Page 57 of Pretense & Sensibility

Ergo, I must be imagining it, since he looks amazing and my heart is a traitorous, needy bitch.

He nods at me before finally taking a sip. I turn away quickly, because giving my imagination free rein is not helpful!

I slip into the crowd and make my way over to the bar to order myself a gin and tonic, which—damn it!—is now my favorite drink. Not that I have money in my budget for things like gin. Or tonic for that matter. But since it’s an open bar paid for with a tiny fraction of Ian’s sizable wealth, I might as well enjoy it while I can.

Unfortunately, the second I step away from the bar, drink in hand, Martin is there.

Damn it! Did I Beetlejuice him into existence by thinking about him too much?

“It’s good to see you, Princess,” he murmurs with that smirk of his.

It’s amazing to see you.

It’s horrible to see you. Soul crushing.

Why are you here? Why are you the best friend of my sister’s fiancé?

Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Just casually running into him and having my soul run through the meat grinder when I least expect it?

“You, too,” I manage to choke out.

See? I can do this. I can make polite conversation with him despite the fact that his mere presence in my proximity sucks all the air out of the room.

“You look great.”

“Thank you.”

Look at this … totally natural conversation. I am nailing this.

Except just then, the bartender finishes making the drinks of the person who was in line behind me. I see the person in my peripheral vision a second after Martin does.

Like the perfect gentleman he is, he slides his hand to the small of my back to steer me out of their way.

He barely touches me—and it’s not even skin to skin—but I feel the heat of it through the layers of fabric. I feel branded by his touch. Like there’s a path, that leads straight from wherever he touches me to the warm gooey center of my soul that I try so damn hard to keep hidden from others.

And what is even the point of wearing Spanx if it’s not going to protect me from unwanted assaults on my gooey center?

“Look, Trinity, I wanted to?—”

Since I’m completely unprepared to hear about what he wants, I cut him off, lurching into the first topic that comes to mind.

“Yeah, this dress is great, right? Ian sent over options for me to pick from. Wasn’t that thoughtful of him?” I give a little shimmy to show off the outfit. “And the best part is the purse.” I hold it up to show it off. “Can you believe he found this? I’m obsessed with it.”

Yeah, I know I’m babbling, but I can’t seem to stop, because at least if I’m babbling about nonsense then I don’t have to talk about anything that matters. Or hear him talk about anything that matters and I’m not sure which would be worse.

Martin sighs, his expression a little sad, as if he sees right through me and knows what I’m trying to do—because of course he does. His lips twist a wry smile that almost reminds me of his smirk. But it lacks the humor.

How did I miss before now how much humor his smirk held?

“How are things at Precious Meadows?” he asks, segueing to something less personal.

“Good.” I’m nodding, relieved he’s letting me set the tone. “Would you believe Stacy was transferred to their Lakeway location? The new day manager is amazing. She’s excited about the therapy proposals I’ve made and …” I trail off, suddenly suspicious. “How did you know I’m back to work at Precious Meadows?”

“I didn’t.” He takes a sip of his drink, scanning the crowd like he’s looking for a way out of the conversation.

“But you did.” I touch his arm to draw his focus back to me. “The last time we saw each other, Stacy had kicked me out over the bird poop incident. My practicum and all my research was at risk. But just now you asked how things were going as though you knew I was back to working there.”

He meets my gaze now, just looking at me in silence.

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