Page 173 of The Temporary Fiancée
I make a small sound of assent. “It has been.”
“Last time I saw you, it was underverydifferent circumstances.”
Last time I saw her, she was naked in bed while I slipped out of her room. I’d just learned that she was married, and needed to get out of there as fast as I possibly could. I didn’t call. I didn’t give any indication that I wanted our relationship to continue. I felt like absolute shit.
“You know,” she says, stepping closer to my table, “I wouldn’t mind being in those circumstances again, if you’d be interested.”
I frown at her, my eyes narrowing, and lean away. “You know that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” She shrugs. “You enjoyed it. I enjoyed it. Some harmless fun, right?”
“I’m engaged,” I say.
The words leave my chest aching. The public still thinks Olivia and I are engaged; we were so close to the “wedding” date that PR decided it was best if we fade slowly into obscurity, rather than revealing our last-minute breakup.
But also, I’m not willing to let go of that engagement. I want to hold onto it for as long as I can—for as long as I have reason to.
“Oh, right.” She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Yes, I saw in Us Weekly.” She tips her head forward and laughs, flashing me a wink. “Come on, Reed. You know that doesn’t matter.”
I cast a nervous glance at the tables to either side of us. They’re far enough apart that I can’t hear their conversations, and the music is loud, so I don’t think she’s causing any trouble.
“People like us don’t marry for love,” Eleanor continues. “We marry for status, and we get our needs met on the side.”
She jerks her chin in the direction of a man across the room, holding a champagne flute and talking with a few people I don’t recognize. That’s her husband. I remember the first time I saw his photograph, and the sinking feeling I’d had in the pit of my stomach.
“He’s doing it, I can assure you,” she says, a sour note in her voice. “And it’s what I was doing with you, back when we were having our fun. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
That nauseous feeling that I remember—the uncomfortable, swooping sensation in my chest—is back in full force.
I hate the fake people in this world—inmyworld, in the world of wealth that I was raised in. I hate that I was brought up to think that behavior like this was normal.
My parents cheated on each other, too. Everyone did. They made no secret to hide it, not even from their children. As longas they kept up outward appearances to the public, nothing that happened in their private lives mattered.
I always found it repulsive. I slept around, of course, but sleeping around with people I barely knew was hardly the same as cheating on a partner. I never broke commitments because I never made them. It was simple.
The only person who ever made me feel better than the world I grew up in—the only person who ever made me feelhuman—was Olivia.
And she’s gone.
I clench my fists, riding out the momentary wave of hurt. Then I look Eleanor in the eye.
“No, thanks,” I say icily. “And, please, if you don’t mind—keep me out of your infidelities in the future, thank you. I’m going to be married soon.”
I storm away from the table, leaving Eleanor speechless in my wake. It was a bad idea to come out tonight. I know that Shane will be looking for me, but I’ll text him from the car. I’ll let him know what’s going on.
I ring up my driver, and a few minutes later, my car is idling outside of the front doors.
“Where to, Mr. Eastwood?” my driver asks as I climb into the back seat.
“Home,” I respond.
“You sure?” He glances at me in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t you want to go out tonight?”
“Definitely not,” I say with a sigh. “I’m not really feeling in a party mood. I’ll watch the fireworks from The Luxe.”
“If you say so.”
By the time the elevator doors open and I stumble out into my apartment, though, I’m not feeling up to even fireworks. All I want to do is be with Olivia, and that’s not an option.
