Page 63 of The Fake Script

Mari rubs her chin. “Or you can think about all his faults.”

I let out a huff. “What faults? The man is perfect!”

“Right,” Mari says, shaking her head. “That was dumb. Plus, I just tried, and it doesn’t work.”

“Wait. What?” I frown.

“Um, nothing. Do what Beth said. Hers was good advice. That’s why she’s one of my best friends.”

I glance between the two of themin disbelief. That’s hardly any advice. I don’t know how these girls even go through life at this point. But I guess their ideas will have to do. Hayley and Max are in a remote village, and Deacon and Alice are hiding away in some random mountains in the heart of France, so I’m on my own here. Maybe Beth’s advice isn’t that bad. I’m good at pretending. And I just have to remember that this is what Auston is already doing. We’re both playing a part, and my heart will just have to get on board with that.

25

Sparks

Emma

When the doorbell rings, I’m nowhere near ready. Sure, I’ve done my makeup, and I’m dressed for the night, but emotionally, I’m not there yet. Although, come to think of it, I don’t think I ever will be. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, and I approve of the dress. Definitely premiere-worthy with that deep slit and the way it hugs my body in all the right places. I tried walking around the apartment in it, and the slit isn’t too revealing. The fabric is smooth and comfortable, but it doesn’t help with the nervous adrenaline coursing throughmy veins. None of this is me—not the dress, not going out with a guy who makes my head spin, nor attending such a fancy event. But then I remember, it doesn’t have to be. Because this is all pretend.

Taking a deep breath, I give one last cuddle to Mr. Darcy, who seems to have adopted the reading nook as his new sleeping corner, before walking downstairs.

I knew tonight was going to be excruciating, but I didn’t expect it to be this bad. Because Auston Buckley in a tuxedo is too much for my poor heart to handle.

“Hey,” he says, then takes a step back, trailing his eyes over me. “Wow. You look . . . wow.” His gaze is burning through my dress, heating my body until it reaches a boiling point.

I swallow hard. “Um, thanks. So do you.”

“I brought you this,” he says, offering a black rose corsage with a sly grin. “You know, since I wasn’t there to take you to prom.”

A surge of heat wells inside me, mingling with those annoying butterflies. Auston Buckley got me a corsage, and as much as I want to hate it, I don’t. Because it’s simple, elegant, and it goes perfectly with my dress. I never really cared about the fact that I missed prom. But right now, I really wish we’d had that moment. I know we would have had a blast together.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. “It’s gorgeous.”

He fastens it on my wrist, and we stay like that, gazing into each other’s eyes, for far too long. Thank goodness my friends are in France right now, or they’d be all over us, taking pictures and making this situation even more uncomfortable.

“Shall we?” he finally says, offering me his arm. I look at it with the intent of refusing. I’m perfectly capable of walking to the end of the street by myself. But my mind decides otherwise, and I place my arm in his. What can I say? It’s the Auston Buckley effect.

We get into the car, and he begins the drive to Manhattan. Part of me feels bad that he has to drive me around again. On the other hand, I wouldn’t have survived being driven by someone elseandhaving Auston squeezed next to me in the back of the car. That look on his face when he first saw me in my dress? Way too real for my taste. Wait, what am I saying? He’s a professional actor. Making people believe his actions are genuine is literally his job.Focus, Emma.

We don’t talk much during the drive, aside from some small talk. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t know what to say or because he respects my fear of being in a moving vehicle. Either way, I appreciate it.

The traffic intensifies, and the blinding spotlights coming into sight tell me we’re almost there.

“Are you okay?” Auston asks. “You did great last time on the red carpet.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” I nod, even though nothing about me is remotely good. Sure, I did fine last time, but that was different. I wasn’t spontaneously combusting every time Auston touched me or glanced my way. I was in control.

He pulls up to the curb and asks me to wait for him to open the door for me. That also means he takes my hand to help me out of the car, and I almost trip when a weird zap of electricity jolts me as we touch. Here I thought that was just a device authors used to make us feel the connection between the characters. Well, I stand corrected. Those sparks are real. I felt them. And if I’m to believe the look in Auston’s eyes, so did he.

We stare at each other for a second, and everything seems to fade around us. There are no more lights, noise, or screaming fans. It’s just us—and those weird sparks that I can practically see flickering out of our hands.

“Right this way,” someone says, breaking the moment, and I both hate them and want to thank them for it.

Robyn and Cillian appear at our side, leading us to the red carpet while a tall guy gets into the driver’s seat. I want to ask how we’re going to get the vehicle back, but they probably have it under control. Unlike my emotions right now.

This red carpet is nothing like the one we did for the perfume launch. It’s a lot bigger, for one, and all the fans are here for Auston, screaming his name and waving at him. The overeager admirers are leaning over the barricade on the other side of the road, and Auston tells me to stay put as he saunters toward them, flanked by Cillian. He spends the next few minutes signing autographs and taking selfies with his loyal supporters.

“He always makes time for his fans,” Robyn says. “He’s a good man.”

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