Page 50 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

What the fuck did Ariel mean by that? Nice guy? Other one?

I glance at my wife. Her gaze is locked on her food, all trace of warmth gone.

Something just happened, I can tell. Some knowledge was exchanged between the two women that concerns our past. Maybe even knowledge that explains why Charlie didn’t speak to me for ten years.

A new bout of frustration seizes me. I’m fucking mad at myself for wanting to know what happened. I’m even madder about notknowing. As both forces wrestle within me, I push myself toward a conclusion.

I’m going to find out the truth, even if it’s the last thing I do.

Before I can figure out how to get her away from this table, we’re interrupted. There’s a knock on the front door. Everyone turns to the hallway.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” my mother says, looking perturbed. “I hope it’s not some sort of emergency…”

The door is flung open with such force it hits the wall behind it. Someone walks into the hallway, holding onto two travel bags. His straight dark hair is in a ponytail, andhis muscular body is wrapped in a leotard and some shorts I’d never be caught dead in. Still, there’s no mistaking that face, the darkness lurking in those eyes.

Even after all these years, it’s like looking into a mirror.

Brother dearest is back.

FOURTEEN

REUNION (CHARLIE)

It’s amazing how one person’s entrance can change the vibe of a room.

In less than five minutes, Kali’s seated at the head of the table, his adoring parents flanking him. My own parents are right beside them, all of them drinking deeply from the well of his charisma. They laugh giddily as Kali tells them about his students and the latest adventure in his school. Not like he even has to talk to get them to surround him. Some people are just naturally beloved.

I look down at my slightly shaking fingers. Even after all these years, hearing Kali talk about his accomplishments in ballet triggers me. I don’t want to hear about it, especially considering that the steps of my literal downfall are a few feet away.

Sliding off my seat, I slip out of the dining room. No one even turns around. They are all too invested in Kali, who gives me a small smile as I walk past. I force one back.

He’s the spitting image of Ken, at least facially, but when I look into his dark eyes, it feels like I’m looking at a complete stranger. It’s confusing. At least I was able tosummonsomethingfor Ken when I saw him for the first time in ten years. Hatred, lust, longing.

But with Kali…nothing. As if he wasn’t my first love.

Ken is standing in front of the doorway. His face is expressionless, his arms crossed, as he gazes at the scene unfolding in front of him. At first, I think he’s merely trying to register his disgust about the fawning, making some sort of statement by not sitting down. Then I realize that Kali took his chair, and no one has even noticed.

I slide up beside him. Funnily enough, this feels familiar. Standing on the outskirts, watching the golden boy. This was our whole teenage life. When I started dating Kali, I got to bask in his light from time to time, particularly when I was selected for the PBT. Still, being here with Ken feels more comfortable than standing in the limelight with Kali.

“Just like old times,” Ken drawls.

Smiling, I turn to him to tell him I was thinking the same. But then, the look in his eyes causes the words to die in my throat. He looks exactly like he did back in my kitchen just before he fucked me, his blue eyes tinted with red. But unlike that time, there’s no trace of lust in his eyes.

He’s mad at me.

My stomach tightens. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. My mother’s insane comments about him being the nice guy must have ticked him off.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In front of us, our parents are chuckling furiously—Kali just made a joke about his newest dance team. Humiliation and frustration twist around in my gut. Having to hear my ex drone on and on about the life I almost had makes me so mad I want to punch someone.

Orfuck someone.

Ken.

I glance at him. My pulse races as I remember what just happened. His fingers on my skin, brushing past my panties, pleasing me… I feel my nipples harden underneath my dress. I’d expected that our tryst a few weeks ago would satisfy my desperate hunger for him, but it did the exact opposite. Even though we hadn’t necessarily had time to see each other, I thought of Ken every waking moment.

It was foolish to think that I could have him once more and be done with it. Wanting Ken is the gift that keeps on giving.

And like my mother was so kind to remind me earlier, I’ve wanted Ken for far longer than I let myself admit. To him or to myself.

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