Page 56 of Scoring Eden

“Did I say that?” A short, awkward laugh scrapes up my throat. “Huh, that’s weird. Eden is my…friend.”

There, that’s not at all suspicious.

Dr. Sharma nods. “And how is her relationship with her ex-husband affected by your living situation?”

Double fuck.

“Oh, it isn’t. It’s silly, really. We don’t need to talk about that.”

I’m sweating. My shirt is sticking to my chest, and technicolor dots have broken out across my vision.

“Alex, therapy works best when you’re honest with me.”

My mouth is too dry to respond to that. It appears I’ve dug myself a hole I can’t clamber my way out of—not unless I admit to my arrangement with Eden. And as pitiful as the notion might be, I don’t want Dr. Sharma to be mad at me.

She sets the notepad and pen down on the small coffee table between us, as if the gesture will make me feel relaxed enough to tell her the truth.

It doesn’t.

“Would it help if I remind you that whatever you tell me in these sessions is strictly confidential?”

I lift a shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, then so long as the information you provide doesn’t lead me to believe you are a risk to yourself or others, it won’t leave this room.”

“You won’t approve of what I’m going to tell you.”

There’s a subtle twitch of her lips that belies her amusement. “My role isn’t to cast judgment, only to help you understand the way you think and make positive change.”

I roll my eyes. “With all due respect, Doc, you’re a human, not a robot. Of course you’ll cast judgment, even if you don’t admit to it.”

“I’m specifically trained not to.”

Okay, well, let’s see how effective that training is, then. “Eden and I are in something of a PR relationship.”

“Meaning?” If she’s seen the photographs of us in the media, she shows no indication.

“Meaning that we’re pretending to be in a public relationship for reasons that benefit us both.”

I study her for a reaction—a wrinkle of distaste between her brows or a flicker of condemnation in the lines beside her mouth. But true to her word, there’s nothing. Not on the outside, at least. She doesn’t even reach for her notepad, just listens to me speak with unrelenting, uncomfortable focus.

“And Eden’s reasoning has to do with her ex-husband?”

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing that, since she isn’t here to consent to it.”

“I see.” Dr. Sharma gives a knowing tilt of her head. “And you were reluctant to tell me this out of fear of my disapproval?”

I snort. “Fear is a generous choice of word there.”

“So you didn’t fear my disapproval?”

“Not as such.” My sweaty hands tangle on my lap. “Well, actually, maybe a bit. But I was mainly anticipating some psychoanalysis bullshit about how I’m faking a relationship because it brings me all the benefits of companionship without any of the risks.”

Her eyes widen a fraction in surprise. “The risks being?”

“Death. Abandonment. The pain of losing someone you love.”

“That’s an interesting theory.” She hums. “Do you think there’s anything in it?”