Page 141 of The Temporary Fiancée
“And I’m going to be here, ready to get you anything you need.”
She tilts her head to the side, considering me for a second, then sighs. “Okay. Well… if you wouldn’t mind, I guess I could use my knitting supplies.”
“Say no more.” I cross the apartment to her room, where she’s left her yarn and needles on her bed. On the way back, I stop in the kitchen to get her a glass of water, and set the kettle to boil, for good measure—I’ll make her a cup of peppermint tea.
When I return, she’s already shaking her head, her lips pursed. “You really don’t have to?—”
“But I’m going to,” I interrupt. “No way around it.” I hand her the knitting supplies, and after a few moments, she reluctantly smiles. As she does, she blushes, her gaze falling away from my eyes to land on the half-formed sweater in her hands.
Again, I feel that tightness in my chest, like she has my heartstrings wound around those needles instead of yarn. I watch her as she gets to work. Her movements are slower than usual, probably because of the bruising in her shoulder, but she still makes it look easy.
I head back into the kitchen and root around in the drawers until I find a bottle of ibuprofen, then return to the living room and wordlessly hand her two pills. She gives me a grateful smile and takes them.
“Anything else you need, just tell me,” I say. “I’ll be right here.”
I stay on the couch beside her for the rest of the day, getting up and down as needed to grab her food, drinks, and pain meds. Late in the afternoon, she drifts off to sleep, her knitting still lying on her lap.
Gently, so as not to wake her, I move the unfinished sweater to the coffee table. I find a throw blanket on the back of the couch and tuck it over her shoulders, being careful not to disturb her injuries.
I sit in the armchair opposite her, watching her sleep, thinking back to the way I felt as we left the hospital.
It’s time to admit it—I don’t want this thing between us to be fake. I don’t want it to be a lie. It doesn’t feel like a lie to me when I say it. When I reach for her hand in public, I’m following my instincts, not the PR team’s instructions.
But I have no idea what to do about that.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I havesomeidea what to do about that. I have the power to make this real. I can tell that I’m not the only one who’s been feeling this way; the way her face flushes, the way she can’t always meet my gaze, is a dead giveaway.
I’ve played this game long enough to know, without a doubt, when a woman is into me.
And that, right there, is my biggest problem.
If I was to make things real with her, I would need tobereal with her. I would need to be genuine, and forthright, and committed.
I’ve never been much of a long-term boyfriend. Most of my relationships last for less than twenty-four hours. It’s never been my goal to capture hearts, but I know that when I do, I inevitably break them.
That’s the last thing I want. I can’t break her heart, but at the same time, I’m not sure I can trust myself to protect it.
Until I can be certain—until Iknowthat I won’t hurt her—I’m not sure I have the guts to do this. It would take a leap of faith to make this real, and for the first time in my life, I don’t have enough confidence in myself to take it.
Chapter 31
Olivia
I’ve never beenin a car crash before, so the accident, when it happened, took me completely by surprise.
It could have been so much worse. We were on the road back from the country club, where I’d just met with Cecily and Ryan. It rained last night, and the temperature dropped sharply in the morning, leaving all the puddles to freeze over.
The driver hit a patch of black ice. He didn’t even see it until we were already skidding across the road.
It was terrifying, and it shook me to my core, but I wasn’t hurt beyond the minor bruising. Neither was the driver. The doctors all told me that we were lucky.
After Reed brings me back to the penthouse, I’m expecting him to immediately head back to work. There’s been a lot on his plate recently, and I know how busy he’s been. Plus, he just took time off of work to take me to the Caribbean. He’s been working extra hard to make up for that vacation.
To my surprise, though, he hangs around for the rest of the day, fussing over me. He gets me ice packs from the freezer, brings me ibuprofen for my headache, and fluffs up the pillows to make sure I’m as comfortable as possible.
He frets over the bruises on my arm and demands to feed me dinner. At one point in the late afternoon, I drift off, and when I wake up, there’s a blanket draped over me—and Reed is still hovering on the other side of the room.
If I’m being honest with myself, it’s a little overwhelming. He’s being more intense than he’s ever been, and I’m not sure how to respond to it. For most of the day, I’m too rattled from the accident to comment on it. I’m focused more on getting my head straight.
