Page 21 of Fake Wife
But her voice is still sad and I wonder briefly what I’ve said to hurt her, then I shake it off.
Agreement. Business. No emotions.
We can become friends, but that’s as far as it can go. I can’t constantly be worrying about hurting her every time the reality of the situation smacks us across the face.
Chapter 9
Teagan
You can do this.
I can’t do this.
Tonight will be fine.
Tonight will be a disaster.
The constant flip-flopping in my head is driving me absolutely insane.
Smoothing down my emerald silk dress at the hips, I’m completely on shaky ground. Corbin didn’t lie last weekend when he said we’d return to his condo in the city and begin our ruse.
We’ve been spotted all over the city this week, dining, walking in and out of his building. He neglected to tell me he not only owns it, but lives on the highest floor—a two-story penthouse that’s completely different from the mansion in Cannon Bluffs. There’s no warmth in his place, except for a few interesting wooden tables piquing my curiosity, but I haven’t yet asked about them. Every time he catches me looking at one, especially the narrow whitewashed entry table whose drawers look like they came straight from a barn, he distracts me.
They’re important to him somehow, but he clearly doesn’t want to talk about them.
Yet they’re one of the few things he doesn’t talk about. We talk all the time. Little things, important things. I’ve told him about being raised by my grandma, who died my second year of college. He’s given me glimpses into his family that tell me life isn’t as picture perfect as the photographs of him and his family lead me to believe.
And now I’m dressed in a spectacular gown that does wonders for my hourglass curves, ready to attend my first formal night out with him.
Where we’ll meet his father and mother for the first time.
He’s already arranged for us to go to dinner on Sunday at his parents’ house, insisting no one will believe he’d get engaged without spending time with his mom. When I asked him about his dad, he said it was unlikely he’d be there and then gave me a look that said he didn’t want to discuss it further. Corbin clearly despises the man, and any time his name is mentioned, Corbin shuts down, which doesn’t give me a great feeling about meeting him tonight.
Tonight is our first true show. It’s the first night we’ll be in public as an official couple, me on his arm and surrounded by all of his friends, his associates at Lane Holdings, but it’s not his dad who terrifies me the most.
It’s his best friend, Trey Kollins. They’ve been friends since high school, and they’re constantly texting and talking. A few nights this week, Corbin has gone out for drinks with Trey, but I haven’t yet met him.
And while I gave him the green light to tell Trey the truth about us thinking it will be good to have someone in our corner, he’s been reluctant to share the truth with anyone. I hate that he’s lying to someone he trusts so much.
Which means tonight I’m about to put on the most important performance of my entire life and I’ve never acted a single day.
“You can do this,” I say, lying through my gritted teeth as I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Yesterday when Corbin brought home this dress, he dumped the box it was in unceremoniously next to where I’ve taken up residence on his black leather couch while he was working during the day. What can I say? A week without work and nothing to do, that supple leather is going to have a permanent print of my ass pretty soon.
I opened the box, gasped, dangled the matching shoes from one hand and insisted absolutely not. He’s not dressing me up like some Barbie doll and wasting what has to be thousands of dollars.
My arguing was pointless once Corbin reminded me this was a charity event for Portland Children’s Hospital, and while he knew I had style, I had nothing appropriate to wear and no means to purchase anything on such short notice.
Since I’ve only spent time with Corbin, who is surprisingly normal, I’ve completely forgotten I’ve crashed into an entirely different world.
Which is why I’m now draped in Vera Wang and standing in a pair of Louis Vuitton shoes. A quick Google search proved the shoes cost more than I made in four months at the library.
I’m just hoping I survive the night without staining the dress or breaking a heel.
Or making a complete fool out of myself in front of some of the wealthiest citizens in the Pacific Northwest.
And if they follow the gossip sites as much as I do, or gossip among themselves, then I know they’ll all be talking about the gold digger who crashed into Corbin Lane’s Mercedes a week ago and has somehow wormed her way into his home.
Needless to say, I’ve ended the Google alerts on my phone for Corbin’s name and unfollowed him on all social media accounts. By Tuesday, I stopped being able to handle the hurtful and wretched things I saw being said about me. I’ve not read them since, but four days was enough to get the general gist that legions of females under the age of sixty now completely despise me.
