Page 13 of Fake Engagement with my Brother's Best Friend

What the hell is happening? How did we get here? I came up here to talk, to make things right, but all I’ve done is make it worse. The truth is, Grace is right—I’m hiding. I don’t know howto face what’s really going on between us. I don’t know how to admit that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t just a game anymore.

I hear the door behind me open, and I tense, waiting for whatever comes next. Grace doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, the silence between us thick with everything we’re not saying.

I can’t bring myself to look at her, can’t bring myself to face the reality of what I’ve done. So I keep my eyes on the horizon, trying to calm the chaotic mess in my head, and wondering if I’ve already lost whatever chance we had to figure this out.

Chapter Seven

Grace

The evening drags on, and the weight of the argument with Logan sits heavy in my chest. I go through the motions of getting ready for bed, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind, but it’s no use. Everything about today has left me tangled up in emotions I don’t know how to deal with.

I change into a comfortable pair of pajamas—a soft tank top and shorts—letting my hair down from the loose braid it’s been in all day. The quiet of the room feels oppressive, a stark contrast to the tension that’s still buzzing between Logan and me. I try to shake it off, to focus on anything but him, but my thoughts keep circling back, refusing to settle.

Just as I’m pulling back the covers, there’s a soft knock at the bedroom door. I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. I already know who it is before I hear his voice.

“Grace?” Logan’s voice is low, hesitant. He’s not barging in like he usually would. He’s waiting, giving me a choice.

For a moment, I consider not answering, just letting him stay out there. I can’t. Not after everything that’s happened today. “Come in,” I say, my voice steady, even though I’m anything but.

The door opens, and Logan steps inside, his expression carefully neutral. He looks… tired, like he’s been carrying the weight of our argument all evening, just like I have. There’s a moment of awkward silence, neither of us quite knowing what to say.

“I, uh, thought about it,” Logan finally says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I think I should sleep on the floor tonight. I cangrab some spare bedding from the cupboard. Or, if you prefer, I can crash in the living room. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

I nod, the offer making sense, though I can’t deny the pang of disappointment that hits me at the thought. Last night, having him in the bed next to me was… comforting, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. There was something reassuring about his presence, the warmth of him beside me. But I don’t want him knowing that, not after everything that’s been said.

“That’s fine,” I say, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. “The living room is probably best. I think we both need some space.”

Logan doesn’t argue. He just nods and crosses the room to the cupboard, pulling out an extra set of bedding. I watch him silently, feeling the distance between us widening with every move he makes. There’s a part of me that wants to tell him it’s okay, that he can stay here, in the bed, like last night. But the words don’t come. I’m too proud, too hurt, too uncertain about what any of this really means.

As he gathers the bedding, I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting in the fabric of the blanket. I can’t shake the memory of how easy it was to fall asleep with him beside me, how safe I felt, even with everything hanging over us. I can’t let him know that. Not now.

When he’s done, Logan glances at me, his expression still guarded. “If you need anything, just… let me know,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s unsure of where we stand anymore.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The tension between us is almost unbearable, but I don’t know how to bridge the gap, not after the way we snapped at each other earlier.

Logan hesitates for a moment longer, like he wants to say something more, but then he just nods and heads for the door,the bedding bundled in his arms. As he leaves, I feel a pang of regret, but I stay silent, letting the door close softly behind him.

***

I wake up the next morning to an empty bed, the space beside me cold and untouched. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After everything that happened last night, I didn’t expect Logan to stick around. Still, the emptiness feels heavier than it should.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair, which has tangled from a restless night of tossing and turning. My mind wouldn’t shut off, replaying the argument, the tension, and the way things were left between us. I sigh, knowing there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now, so I might as well get up and face the day.

The room is quiet as I pull on a hoodie over my tank top, the soft fabric comforting in its familiarity. I glance at the clock—barely seven thirty. Too early for most people, but I can’t stay cooped up in the suite any longer. I pull my hair into a messy bun and grab my phone before heading down to the breakfast buffet.

The dining area is nearly empty when I arrive, just a few early risers scattered here and there. The buffet is already set up, the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods filling the air. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I barely ate anything last night. I grab a plate and go for something light—fruit, yogurt, a bit of granola. Something healthy to start the day right, even if my mind feels anything but.

I pour myself a cup of coffee, the strong, rich aroma helping to clear the fog of sleep from my head. I find a table by the window, the early morning sun casting a soft glow over everything. It’s peaceful here, with only the sound of birds outside and the occasional clink of dishes from the buffet.

The peace doesn’t last long.

As I sit down, my coffee warm between my hands, I spot her—Samantha. It’s only 8:00 AM, but she’s already dressed impeccably, in a chic, fitted dress that looks like it was tailored just for her. Her hair is perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, like she’s ready for a photoshoot instead of a casual breakfast. I feel a pang of self-consciousness, glancing down at my own reflection in the window—just a hoodie, a pair of leggings, and my hair in a bun.

Samantha’s eyes land on me, and a small, smug smile plays on her lips as she saunters over to my table. “Grace, good morning,” she says, her voice syrupy sweet. “You’re up early.”

I force a smile, keeping my tone polite but distant. “Morning. Just wanted to get a head start on the day.”

She tilts her head slightly, her eyes scanning me in that way that feels less like a greeting and more like an assessment. “It’s nice to see someone else up and about so early. I find it’s the best time to get things done, don’t you think?”

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