Page 68 of Pretender

I’ll be here, though. I’ll be here for as long as it takes for her to see me properly, to see how good we could be together.

This feels right for me.

This feels like how my dad told me about Mum. He’d seen her at a cafe. She’d been wearing bright colours that didn’t match—unheard of, apparently—and she’d stood out from the crowd. He’d watched her with her friends, wondering how someone could appear so stylish while breaking such an important fashion rule. When he had finally asked her why she’d chosen so boldly, she’d laughed out loud—a laugh that had hit him in his chest and he would cherish forever—and answered that she wears what pleases her mood.

She’d been feisty and funny, and he fell immediately.

For both of them, it was a life-altering kind of love. It transformed them and shaped their lives, their goals, and dreams.

He left all this for Mum. Sort of. He pretended to, and I wish I understood his thought process. How could he love her so much but still not fully commit? The worry that he had a foot out the door all that time, that he wasn’t entirely happy with just us, taints my memories of him.

“Aiden, are you okay?” Linnea asks and I glance up into those dark blue eyes.

“Yes, always, why?”

“You’ve got a worry crease,” she says, tilting her head, her eyes flitting between mine and my forehead. “I don’t see you concerned, normally.”

“Because I’m not concerned about anything,” I say and try to smile, but she knits her brow briefly before her face relaxes again. Back to her calm, open eyes.

“What were you thinking right there?” I ask, swirling my wine.

She folds her hands together on the edge of the table and leans in. “Honestly?” Her eyes search my face. “That you just lied to me, maybe even to yourself? I’m not sure. But I also decided to let it go. For now.”

I keep her gaze for a moment.

‘For now.’

I straighten, picking up the menu again. “Let’s just get a bit of everything, shall we?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and when I look back up at her, she nods. “Sure.”

The server takes our order and I sense Linnea’s eyes on the side of my face as I talk to him, but I’m not sure if she’s still dwelling on what I said or if she’s just enjoying the Italian conversation.

“So your dad is from here?” she asks when the server’s gone, leaning an elbow on the small table between us.

“Yes,” I say, but the tension that hits my chest makes me stop. “Excuse me, I need to hit the gents.”

It’s not like I’m lying to her. I just don’t want to talk about it here.

When I return around the corner, Linnea’s leaning sideways, halfway into her purse with her phone lighting up her face. She’s clearly trying to hide something. But what? We agreed not to pursue others for three months. The thought that she might be texting another man burns in my chest.

Stop being an idiot. Just ask.

Maybe it’s nothing.

I stride over, and she jumps as I approach her. So she is hiding something?

“Did I scare you? Doing something you shouldn’t?” I ask, intending to make it sound like a joke but it comes out gruffer than I wanted. I sit down across from her, but the smile I wanted to give her feels more like a grimace on my face.

Her brow furrows, and she shakes her head. “I’m reading a message from Jamie and Sophie,” she says quickly, sticking her phone into her purse.

“Oh.”

But there’s more… Her visible ear is blushing.

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know, I was being irrational, but you still look like I just caught you with your hand in the cookie jar and I’m curious what it is.” I hope it comes out lighter this time, and try a smile again.