Page 10 of Fake Crown

“It’s a nice view,” she says.

“I can’t complain.” I scan her face, trying to figure out whether giving into the vibe between us is the right thing to do. She appears to hate me.

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she murmurs, but her gaze strays to my lips.

“Feels like you do.”

Her head shakes a fraction. “Not until you see me as more than a pair of tits.”

“You have a nice ass, too, if that helps.” We make eye contact, and I’m startled by how deep and rich her brown eyes are. “Is this your criteria for all your flings? Or are you a relationship girl? I’m not cut out for that a second time.”

“You’re not, and neither am I.” A hint of a smile touches her lips.

“So why do you care how I see you?” I tilt her chin with my finger and inch closer to her lips.

“You should value a woman for more than her body pieces.”

“You think it’s possible for me to value you in a weekend?” I raise my eyebrows and withdraw my hand.

“Spend the day with me tomorrow, and I bet you’ll understand my worth by the time we’re sipping Rum Swizzles on the terrace of the hotel.” A sly smile rises.

“I do like a woman with confidence.” That had been what drew me to Valentina in the first place. The woman oozed a don’t mess with me vibe, and she pursued me with relentless determination.

“I’ve got it in spades.” Her phone buzzes on the table. “Is that a yes?”

“You haven’t told anyone you’re with me, have you?” Despite what I let Valentina do on social media, my natural inclination is toward privacy. I’d also prefer Val doesn’t find out I brought Posey to the wedding. If she turns up with her invitation revoked, that’s one thing. Flaunting my single status is another. Seeing a photo of me or reading a post about the wedding would be enough to cause her to jump on a plane if she hasn’t already.

“Not a soul. Texted my sister and a friend the hotel information just in case you were a psycho murderer.”

I chuckle.

“I’m not a social media maven.” She shrugs. “I read other peoples’ stuff, but I rarely post anything myself.”

I checked her socials on the plane. Lots of photos of Bellerive, a place I’ve never been even though my mother was born there. “There’s a social media ban on the wedding.”

“Your friend thinks he’s a big shot?” Posey smirks.

“He kind of is?” I shrug. “He’s in a movie with Ellie Cooper and Wyatt Burgess that’s coming out next year. His profile is supposed to skyrocket after that. They’re guests at the wedding. Can you be cool with famous people or are you going to be weird?” A bit late to be asking.

When she meets my gaze, her eyes dance with an amusement I don’t understand. “I’ve had lots of practice keeping secrets, and I’m good with famous people. No worries.” She ignores her phone on the table and picks up one of the brochures instead. “Tomorrow? You in or out?”

“Is this a challenge?” A fire lights in me, and I follow her to the table. “You don’t think I’m capable of valuing a woman?”

“I hope you prove me wrong.” Posey rises on her toes, and her lips graze the sensitive skin by my ear. “I’d love to find out whether you’re what I expected in other ways.” Her voice is breathy.

I close my eyes and clench my jaw. It takes everything in me not to pick her up and toss her on the bed. I’d follow her down with my mouth and my hands, and I’d show her that, at least in some ways, I’m better than she expected.

There’s a knock on the door, and I’m grateful for the interruption. “Must be my suit,” I murmur, and I step around her to grab the door.

Posey

While Brent answers the door and grabs his suit from the hotel employee there, I fan myself. There’s a five-alarm fire in my panties, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get enough privacy this weekend to douse the flames myself.

Will I be able to last until tomorrow night before I sleep with him? I’ve got no idea. While I don’t do relationships, I’ve also made it a policy not to sleep with men I don’t even like. Brent is making me reconsider my stance on that. He’s my fantasy man, even if he can’t live up to it.

For him to spend a year with his girlfriend, for her to make all these loved-up proclamations, and for him to be indifferent about their breakup is not the grand romance I pictured in my head. Social media is often fake, but I have to admit, Val got me. I bought what she was selling. Does he realize the things she used to post about them? I scrolled through a bunch of it on the plane, trying to reconcile the information he served me with what I’ve been devouring on her socials. Fast food versus a five-course meal.

“You’re in the wedding party?” I ask while he hangs the suit bag in the closet.