an evening gown.

Chapter Six

I was not panicking. Nope.

My apartment was a war zone, but I was chill. The clothing explosion? Under control.

I looked at myself in the generous mirror placed against one of the walls in my studio apartment with what I promised would be the last outfit I tried on. It was not that I didn’t have anything to wear; my problem was far simpler. The root of my predicament—and as of now, the biggest headache of the month, and all things considered, that was saying something—was that I didn’t know what I was dressing for.

“Be ready at seven. Sharp. Evening gown ideally.”

Why I hadn’t pressed for more details, I did not have the slightest idea.

Except for the fact that it was a mistake I was unfortunately familiar with. This was how I approached things. I rushed into them. Reason why I’d somehow managed to weave my existence into knots I didn’t know how to untangle.

Evidence number one: the lie.

Evidence number two: what the lie had led to.

In other words, the deal I had struck with someone I would never, not even in my wildest dreams—no, nightmares—have imagined needing. Or being needed by. Aaron Blackford.

“Loca,” I muttered to myself as I unzipped another garment. Was it even an evening gown? “Me he vuelto loca. He perdido la maldita cabeza.”

Slipping out of it and throwing it onto the bed with the rest of the discarded dresses, I reached for my robe. The fluffy pink one because I needed all the comfort I could get and I couldn’t think of any other way to get it. It was either this or stuffing my mouth with cookies.

Taking in the state of my apartment, I massaged my temples. Not having walls separating the living room from the bedroom and kitchen areas was something I usually loved. Something I liked to see as an advantage of living in an open studio space—even if limitedly small since this was still Brooklyn. But inspecting the mess I had made of the entire apartment, I sort of hated not living somewhere roomier. Somewhere with walls that would stop me from wrecking the whole place.

There were clothes, shoes, and bags scattered everywhere—on the bed, sofa, chairs, floor, coffee table. Nothing had been spared. The usually tidy apartment that I had so carefully decorated in whites and creams with some boho details here and there—like the beautiful woven rug that had cost me more than I’d ever admit—closer resembled a fashion battlefield than a home.

I wanted to scream.

Tying the belt of my robe tighter, I grabbed my phone from the top of my dresser.

Two hours until seven sharp, and I was helpless. Outfit-less. Because I didn’t have any dress that resembled a gown. Because I was dumb. Because I didn’t know what I was dressing for and I hadn’t asked.

I didn’t even have Aaron’s phone number to text him an SOS and a few hostile emojis to make myself clear. It wasn’t like I had ever found pleasure in fraternizing with the enemy, so I had never needed his number.

Not until now, apparently.

Throwing my phone on top of a discarded pile of garments, I headed for the snug space that was my living room. Grabbing my laptop from the round ecru coffee table I had picked up from a flea market a few weeks ago, I placed the device on my lap and let my body fall onto the sofa.

Once settled in the padded cushions, I logged in to my corporate email account.

It was my last resort. With a little bit of luck, his workaholic ass would be sitting in front of his laptop on a Saturday. And wasn’t this … deal we had made a little like a business transaction? It had to be. We weren’t friends—or friendly—so that didn’t leave room for more than a purely I scratch your back, you scratch mine kind of deal. A favor between colleagues.

With no more time to waste, I opened a new email and started typing.

From: cmartin@InTech.com

To: ablackford@InTech.com

Subject: Urgent Info Needed!

Mr. Blackford,

I was irritated—at myself yes, but also at him—and I wasn’t in a first name basis kind of mood.

As per our last conversation, I’m still waiting for you to disclose the details of our upcoming meeting. I find myself without all sources of information, which will consequently lead to an unsuccessful completion of the contract discussed.

I had watched all seasons of Gossip Girl, and I knew the terrible consequences of wearing the wrong thing to a “social commitment” in New York freaking City.

As no doubt you are aware of, it is of utmost importance that you share all info needed at your earliest convenience.

Please get back to me ASAP.

Warm regards,

Lina Martín

Smirking at myself, I hit Send and watched my email leave my outbox. Then, I stared at my screen for a long minute, waiting for his answer to pop up in my inbox. By the third time I unsuccessfully refreshed my email, the smirk was long gone. By the fifth, little drops of sweat—which were partly due to the fact that I was clad in a winter robe—started forming in the back of my neck.

What if he didn’t answer?

Or even worse, what if all this wasn’t more than a prank? A mean way to mess with my head and make me believe he’d help me. What if he’d Carrie’d me?

No, Aaron wouldn’t do that, a voice in my head said.

But why wouldn’t he though? I had more than enough evidence compiled to prove that Aaron was very much capable of something like that.

Did I even know him at all? He attended “social commitments” that had to do with “good causes”, for crying out loud. I did not know him.

Fuck. I needed those cookies. I’d indulge.

When I returned to my laptop, cookie package in hand and mouthful of sugary and buttery comfort, Aaron’s answer was waiting for me. A tiny sigh of relief left my lips.

Biting on a new cookie, I clicked on Aaron’s email.

From: ablackford@InTech.com

To: cmartin@InTech.com

Subject: Re: Urgent Info Needed!

I’ll be there in an hour.

Best,

Aaron

“What in the f—”

A fit of coughs prevented me from finishing that, the mouthful I had been chewing on getting stuck in my throat and not moving anywhere.

Aaron was coming. To my apartment. In one hour. Which was an hour before we had agreed he’d pick me up.

Grabbing some water from the kitchen, I looked around, taking in the chaos. “Mierda.”

I shouldn’t care; I knew I shouldn’t. But Aaron seeing this? Hell no. I’d rather choke on another cookie than give him ammunition against me. I wouldn’t hear the end of it.

I placed the glass back on the counter, and without losing a second more, I put myself to work. One hour. I had sixty minutes—and knowing Aaron, it wouldn’t be a second more or less—to fix this wardrobe mayhem.

