Page 47 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

Maybe it’s because things haven’t been consistent. I mean, one minute there’s a kiss, and the next, things go back to the business arrangement. Last night, we shared another kiss, and yet, when we retired to our room, we were like twitchy teenagers.

As far as anyone else knows, we’re married, so of course we were given a room with a double bed. When we walked in and Orson saw it, I think he nearly had a seizure.

“Oh, uh, okay,” he said, glancing at me uneasily. “I’m sorry, Lily. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s fine.”

Orson paced a little and said, “I can get them to make up another room.”

“You can’t. Not after everything we’ve done to get this far. If your grandfather hears about it, all the efforts we’ve made will have been a waste of time.”

That seemed to stump him, and then he nodded. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I retorted. “Look at the size of that bed. You could fit five people in there. You’re sleeping in the bed, and that’s the end of it.”

I understood his angst because when I had packed my overnight bag, it didn’t occur to me, either. The stress of having to deal with the gala had taken up all our concentration. Maybe my subconscious knew where we’d end up because I brought pajamas and not a flimsy nightgown.

Thank heavens.

We took turns changing in the bathroom, but when we both returned, we were nervous and tiptoeing around each other, more like a couple of burglars than a married couple.

“What side do you normally sleep on?” Orson asked nervously.

I nodded my head. “The right.”

“Oh.”

“You can have it if you like. I’m so tired, I could sleep on a washing line.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “You take it.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiled at me. “Lily, if we carry on like this, we’ll still be standing in this same spot tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” I relented. Moving passed him, I pulled the heavy duvet back and slipped into bed.

As tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep for ages, knowing he was lying only a few feet away. This fake marriage has gone so far, but sleeping in the same bed was never in the deal. And yet I felt completely safe.

After my shower and breakfast—which Orson had sent up to the room so I wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of speaking to his grandfather again—we pack our bags.

“Ready?” I say, heading to the door.

“No,” Orson replies.

I spin around to look at him. He’s looking back at me with this intense gaze.

“What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just need to tell you something.”

While I don’t move, he takes three paces across the room and stands about a foot away. He takes my hand and holds it gently in his.

“When I asked you to do this, the only thing I could think about was my inheritance. I know the survival of the bakery was part of the deal we made, but selfishly, all I thought about was what I was going to gain. But what started out as a business deal has turned into so much more for me.”

He pauses, searching my face for some sort of reaction. Currently, I’m too stunned to react.

“Somewhere along the way, the lines have blurred. Now, I’m not sure I’m playing a role anymore.”

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