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“What type of a show?”
“We could fully commit to our fake relationship. Act as if we are the couple we claim to be in the public, even here.” I suggest and instantly imagine what it would be like to act as a couple here. Having her in my lap on the chair in my office, cooking together, sharing a bed.
“We have spent weeks telling the four other occupants of this house that this is just a fake relationship, and now we are going to suddenly flip to say we are together. Do you think they would question that? Or feel odd to have to witness us acting as a couple in front of them?”
“We could tell him we’ve been dating for weeks since I picked you up from the airport.” It certainly feels like that, for me, at least. “And that we downplayed it with them because we wanted to see how it went before making it known.”
She still doesn’t look convinced. “But if that were the case, I probably would have told them in London when they suggested bringing John here or, at the very least, on the drive here with Hannah and Mia.”
“We could say you didn’t want to say anything about it because we promised we would decide together when to share it with them.” She still looks unsure, “It would only be for a day at most while we wait out the weather.”
“And what would this entail? I’ve already reminded him many times we are dating. He just ignores me.”
“That’s probably my doing, I barely spoke to you since you’ve arrived and put you in a room together.”
“No, it’s my fault. I’m so sorry for bringing this mess into your home, especially at the holidays.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t fly him to London. We will take care of this with as little friction for you as possible.”
“Thank you. You have every right to be furious with me.” I brush off her apology—it’s not needed. “I promise I would never let anything jeopardize you or your career. I know how important it is that we keep up this fake relationship.”
How I’d love to tell her that I don’t care at all about the social media account or the publicity from it. But this is certainly not the time to share my feelings with her, so I simply say. “I appreciate that.”
“So, how will this look?” she asks. “My fake relationship expertise only goes as far as posting still photos. As the famous romance movie director, I’m sure you can come up with something.”
“Well, we will act as a couple who are at the beginning stages of falling in love with each other. I’ll take the lead on most things. With your vast research in the subject, you should be able to follow along with the correct responses.”
“It’s that easy?” She fidgets and returns her gaze to the snow falling outside under the light in the garden.
First order of business, if we were dating, she wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch. I wonder how she will react to my first suggestion.
“Well, something that would certainly authenticate the relationship is someone discovering you slept in my room.”
Twenty-Eight
LUCY
I can sensethe brightness of the sun as I begin to wake. I’m so warm, engulfed in the soft sheets of this comfortable bed with an arm around me…
I sit straight up and jump away from the man lying beside me. Terror that it might have been John washes away instantly as Henry greets me with a sexy, just woke-up voice. “Good morning.”
I put my face in my hands and allow every memory from yesterday to flood back into my consciousness. John showed up at my apartment, Oliver insisted he come with us, and Henry found me in the kitchen. I told him everything, and he suggested we bring our fake relationship to our inner circle in hopes John would back off. Then Henry suggested I sleep in his room with him so someone could “catch” us to support the lie that we’ve been dating all along.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember turning over in the night,” I apologize.
How embarrassing.
“Not at all—it was quite comfortable having you so close,” he says as he sits up, still in his black T-shirt and gray sleep pants. He looks so damn alluring—it’s difficult to stop myself from staring. He stands and stretches like he’s putting a show on for me. I’m overcome with the reality that I am wasting a highly coveted space in his bed. This spot is meant for a perfect-looking woman who wakes up just as good-looking as he does. Certainly not a mess.
Henry opens his bedroom door and listens for a moment. He shakes his head at me before closing it again. “I don’t think anyone is awake, which gives us time to shower.”
My jaw nearly dislocates, it drops so quickly.Gives us time to shower. That’s certainly not what he means, and he definitely wouldn’t choose to shower with me. “I can go back to shower in the guest room.” I offer to avoid any further daydreams on my end.
Henry stops in his tracks, “Absolutely not.” His dark eyes stare into my soul.
“It’s no trouble, I’m sure John is still asleep.” I make my way to gather my phone and the bedding I used on the couch last night, and he comes to my side.
“No, I can’t allow that.” He pauses and runs his hand through his hair. “Isn’t all of this in an effort to shake him off? I don’t think showering in the room next to where he is sleeping would do that. In fact, I’m certain it would be taken just the opposite.” I don’t say anything as Henry moves to grab towels off a shelf and brings them over to me. “You’ll shower in here. I’ll wait for you to finish, then I’ll jump in.”
