Page 45 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

Absently, I nod, and moving back to the coffee machine, I collect my cup before heading to the dining table.

Dara brings in the plates and, as usual, doesn’t linger, leaving me trying to figure out how I’m going to deal with this situation. Maybe I need to tell Mark the truth. Maybe I can tell him the truth when this is all over, and knowing that the end game is to help his parents, he might not hate me as much.

Maybe if Dara wasn’t involved that would be an option, but his reactions last night told me everything I need to know.

I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

But it’s too late now. I’m past the point of no return. The house, the money, the efforts, the relationship—there’s too much that has already been done to facilitate this partnership with Jack. I can’t back out now.

Even if I did, Mark would find out the truth and still hate me. I have no choice but to continue on the path and take whatever consequences come of it. The idea of losing Mark as my friend is painful—more than painful—but my back is against the wall.

Several hours later, Barbara calls.

“I’ve organized the meeting with Spire Healthcare,” she says after we’ve dispensed with our usual greetings.

I’d called her at the end of last week and told her to reschedule some of my surgeries so we could get this meeting arranged. I’d told Jack it might be a couple of weeks, but I didn’t want to keep the man hanging on too long.

“That’s great. When is it?”

“Friday, at seven p.m.”

Friday. That gives me two days.

“Great, Barbara. Thanks. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Looking forward to it,” she says and then hangs up.

I leave the office and make my way to the kitchen again.

“I have news,” I say.

Dara lifts her eyebrows expectantly.

“The meeting is this Friday at seven.”

“The meeting? As in, the reason we’ve been doing this whole fake relationship thing?”

“Exactly. You just need to do what you’ve already been doing,” I continue when I see a worried frown dancing on her brow. “Everything will be fine.”

“Okay,” she says, sounding more like her assertive self. “I need to figure out what I’m going to cook.”

I smile at her, and she frowns. “What?”

“You never switch off, do you?”

She shrugs. “You want to impress these guys, right? So, let’s impress them.”

I nod, but then say, “It’s more important that you’re my fiancée Friday night, rather than a chef. By all means, create something wonderful, but I don’t want you putting unnecessary pressure on yourself either.”

She gives a slight smirk. “I’m a chef, Alex. I thrive under pressure.”

I look at her for a long moment, wondering again, if what I have done hasn’t been the worst decision in the history of mankind.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I’m beginning to believe I’ve made a colossal mistake. Apart from what might happen between me and Mark, I think I’ve asked far too much of you.”

She returns my gaze and says, “And when I think of all those children that you’re helping, I have to ask, what’s too much?”

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