And just like that, it took me the whole hour to leave the apartment presentable enough, so when the doorbell rang, not only had I not had any time to change into something that didn’t make me look like a human-sized Furby, but my frustration had also only increased.

“Stupidly punctual man,” I muttered under my breath as I stomped toward my apartment door. “Always on time.”

I buzzed him in.

Fixing the messy bun atop my head, I tried to cool off.

He’s helping you. Be nice, I told myself. You need him.

A knock on the door.

I waited two seconds and took a deep breath, readying myself to be as nice as I could manage.

Grabbing on to the handle, I arranged my expression into a neutral one and threw the door open.

“Aaron,” I said in a clipped tone. “I …” I was about to say … something else, but whatever that was vanished. Along with that neutral expression I had been going for. My lips parted, jaw hanging open. “I—” I started again, not finding any words. I cleared my throat. “I—hi. Hello. Whoa. Okay.”

Aaron stared back at me with a funny look while I simply blinked, hoping that my eyes hadn’t grown too big in my face.

Although how could they not? How couldn’t any pair of eyes not grow two sizes bigger at the sight of what was in front of me?

Because that wasn’t Aaron. No. Nuh-uh. Before me was a man I had never seen before. A version of Aaron that was different from the only one I knew.

This Aaron was … drop-dead gorgeous. And not in an easy on the eyes way. This Aaron was elegant. Classy. Sleek. Attractive in an overwhelming ladies and gents, grab your fans kind of way.

Shit, why did he look like that? Where was the Aaron in dull slacks and a boring button-down that I had black-listed and filed under do not touch? How in the world had it taken me nothing more than a single look at him to stutter like a schoolgirl?

Blinking, I found the answer right in front of me. That enormous and lean body that I shouldn’t have been noticing this much was clad in a black suit. No, it wasn’t a suit. It was a tuxedo. A freaking tuxedo that belonged on a red carpet and not in the door to my apartment in Bed-Stuy, if you asked me.

Nothing about him belonged here with me. Not his midnight hair, not the crisp white shirt and bow tie, not that deep blue gaze that surveyed me and my reaction, not the freaking movie-star tux, and certainly not those dark brows that were drawing together on his forehead.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I asked in a breath. “Is this a joke? What did I tell you about trying to be funny, Aaron?”

“What am I wearing?” I watched his eyes leave mine and travel down my neck, looking me up and down a couple of times. “Me?”

Something changed in his expression, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

“Yeah.” Feeling extremely exposed and uncomfortable, I waited for his gaze to return to my face, not knowing what else to say or do. “What is that?” I whispered loudly for a reason I couldn’t understand.

“I feel the obligation to ask you the same question. Because I wasn’t specific.” He pointed a long finger in my general direction. “But I imagined you were smarter than assuming I’d take you to a slumber party.”

I swallowed, fully aware my ears were turning red. But I shook my head. This is actually good. This Aaron I could deal with. I knew how to do that. Unlike the other version that had punched the breath out of my lungs. That I had no idea what to do with.

Fixing my gaze on his face, I squared my shoulders. “Oh, you think I should really change?” I grabbed on to the hem of my pink robe, trying not to think of how ridiculous I was actually feeling and hiding that emotion behind all my bravado instead. “I wouldn’t want to show up overdressed to the slumber party you mentioned. Do you think there will be any snacks?

He seemed to consider that for a long moment. “How are you not boiling up inside there? That’s a lot of velour for such a tiny person.”

Velour?

“And that’s a deep knowledge in fabrics for someone whose wardrobe is made of two different pieces of clothing.”

An emotion flickered across his face, one I didn’t catch on time. He closed his eyes very briefly, inhaling through his nose.

He was irritated. His patience slipping away from him. I could tell.

We won’t make it. We are doomed.

“First,” he said, regaining his composure, “you blatantly ogle me.”

That sent a wave of heat straight to my cheeks. Busted.

“Then, you reprimand me for what I’m wearing. And now, you criticize my sense of style. Are you going to let me in, or do you always keep guests outside your door while you insult them?”

“Who said you were a guest?” Inhaling through my nose and not hiding my irritation at him calling me out, I turned around and walked away, leaving him standing before the entrance to my apartment. “You invited yourself over,” I said over my shoulder. “I guess you don’t mind letting yourself in either, huh, big boy?”

Big boy? I closed my eyes, extremely thankful to be facing the other way.

Still not able to believe I had really called Aaron Blackford big boy, I headed for the kitchen area of my studio and opened the fridge. The cool air graced my skin, making me feel only slightly better. I stared into it for a full minute, and when I finally turned, I did with a fake smile.

Aaron Blackford—and his tuxedo—leaned against the narrow island that delimited my kitchen and living room spaces. His blue gaze was somewhere above my knees. Still studying my attire, which he seemed to find so outrageously intriguing.

It bothered me, I realized. The way he looked at it made me feel inadequate even though I was at home and he was the intruder who had shown up earlier than we had agreed. It was stupid, but it reminded me of how small he had made me feel all those months ago when I overheard him talking to Jeff. Or how he had almost thrown that mug I had gotten him as a welcome gift at my face. Or how all the remarks and jabs that came after that had never stopped bothering me.

Rosie had been right; I was incapable of letting it go. I was still holding my grudge like my life depended on it. Like my grudge was a door floating on the ocean and I was out of life jackets.

“It seems rather inappropriate for summer.” Aaron nodded at my robe.

He wasn’t wrong. I was boiling up, but I had needed the comfort.

I imitated him and leaned on the kitchen counter behind me. “Can I offer you something to drink, Anna Wintour? Or would you like to point out any other way in which my robe is outrageous instead?”