Page 8 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

What he needed was a position Aria could fill that kept her by his side at all times, or at least long enough for him to have a chance with her. For a moment, reality seemed suspended, as if he’d found himself at a crossroads.

Are you really about to do this? Because it doesn’t seem wise.

I want her.

She doesn’t want you. Let her turn you away. Better than lying, isn’t it?

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure.

Give up, the voice whispered.

He didn’t know where that voice was coming from, but it had just said the wrong fucking thing. Nikolas Christou did not give up. Ever. He certainly wasn’t going to start by giving up on her.

Time restarted, life and sound blooming around him. Aria watched him expectantly, that ever-playful gleam in her dark eyes. He still didn’t know if she was laughing with him or at him. Did it matter, when the sight of her satisfaction felt like a reward in itself?

“In six weeks, my friend Alvaro is hosting a seven-day house party in Marbella,” he said. “It’s an annual thing, with my team.” His old team. He’d attend Varo’s blowout party one last time. And then he’d be done. Ready to face the next stage of his life, whatever it may be. “I want to go, but I can’t be bothered with everyone I’ve ever slept with expecting a repeat performance. So…” The words flowed easily, as if a devil were speaking through him. “So, I need you to pose as my girlfriend. To help, the way you did last night.”

Did it count as a lie if he kind of meant it, the moment he said it? No. Obviously not.

This isn’t why you came here. You’re misleading her.

Shut up.

Aria narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And you don’t want to sleep with anyone because…”

Because I know you, and now the thought of touching someone else is making me feel slightly sick. “It’s complicated. I just retired—”

“From slutdom?”

Nik choked back a laugh. “From football.” He paused to see if that interested her at all. Nope; she was still focused on her pastry. Strange, for an Englishwoman. “I’ve decided to take this opportunity to overhaul my life. I’m turning over a new leaf, choosing a more mature path, not shagging everything with a pulse, etcetera. Which is where you come in.”

She stared, and he had the oddest feeling that she could see directly into his head. Nerves skated along his spine, a sensation he’d only ever felt before a match. This odd attachment he’d formed was fucking stressful, and it’d barely been twenty-four hours. Maybe if he just ignored it, if he left her alone and tried to forget they’d ever met, these tumultuous, indescribable feelings would pass.

But something inside him snarled violently at the idea. Hm. That was out of the question, then.

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak. Which, of course, was when the waiter came.

* * *

Aria had breakfast to eat, a flight to catch, and exactly 0.00 grams of patience to spare for I get too much sex sob stories. It was a shame that such a disarmingly sexy man—a man so sexy she’d spent all night thinking about a goddamn kiss like a bloody teenager—was so utterly full of shit. But also, entirely expected.

She was just about to tell Nik he could go fuck himself when a waiter appeared, holding an enormous silver tray. The waiter nodded politely at Aria and murmured, “Madam,” before giving Nik a huge smile. Then he started unloading even more food onto the little table, taking Aria’s empty plates as he went.

“Efcharistó, fíle,” Nik said, grinning back at the waiter like they were old friends. He dug into a bowl of cornflakes while the guy backed away.

“Did you order that?” she asked, while sitting in a hotel breakfast buffet where no-one could order anything.

“No.” Nik bit into a slice of toast.

“Do you… come here a lot?”

He looked up at her, as if in surprise. “My mother owns the hotel.” He pointed to himself. “Nik Christou. Did I mention that? I thought I mentioned that.”

She stared.

He ate some fried tomatoes.

“You… are… a hotel owner,” she said finally.

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