Page 35 of The Fake Dating War

“Who wants to run into their ex, even if it is… friendly?” I sputter.

“He already texted me personally. How he’s happy for me, and how we’re still the family he never had. He said he wishes you the best and can’t wait to meet up again. Of course, I told him you were seeing someone, because I didn’t want him to think you’re all sad and lonely. Dude seemed surprised but happy.”

Harry is not the type of person to admit his faults.

He lives in an alternative world. One where we’re all friendly.

I’m going to be sick.

“Why does he have to come? I—don’t want to focus on him when it’s supposed to be your wedding, Esha.”

“He’ll be one guest in a two-hundred person wedding, Reema.”

This can’t be happening to me. It’s already going to be hard enough to show up alone, but to do so when everyone, including fucking Harry, thinks I’m bringing a boyfriend? I hunch over in my bed.

“Esha.”I say her name like a curse.

“Well, you should have answered your phone! And you know how Uncle Sammy gets. Should I take back the invitation? I mean… I can if you want me to …? Obviously I’ll choose whatever is more comfortable for you. But do you care about not seeing him that much? It’s been two years since the divorce and you never talk about him like he matters. Did something else happen that I should know about?”

No.

I can’t bear to tell her the truth. Not when I’m so close to erasing all the damage that was done. Not when I’ve spent so much time fixing myself.

But what if Harry gets annoyed that he’s no longer invited and starts telling Esha things I can’t have her know? He’ll spin it for his benefit…

The curtain around me waves with the breeze of the air-conditioning.

I’m so ashamed I let him do this to me.

I don’t want anyone to know I handed over my credit cards so gullibly. That he didn’t steal them from me, but I gave them to save the relationship. So pathetic.

“It’s fine,” I say.

“You sure?”

“… Yeah.”

“Only if you say so. Anyway, enough about exes. I’m excited to see your new man. What’s his name again? You know I was talking to mom the other day, and we both couldn’t remember it, although I’m sure you must have mentioned it at some point.”

I specifically hadn’t.

“What’s his name?” she asks again.

I shut my eyes, my heart racing in my chest.

24

JAKE

We’re in the guesthouse instead of the main house.

So far, Grant and I are the only ones there because the rest of my brothers—as always—are late.

“Give me a hint before everyone else shows up,” says Grant, who is lounging in a chair with a glass in his hand, drinking expensive bourbon like usual. “Why did you call us here?”

I can’t buy this place when it goes up for sale.

“Your love life is rubbish. You need help,” I say instead, stalling mostly for myself. I’m not ready to admit I need help.

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