Page 16 of The Faking Game
“Nora,” West says. “You think I’m thrilled about this? We’ll get through it.”
“Thanks for your enthusiasm,” I say sweetly, and push off the kitchen counter. I walk toward the bedroom.Make yourself at homedances on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it. I don’t say anything at all. He stays in the living room, and I close my bedroom door tight.
And finally take a deep breath. Tears hover hot, pressing behind my eyes. This was meant to be a new start. A new beginning. But with their soft petals and delicate smell, the beautiful bouquet dashed all of it to shreds.
I count to ten, then get to work with shaking hands. Just the other day I hung all my dresses on hangers, and now I’m going to have to pack them all up again.
Annoyance runs like a current beneath my skin. I grab one of the dresses, a vintage velvet thing that my mother wore in the nineties, and throw it on the bed. It’ll have to do for the party West is throwing.
He’s right on the other side of the door.
She’s pretty enough, but she’s boring. The last person I’d ever want to date.He said all of it to Alexander, too, one of his and Rafe’s best friends. It was late. I was standing on the balcony and overheard them from where they stood in the garden by Lake Como. They’d both been drinking, their voices low and amused.
But they carried.
Alex asked if I was single. It sounded like an off-hand comment in his casual Scottish drawl.
West chuckled. I remember that sound to this day. His chuckle, and then his deep voice responding.Pretty enough. Boring. Thelastperson.
But I’ve never forgotten it. Conceited, arrogant man.
I slip the dress over my head and pull up the zipper. I’ve always loved this dress. It’s sleeveless, with a scooped neck, and it hugs my body right down to my knees.
Right now it feels like armor. I push my feet into a pair of low heels and look in the mirror. My makeup is intact, but I touch up my lipstick and run a brush through my hair. It’ll have to do.
I start throwing clothes into one of the large bags. I don’t fold them, just shove them down.
This is not what I wanted.Noneof this is what I wanted.
The thought of staying at West’s estate makes my stomach churn, and it fights with the anger. That this stalker, this stranger who can’t seem to stop bothering me, isyet againchanging my day-to-day life. It’s so deeply unfair.
When I finally open the door, West’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his face settles back into its usual mask of indifference. “You look… appropriate.”
“Wow. Do you compliment all women that way?” I ask.
“Only ones who are my best friend’s sister.” He reaches for my bag, but I take a step back.
“I can carry it.”
“You don’t have to.” He steps closer and takes it out of my hand. “Here.”
He leads the way out of the apartment. Right outside are the two guards, who fall into step behind us.
I nod a hello to them both. This must be the world’s most boring job. I should ask them if they get to listen to podcasts, at least, while they work. They’d blast through audiobooks watching me be boring.
The silence between West and me feels thick and uncomfortable. The elevator ride lasts an eon, longer than I’ve been alive, and I breathe a sigh of relief when we finally emerge into the lobby.
His car is outside again, with that familiar kind-looking older man as the driver. He gives me a smile, and I smile back.
West hires staff nicer than himself, it seems. I don’t know if that’s a mark against or for him.
When we slide into the back seat, West finally breaks the silence.
“Look, I know this isn’t ideal for either of us,” he says. “But we need to at least appear to be on good terms tonight. People there will know you.”
The nerve. I turn to the window to get away from him. But there’s nowhere to run in this small space. “I can be civil. And what do you mean,knowme?”
“You’re a famous model,” he says dryly. “Though you seem to think otherwise.”
