Page 13 of Pretend You're Mine

"We will head back home. Alive and well. The worst that could happen is death and I'm pretty sure that is out of the question here, for myself at least."

Avery mumbled something under his breath.

I tilted my head towards him. "I didn't get you. What were you saying?"

"Mom finding out the truth about us. That is the worst that could happen."

"We could hide in here and mull over the possible worst-case scenarios one after the other but I don't think this is the best time to do it, considering that you've already gotten me here. So we'll just have dinner with your folks, fake it through the weekend, splurge on the food and alcohol, crash out and then head back to the city on Sunday evening. If living a lie is too much of a burden, then you can tell her the truth when I'm gone and nowhere in sight."

Avery switched off the ignition before answering. "I guess I can handle that."

CHAPTER 8

AVERY

The anxiety I felt slowly dissipated as the familiar face of the butler, Edmund, popped up behind the mahogany door.

As usual, the silver-haired man was dressed in an impeccable white shirt and a dark suit with our family crest on his left breast.

"Mr. Branson." His voice had a faint British accent to it. "Your sister arrived not long ago. Your mother has been expecting you."

He ushered us into the wide hallway that had always seemed to be more of a museum entrance than a room in our actual home.

I glanced around. It seemed my mother had gotten around to redecorating the house like she'd planned to. A moon-shaped chandelier hung down from the vaulted ceiling with star-shaped glass dangling down the sides to bathe the room in a warm, golden glow.

A staircase curved to the right with the silver bannister I had slid down one too many times as a child. Paintings now covered the once bare walls. I didn't have an eye for art, and I made no attempt to place or appreciate them.

Creed gasped beside me, his eyes wide. Sometimes I forgot what someone's first impression of this house could be. Having lived in the lap of luxury all my life made me take a lot of things for granted. I sent a silent prayer to the gods that being here for the holiday wouldn't be too overwhelming for Creed. He only had to pretend he was mine for a few days and then his life—and mine—would be back to normal.

Edmund extended his hand. "Would you like me to take your coats?"

Creed shrugged off his, quick as lightning, like if he was afraid Edmund would change his mind if he wasted an extra minute taking it off.

I followed suit, albeit much slower, handing over my leather jacket.

"Everyone is waiting for you. Dinner will be served shortly."

"Thanks, Edmund." I smiled, hoping it wouldn't betray my nervousness. "Right after you, Creed." I swallowed. My voice had sounded a bit more shrill than it should have been. Sweat beaded on the inside of my palm as we trailed after the butler.

As we strolled across the luxurious mahogany flooring, doubts about our ability to successfully fake this relationship without getting caught swirled through my mind.

"Calm down," Creed whispered fiercely beside me, sliding his fingers into mine. I'd forgotten our earlier agreement to walk in holding hands. My mind was preoccupied with my mother and what her reaction would be.

If she would accept us… if the rest of my family would accept us.

I willed myself to ignore how warm Creed's palm had gotten. And how long ago it was since I'd experienced this level of intimacy with someone.

Instead of dwelling on those thoughts, I took a deep cleansing breath and channeled the intensity of my stare directly at the woman that had birthed me.

Silence descended on the room. Tugging at Creed's hand, I led him to the empty couch that I was sure had been reserved for us. I could feel the intensity of my family's gaze on our conjoined hands. I tamped down the urge to pull away.

With a broad grin that was just as fake as our relationship, I nudged Creed playfully before looking back at her. Creed followed my gaze.

"Mother? This is Creed, my boyfriend. Creed? Meet my mother, Evelyn Branson." Despite the warmth of the room and the fireplace crackling sedately, I felt a shiver run through me.

"Hello, Mrs. Branson. It's nice to finally meet you." Creed held out his hand.

It was hard to look away from the exchange happening right in front of me. I wondered if my family could smell the bullshit, and if they would call it out.

---