Page 11 of My Real Love Affair

Tomorrow’s wedding suddenly felt impossible. How could I show up at Sophie’s wedding with this scandal breaking? Everyone would be whispering. Taking photos. Posting about the fallen influencer who betrayed everything she claimed to stand for.

I thought about texting Cleo, but what would I even say? She’d been so excited about this campaign. So proud.

My phone lit up. A text from Cleo.“Babe. What the FUCK. Call me.”

I couldn’t. Not yet. If I heard her voice, the last thread of composure I was clinging to would snap entirely.

I got up and walked to my bedroom. The robe felt like a hair sweater now. I untied the belt, dropped it to the floor, and walked into my huge closet. All the way to the back. Past the dresses from brands hoping I would wear their clothing and get photographed. Past the handbags and various blouses.

I dropped to my knees and pulled out a tote. I found what I was looking for. An old sweatshirt, soft from years of wear. Baggy sweatpants. The kind of clothes I used to hide in before I’d found my confidence.

I pulled them on. It felt like coming home after extensive travel. It felt like putting on a suit of armor. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin despite the warmth of the room. I made myself as small as possible and closed my eyes.

A sob finally broke free from my chest. Then another. Then I couldn’t stop.

I cried for the campaign I’d been so proud of. For the trust I’d broken, intentionally or not. For the little girl I’d been who would never see herself reflected in fashion magazines and had grown up thinking her body was wrong. I tried so hard to make sure other little girls didn’t feel that way.

And I had failed.

Tomorrow, I was supposed to go to a wedding. Smile for cameras. Make small talk with New York society. Pretend everything was fine.

Everything I built was crashing down.

And I had no idea how to stop it.

CHAPTER 5

AUSTIN

This wedding was bullshit. Summer was bullshit. My dad was bullshit.

Cash and his perfectly insufferable need to control everything I did? He was the biggest pile of bullshit of all.

I shifted in the uncomfortable white chair, trying to subtly create some distance between Summer and me. She was like static cling. That lint that just wouldn’t shake. She had her arm looped through mine like we were actually a couple instead of what we really were. She was the shock collar and Cash held the remote. One wrong move and she would clamp her hand on my arm.

“You okay?” Summer whispered, leaning closer. Her perfume was nice—something floral and light—but it did nothing to improve my mood.

“Peachy,” I muttered.

She was pretty. I’d give her that. Objectively gorgeous, actually, with her hair swept up in some complicated twist and her designer dress that flattered her perfect figure. Under different circumstances, I might have been interested. I would have my hands on her body. I would be thinking about peeling that dress off her.

But these weren’t different circumstances. These were bullshit circumstances where my babysitter happened to look like she’d stepped off a runway. I supposed I should appreciate the fact they went to great lengths to find an attractive woman.

I caught her glancing down at her phone for the third time in ten minutes, her fingers moving quickly across the screen.

“Texting Cash again?” I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

She had the decency to look embarrassed, dropping the phone into her clutch. “I’m just keeping him updated.”

“On what? That I’m sitting in a chair? That I haven’t made a run for it? Should we let him know I had to piss earlier, or did you already report that? I was thinking about having two glasses of champagne at the reception. Do we need to clear that with him first?”

“Austin—”

“I’m thirty years old, Summer. I don’t need a fucking hall monitor.”

She stiffened and I could see her trying to contain her own temper. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Your job is to make me look good. Not to narc on me every five seconds.”