Page 102 of The Fake Dating War

“You’re not going hungry again.”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“No plan. It’s not happening again.”

“I didn’t tell you all this for pity. Or to trouble you. I’m just trying to explain why I need the bonus.”

“Trouble me?” His brows rise. “You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

His hand grips the edge of my bathrobe. “You’re having breakfast every morning. If the morning bagels aren’t enough, I’ll get something different. Lunch is at work, but for dinner you pick the restaurant.”

The first part of his sentence is enough to grab, let alone the rest of it. “Bagels—that was you? You did that?”

“I didn’t know why you fainted in the elevator, but you seemed too light in my arms when I carried you.”

There’s a loud air-conditioning hum in the room I’d gotten used to, but right now it overwhelms my ears. It’s all I hear as I stare at a framed photo of a rain-splattered rose on the wall. It’s one of those stock images, mass-produced for generically pleasant decorating. I let myself find refuge in both these distractions before I come back to his words and let them sink in.

So he’s already been feeding me. As if he’s cared, even when I didn’t think he did.Why?I want to ask, but I don’t. Since I haven’t told him everything, and he still needs to understand why he should judge me more harshly than he is.

“I need to tell you the rest of it,” I mumble.

“Can I—Please—” His inches closer to me. “Could I hold you?”

The request squeezes my heart. All I can do is nod at him.

At once, he gets to his feet, lifting me as carefully as always. We don’t move to the bed, but to the lone sofa seat designed to fit one person or two when one bundles the other so tightly to their chest. I’m snuggled in his arms as he takes measured breaths, as if bracing himself for more. As if my secrets are detonations in his world.

I’m tucking my head under his chin, because I can’t look directly at him. I can’t see the change in his expression when he learns how childish and pathetic I used to be. We sit like that—with no one speaking—for a few more minutes. I know I’m delaying the inevitable. I know Jake will wait forever for me to talk, so I finally do.

“Two years ago, I got evicted from my apartment. All my credit cards were maxed out, debtors were after me, and if I didn’t figure out a solution or come back to my family, I’d be homeless. All because–” I shut my eyes. “All because I gave money to a man I loved. Harry.”

“A boyfriend?”

“Ex-husband.”

His hands tighten around me, and I feel his chest rise and sink faster.

“I’m divorced. You should know that. You probably should’ve known that earlier.”

He doesn’t say anything. All I can do is keep going.

“I married a professional poker player with a gambling problem. That should tell you everything you need to know about me. Not that I knew about it being a problem before we got married. He won tournaments and invested that money with businesses. Our penthouse apartment was from his earnings.”

That’s the okay part. If I stop now, it’s all he has to know.

“Then he started losing games, but not all of them. Just enough that we were always playing catch up with the bills. I didn’t think it mattered, because I had my job. We used my money to cover what he didn’t make. Harry could keep playing. It made him so happy and when he was happy, I was happy.”

Jake’s wide-palmed hand rubs along my back. For how long will he do that? I’ve not gotten to the worst part, although he probably thinks he knows where this is going. Reema Patel, the foolish wife, happily putting her ex’s needs on her back to carry.

If only that was the whole story. If only I were just the victim.

“You would think I learned my lesson eventually, especially when our savings dwindled to nothing, but I didn’t. Like an idiot, I encouraged him to keep trying instead of quitting. I told him he was a great player and a great businessman.”

“Can I ask why?” he says, finally speaking.

“Because when he believed in himself, it was good between us. When he didn’t, he gave up on us. The marriage. It was either all working for him or nothing was.”

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