Page 63 of Gilded Fake

Her gaze skirts the room, briefly snagging mine before falling away again.

I scoot closer, pulling her into me. I kiss her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. “I love you too,” I whisper into her neck.

I slide down onto the bed, pulling her close, letting her nestle into the crook of my arm. My heart is hammering, and I’m sure she can feel it against her cheek, but she doesn’t gloat like Dixie would. She doesn’t say anything.

“I know it’s a shitty time to say it,” I admit. “It’s hard to know what people want when they use those words. But I mean it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she whispers. “No one’s said that to me since I was a kid. But it’s kinda fucked that you can’t trust people to love you without wanting something from you.”

I shrug. “When love is weaponized against you for so long, it’s hard to know what’s real. It’s hard not to look for the ulterior motive.”

“I have no ulterior motives,” she says her fingers curling into my t-shirt. “But I understand you not trusting me completely. I don’t mind working to earn it.”

“It might take a while,” I warn.

“How long are you planning on staying?” she asks after a few minutes.

“Until you fall asleep,” I say, planting a gentle kiss on top of her head.

“What are you going to do until then?”

“Hold you.”

She’s quiet a minute. “What if I never fall asleep?”

I tighten my arms around her. “Then I’ll stay forever.”

“You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making it better. You’re making it worse.”

“Do you always have to win?”

“I already won,” I remind her, turning her in my arms so I can curl my body around hers like a spoon. “I’m here, and Maverick’s not.”

“That’s what this is about?”

“I fought for you, and I won. Now you’re mine.”

“I think Dixie’s yours.”

“Dixie got her ring,” I say, nuzzling the back of her neck. “That’s all she cares about. You care about me, right? Even if you never get a ring?”

“Yes,” she says quietly, sliding her forearm over mine. “If this is all I ever get, I’ll take it. I’ll take it until it hurts so much I can’t take it anymore.”

“Would it be enough?” I whisper against her skin.

She tightens her hold, squeezing my arm tighter around her, like she’s holding on because she can already feel me slipping away. Like she’s already losing me.

“No,” she admits. “Half of you would never be enough. I’d always want more, want it all. But if all I could get was one night, I’d take it. I’d still choose you.”

“You didn’t choose me tonight,” I remind her, the thought turning bitter on my tongue when spoken aloud. “I asked you to go home with me at the club, and you walked out on me, and then you went home with Maverick. You chose him.”

“I didn’t know you were a choice,” she protests. “You’re engaged to someone else, Colt. And I still never would’ve done it if I knew it would hurt you.”

“Yeah, that was fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.”

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