Page 38 of Pretender

“I’d love to travel back and see that.”

“My friends, Jamie and Sophie, and I studied at the University of the Arts London up near Holborn, and we’d bar crawl our way back to Waterloo to catch the train home. This was one of our favourite spots on the route.”

“What do they do now? Are they as successful as you with their design, or art?”

There’s what I guess is a flash of sadness on her usually stoic face. What I’d give to understand what’s going on inside her head.

LINNEA

“Define success,” I say, getting the attention of the droopy-eyed bartender in a black polo shirt that looks three sizes too big. “Two pink gin and tonics, please.”

I turn back to Aiden. He’s so tall. I have to crane my neck more than when I wear heels.

“You’ve done well for yourself in business,” he says. “You’ve won awards. Do you not see yourself as successful?”

“I guess it’s been a rough year for that. Ask me again after I land Lady Beauchamp and her friends as new clients.” I grin at him, keeping the levity he prefers instead of answering with a tirade about what I imagined life as a married woman should’ve been like. I wanted what Jamie and Sophie have.

He narrows his eyes at me, as if he’s trying to look past my smile and to the truth that hides behind the words I chose to give him.

Where’s that drink?

As if on cue, the two pint-sized plastic cups arrive with a dull thud onto the wooden surface of the bar, and Aiden pays before I get a chance to. I suppose he can afford it, but I won’t let him pay every time. That’s not my style.

“Thank you,” I say. “Cheers.” The gin is sweet with a hint of strawberry, but with the classic bitterness of the tonic water. “Oh, this is dangerous.”

Aiden nods in agreement, sipping his light pink drink. “Let’s sit down over here.” He juts his chin towards a picnic table that just freed up.

Once we’ve settled into the hard, wooden benches on opposite sides, he has an open, sort of curious expression. Is this his first-date-flirty-face?

Ugh, I can’t help thinking I’m on a conveyor belt of women, even if this is just fake. At least he won’t try to get in my pants and discard me like the rest.

This is a business arrangement… That thought should make me more at ease.

“What did you tell your mother about us that I need to know? How long have we been dating?”

“Hmm, I didn’t say anything about that. How long would make sense?”

“Considering you just went out with Katrina Starre…”

He knits his brow at this. Not thrilled.

“Maybe two weeks?” I suggest.

“Okay, two weeks,” he agrees, his brow relaxing. “Hey, tell me more about what you and your friends would get up to on your bar crawls.”

“Don’t we need to discuss the arrangement?”

“We do, but part of it is getting to know each other, right? We need to seem real. Go on, tell me something.”

Memories of Jamie and Sophie flood my mind—Jamie’s black curls falling across her face as she keels over with laughter, and Sophie’s contrasting bright white head leaning on Jamie’s shoulder as she wheezes from whatever silly thing one of us did. I can still feel the ache in my abs from the laughing fits we’d get into.

So much gold to choose from, but one particular memory stands out. “One time we popped by the Scandinavian shop just up the road from Oxford Street.”

Aiden shrugs. Of course he’s never been. Why would he?

“Anyway, Jamie and Sophie love the Norwegian chocolates, so we bought tons and were going to go home and gorge on them while watching a movie.”

“You need to get me some of that one day.”