Page 17 of My Real Love Affair

He laughed and I hated how much I liked it. How it made me want to grab him and demand he kiss me again.

“Fair enough,” he said, still grinning. “Though I think my way was more memorable.”

“Memorable is one word for it.” I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks. “Do you have any idea what you just did? Those people are probably already posting. This is going to be everywhere.”

“Good.”

I blinked at him. “Good? How is that good?”

“Because now they’re not talking about whatever got you canceled yesterday.” He tilted his head, studying me. “That was you, right? The influencer everyone’s dragging?”

My stomach dropped. “You know about that?”

“My date mentioned it. Summer. She’s—well, she’s not important.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Point is, you looked like you’d rather be anywhere else, and people were circling like sharks. Now they’ve got a much better story.”

“That I was making out with Austin Bancroft at a wedding?” I shook my head. “That’s not better. That’s just different chaos.”

“Differentisbetter in this case.” He leaned against the marble sink, casual as anything. “Look, I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m almost afraid to hear it.”

“We can help each other. I’ve got an older brother out there who’s watching me like a hawk, and a babysitter masquerading as my date who keeps texting him updates on my behavior. I need to shake them both.”

“And I fit into this how?”

“You need a distraction. Something to take the heat off whatever mess you’re dealing with. I need a buffer between me and my family’s expectations.”

Was he insulting me? Was that a dig at my size?

No. I knew insults and that wasn’t one.

“A buffer?” I repeated. “Is that a football analogy?”

Now he was the one to look confused. “What?”

“Do you expect me to block them? Stand in front of you?”

“No, I want you to pretend you’re with me. If I have you, I don’t need the babysitter.”

“Wait, did you say you’re here with a date?”

“A babysitter. Not a date.”

“Where is she?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

I stared at him. “You want to use me as a fake girlfriend.”

“I want us to use each other. You get a Bancroft on your arm for the rest of this wedding. I get some breathing room. We both survive the night in one piece.” He extended his hand. “Deal?”

It was insane. Absolutely, completely insane. I didn’t know the man. Twenty-four hours ago, I’d been scrolling through his Instagram creeping on him like a stalker, and now he was proposing we pretend to be together?

But the alternative was going back out there alone. I would be spending the rest of Sophie’s wedding as the cautionarytale everyone pitied. Or I could spend it with the most eligible bachelor in New York on my arm, giving everyone something else entirely to talk about.

“This is a terrible idea,” I said.

“Probably.”