Page 44 of Pretender

“Are you nervous about your mum meeting Linnea?”

“Why would I be nervous about that? We’re good. It’s good, you know?”

“It’s normal to be nervous for regular humans. But you, Aiden Aurellan, you’re never nervous.” Mark wipes his face. “You really like her, don’t you?”

I sigh. Oh, the tangled webs we weave…

“Yes, I do.” It’s not a lie. I do quite like her, actually. And I want to see more. Come to think of it, having Rey in the car with her bubbly attitude might help my case. Help me get to know Linnea without being the one to ask the questions.

“Okay, let’s drive together,” I agree. “We’ll pick up Linnea on the way.”

I suspected Linnea isn’t one for social surprises, so I texted her about us picking her up so she wouldn’t scream and run away once she saw Mark and Rey in the car. She’s been remarkably calm about it. No text outrage, at least. Maybe she sees the upside of it as well.

I’ll find out soon enough.

I’m in Mark’s new electric long-wheelbase Range Rover, and we’re on our way to get Linnea. The car has two rows of seats behind the driver, and they’ve put me in the back so, as Rey said, ‘you and Linnea can fondle each other in peace.’

We arrive and the driver parks along the road, and instead of having to greet Linnea in front of everyone, I run up to her door, and she opens it before I can knock.

Oh, shit. She’s definitely not calm.

Her poker face has been replaced with one full of nerves. Her forehead is pinched, and I bet her ears are flaming red under those gorgeous curls she’s done for the day.

“Hey,” I say, flashing her a smile, hoping it’ll soothe her. “I’m going to kiss your cheek because they might see us from there.”

“Hi,” she whispers as I lean in and place a gentle kiss on her smooth cheek. Mmm, she smells of a mild tropical something, like her hair products have coconut and vanilla fragrance. That’s what I smelled on the cardigan she gave me to wipe off the gin. That scent was on my face all night.

“Let me in, we need to talk,” I say into her ear. I turn and wave to the car as I step inside. I vaguely register that her hallway feels like a slice of a familiar place, but my focus is on her.

“She’s going to know.” Linnea worries her bottom lip, eyes flicking to the door and it’s clear she means Rey.

“Nah, she won’t. I went through it with myself this morning,” I say. “Assuming we’re faking it is preposterous. Why would they think that? Because why the hell would we fake it? Right? It’s messed up, so they won’t expect that from us.”

Her worry crease relaxes a little. “I guess so. I’ve just been fretting about it. If Lady Beauchamp finds out, I’m fucking done.”

I huff at her profanity. “Alright, sailor.” I place my hands on her upper arms and find her downward gaze with my face, making her look up. “She won’t. I won’t let you down, and all you need to do is play along, okay? But just do what’s natural to you. Don’t do the maniacal Monica-laugh or anything.”

She huffs. “Okay.”

“Good.” I glide my hands down her lean arms, relishing the sensation of her skin, and stop myself. “Sorry,” I mutter, and she shifts on her feet. Only now do I appreciate the gorgeous cocktail dress she’s in. It’s a lilac and white, one-shouldered floral dress and it’s draped at the waist, which accentuates her divine hips. “Wow.” I want to rip that dress right off and pull her close to me. I want to find out how soft she would feel against my skin, what sounds she would make if she knew how badly I want her. The visceral thought hits hard, right in the lower belly, and I step back.

Linnea blinks, twirling her skirt tentatively. “Is it okay?”

“You’re stunning,” I breathe, but I recall what she said about commenting on her looks, and I definitely won’t reveal she’s so beautiful I’m having all kinds of images come to mind of what I want to do to her here in this hallway. Images I’ll file away for when I’m back home, alone. “The dress is perfect for the occasion,” I correct myself. “Are you ready?”

She breathes out loudly and nods once.

CHAPTER TWELVE

in my corner

LINNEA

“Hey,” Rey says from the front row of seats, dimples framing her wide smile, while I seat myself in the back. It’s a roomy car, but it is still too small for this kind of … show. I return the smile, although a more subdued version. Hers is incredible.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” I say and Rey grins wider, making her dimples deepen, and she squeezes Mark’s hand relaxing on the armrest between them.

“Thank you,” they both say.