Page 21 of One Billion Reasons

The car ride from the plane is tense. Miles broods more with every passing mile on the road that locals call the Stretch. We finally pass Montauk village, then head out toward the lighthouse and the water. We pass the right-hand turn that would lead to the Becker house, and Miles looks away. His eyes are shuttered.

“Have you been back?” Since your dad died. My throat tightens. Miles’s dad was a larger-than-life presence. Booming laugh, off-color jokes, and a good listener. I miss him. I can’t imagine how Miles feels.

“No,” he says shortly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” His jaw flexes, and he looks out the window.

I lean back against the seat and watch as we approach the hotel. Miles loved that house. He always told me he wanted to live there when he was older. And he hasn’t been back in years.

The hotel is easily the nicest I’ve ever been to. The car glides up a long, tree-lined drive, past expansive grounds and glimpses of the ocean beyond, up to a sprawling cedar-shingled building. It’s quaint and lovely, but oozing with understated luxury, from the pristine original windows to the delicate white porch and flower boxes. Miles’s jaw is clenched so tight I worry he’s going to crack a tooth. But I can’t worry for long because the hotel is begging to be photographed.

My camera bag is stowed in the back, but I can still use my phone to get a few shots of the way the sunlight hits the porch steps. The sky is a blue so bright it sears your eyes. A rare cloudless day in Montauk.

Miles is silent beside me, stewing, or perhaps regretting his decision to attend.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. I’m genuinely grateful to him for a brief moment.

His face is set in harsh lines, his soft mouth a slash. “I guess.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, and I roll my eyes.

“This is worth being forced to spend a week in your company.”

“So glad I could be of service.” He continues to stare unseeingly at the hotel. Whatever. Miles’s moods are not my problem.

Hotel staff takes our bags, and I snap a few more photos, until I see a blonde head coming toward us. It’s the woman from the shoot. His ex-fiancée. I put my phone away and push my hair back. I’m not as stale and sweaty as I would be if we’d taken a car, but I still feel a little worn out and dried up compared to this leggy blonde with perfect highlights. I should have taken my nose stud out. There’s no way it’s believable that Miles and I are dating. My gaze darts to him. Should I stand closer?

“Incoming. You need to pretend to like me,” he mutters.

I huff but plaster myself to his side. Heat shoots through me at the contact. For all those years, I was so careful not to touch him unless it was overtly friendly. But sometimes my arm would make contact with his hard thigh or his rounded shoulders, and awareness would ping through me. Like it does now. He smells good, and his T-shirt is deliciously soft against his firm body.

Time to do this. I smile up at him and his eyes go wide. Smile back, jerk. His lips curve, and those grey eyes soften. He still looks shell-shocked and grumpy, but a little more believable.

He quirks a brow. “I’ve never seen this expression on your face before. Are you okay? Should I call a doctor?” he asks, and I struggle not to step away.

“It’s how I look at men I like. Not surprising that you’ve never seen it.”

He buries his face in my hair. “If you fuck this up, I will kill you and bury you on the hotel grounds,” he murmurs, lips moving against my scalp. Tingles spread from the contact, even as annoyance flares at his words.

“I’d like to see you try, Becker.” My lips are curved, but my teeth are gritted, and I’m imagining burning holes in his head with my eyes.

Amanda nears. “Miles, hi. It’s so nice to see you.” Her voice is cultured and composed. Miles pulls me more tightly against him.

“Amanda.” Miles gives a short nod. His whole body is taut. If this is how he’s going to act all week, it’s going to be a long wedding.

“Oh, Lane. Nice to see you again.” She cocks her shiny blonde head at me, and I keep my face pleasant. Her gaze flicks to where Miles’s hand rests at the dip of my waist. His thumb feathers gently over the gap between my T-shirt and my pants, and I struggle to focus on Amanda.

“I’m so glad you brought a date.” She sounds genuinely excited. That makes one of us. Miles is an awkward block of wood. Go time, I guess. Since one of us needs to sell this.

I twist to smile up at him and then back at her. “I wouldn’t miss it. Miles has told me so much about you.” Nothing. He’s told me exactly nothing. And I’m starting to realize how out of my depth I am.

“Oh, good.” She looks relieved. “So you know you have no reason to be jealous of me.”

Wow. She’s blunt. Luckily Miles comes to life in that moment and squeezes my side. “Lane doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body.” I nearly snort. He makes me sound like a saint. “She has no reason to be. She knows I’m hers. I have been since college.” He smiles down at me, those grey eyes warm, lips curved like we’re sharing a secret. Whoa. The world sways, or maybe that’s me. It’s fake. Don’t forget it. He’s a better actor than I expected him to be. It almost feels real.

“That’s so sweet you guys picked things back up after college. And so cute you’re a wedding photographer.” She laughs, like it’s a little hobby I picked up, not my full-time job. Maybe she’s being pleasant, not catty. But it’s a sore spot for me, given how much of a failure my business is. I force a smile that I know doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Yeah, isn’t it cute?” Miles chuckles, and my vision starts to dim at the sides. Keep it together, Lane.

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