Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“You look like you could use some company.” He pours himself a drink and takes a seat next to me on the bench swing.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Yeah, you sound lonely, too.” He looks out at the sunset, smiling to himself. “Long day. Did you see the end product at the pool?”
It was hard to miss. Allison managed to get even more decorations somehow and she had them covering just about every inch of the outdoors space.
“I heard some of the guests talking about it,” I tell him, rocking the swing slightly. “They seemed to really like it.”
“Bad taste then.” He grunts and sips his wine. “I’m not a fan of a theme.”
“I like it. Themes are fun if you get into them.”
“I’ve never been the type to participate.”
“Big shock.”
“Are you going to attend her party tomorrow?”
“I think we’d both better.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Come on, it’ll be fine. We can drink from tiki mugs and do the limbo.”
He groans. “The limbo.” He says it like it’s a communicable disease. “I’d rather drown.”
“That can also be arranged.”
“But you’re right, we should go and make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”
I rock us some more. We lapse into silence. It’s strangely comfortable. I’ve never spent this much time with Conlan before—not in succession like this. Normally, I’m sitting at my desk waiting for him to tell me what to do, occasionally making calls, usually keeping one eye on the calendar. But back before we got married, I’d always go home at the end of the day.
Now the end of the day means this strange house.
It’s a nice place—but it isn’t home.
“I want to apologize for my comment from this morning.” He’s looking at me now, strangely earnest.
“Which one?”
“In the elevator.”
“Yeah. That wasn’t great.” I rub knee. “But honestly, I’m a little sensitive about it. I know you didn’t mean anything, you were just making a bad joke.”
“I should be better about choosing what I joke around about. I’ll work on it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m confused. Are you actively trying to better yourself as a person?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
I laugh, unable to help myself. “I won’t. But seriously. Where’s this coming from?”
He stares at the street. “I’m aware that I’ve been difficult.”
“No kidding.”
“Don’t make this difficult.” He puts a hand over mine on top of my knee. I sit very still, surprised by the touch, but it’s not totally unwelcome. “You’re right. You’ve been cleaning up my messes for a long time now. I’ve actively tried not to think about that, but it’s the truth.”
“Is this an apology?”
“Not exactly, but I think if we’re going to keep on doing this, I might as well try to make it easy on the both of us.”
“Which means you’re, what, saying you’ll do better?”
“Exactly.” His fingers tighten their grip. “I liked it, you know. That’s the messed-up part.”
“You like… what?” My heart’s racing and sweat breaks out down my back.
“The video thing we shot with the general’s team.”
That’s a surprise. “Why would you enjoy something like that?”
“We were married. I mean, we were acting like it was real. And for a while, that felt good.” He glances at me. “Don’t take that the wrong way.”
“How am I supposed to take it?” I feel dizzy. What’s he trying to say right now? What’s he fumbling towards?
“It’s just that you’re not so awful to be around.”
“Thanks?” I blink at him. “But you’re not that terrible either. I mean, you’re still bad, but not that bad.”
“Thank you.” He moves closer. The swing jostles slightly as our legs press together. “Would you like to be my date to the luau tomorrow?”
I nearly choke on my wine. I have to take a deep breath. If he notices my reaction, he doesn’t say anything.
Is this guy for real? He’s asking me out on a date right now? I’m trying to make sense of his mood swings, but I can’t keep him straight. Once second, he’s acting like being around me is a nightmare, and the next he’s telling me that he likes pretending to be my husband.
It’s bizarre, but the worst part is, these butterflies in my stomach won’t let me turn him down.
Even though I want to. Conlan’s a player and a liar. I shouldn’t want to be anywhere near him, much less going on pretend dates with my imaginary husband.
And yet that’s exactly what I want.
“Only if you promise to hula hoop,” I say, trying to add some levity.
“Absolutely not.”
“Then the deal’s off.”
He smiles and reaches out. I tilt my chin up toward him, smiling, and he touches my cheek. “Come inside with me.”
My stomach twists. My heart’s a hammering wreck. “What?” I whisper. Do I want this? Do I actually want to go inside with him?
“I think the detectives are watching,” he whispers.
And suddenly, I’m slammed back down to earth.