Page 57 of Faking It with my Small Town Billionaire

But he told you he’d never been in a serious relationship.

Maybe that was a lie, too. Or maybe, whatever he has with whoever this Charlotte person is, it isn’t a serious relationship. Maybe she’s his booty call.

Lily!

Okay. Maybe that’s too far. But then, how do I really know?

Beside me, my phone lights up, and looking down at it, I see it’s Orson calling. Again. For the fiftieth time. I had to turn it to silent because his calls were driving me nuts. I’d turn it off altogether but for the fact that Mom was in the hospital less than twenty-four hours ago, and if she takes a turn for the worse, I want to know.

Besides, I need to call Jasmine. I texted her earlier, telling her I was heading home and would be in tomorrow. That isn’t happening. Not now. She called a few hours ago, but I was driving, so I really need to call her back.

When Jasmine answers, she sounds worried. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Sure,” I lie. “I’m fine. Why? What’s up?”

“Your husband came in here looking for you, that’s what’s up. He was pretty secretive, and I didn’t push it, but I was worried. I tried calling earlier, but I couldn’t get through to you.”

“I was driving,” I sigh.

“Did you go home yet? Orson’s pretty worried.”

Like I care right now how Orson feels. Okay. Maybe that’s not entirely true. I’m not that cold; I don’t have the capacity for that kind of sociopathic behavior.

“I went home, and then…” I hesitate, wondering if I really want to get into this with Jasmine. I trust her with every fiber of my being. Whatever I say to her will stay with her; she’s not like many of the wagging tongues in Willow Creek. But my hesitation also has to do with the fact that I’m so tired, I don’t have the mental energy to discuss it.

“You know, sometimes, relationships are hard,” Jasmine says wisely. “I know Tom and I had our ups and downs. Our secret was communication. Whatever happened, we always talked it out.”

Yes, but I’ll bet infidelity wasn’t part of any of those discussions. Though, in truth, I don’t really know that, but from how Jasmine speaks of her deceased husband, I just can’t imagine it.

“Right now, I think I just need some time on my own,” I reply.

“And that’s okay, honey. Are you somewhere safe?”

I nod. “Yes, I’m safe.”

“And does Orson know that?”

Again, I hesitate to answer. Part of me wants to punish him for what he’s done. Part of me wants him to worry about my well-being. I know that sounds twisted, but I’m feeling too low to care.

“I’ll tell him,” I lie again.

“You know I’m here at any time, day or night. You know that, right?”

“Thanks, Jasmine. Listen, I’m not going to be back for another couple of days, so if you want to lock up the bakery, you do that.”

“I’m fine, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“Okay,” I say, not having the energy to argue. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

When I hang up, I pour what’s left of the bottle of wine into my glass, pull the shawl tighter around my shoulders, and stare out onto the lake for a long time.

Last night, I was in bed before ten, which was a novelty for me. I know that all the gurus out there spout about going to bed early so you can rise early, but they should try running a bakery.

This morning, I thought I might feel a little more rested. I don’t. My body still feels like it’s carrying a ton of weight, and the lethargy is exhausting.

And there’s something else. I miss Orson.

I know it sounds crazy, and after all my doubts and fears yesterday, it doesn’t make any sense. Does any of this? But right now, I’m like a leaf in the wind being blown hither and thither with my emotions.

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