Page 71 of Pretending I'm Yours

I didn’t have a plan, honestly, I just wanted to get to Sydney and get some answers.

“You’d better start with your real name,” I finally say, pushing on before he can reply. “And don’t try to hide anything. Like I said, my friend is on to you. I was on my way to her place to get the entire story when Bennie…”

“Tried to mug you with a water gun?” he supplies when I trail off. “You were good to him, by the way.”

“You were better,” I say, grudgingly.

He shakes his head. “No, you were the one who got through to him. I meant what I said. You’re a wise woman. Wise and kind and beautiful and I don’t want to let you go. But…if after you hear me out, you want to leave, I’ll call you a cab myself, okay?”

I pull in a breath and let it out slowly, my teeth chattering a little as I nod. “Okay.”

He strips out of his suit coat. “Here, take my jacket. You’re shivering.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. We’re almost there.”

“I insist.” He wraps the coat around my shoulders, surrounding me with his warmth and the clean, evergreen-and-fancy-hotel-lobby scent of him. The smell is already so familiar, so sweet. I’ll never be able to walk through a forest or the Ritz-Carlton in Portland without thinking of him.

Anthony Whatever His Name Is will haunt me until the day I die.

“Last name?” I demand, unable to wait a second longer.

“Pissarro,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulders as we move out of the alley onto the main street.

I frown, the name resonating for some reason, but I can’t put my finger on why. Still, “That makes sense,” I say, glancing up at his classic profile, one any ancient Roman statue would be proud of. “You’re way too Italian to be a Clark.”

His lips quirk. “Thanks. Though thatwasmy gram’s last name when she died, and she was as Italian as they come. After my grandfather passed away, she married a Clark, though he was long gone by the time I moved in with her. She had a thing for men with heart disease, apparently.”

“So that was true? About living with your grandmother when you were little?”

He nods. “I stuck to the truth as much as I could. I hated lying to you, but once I started, I…didn’t know how to stop. Notwithout ruining your experience. I mean, you came to the city to procure a certain kind of service, not a boyfriend.”

Boyfriend…

The word is still enough to make my heart run screaming in giddy circles.

But as we start up the stairs to the apartment, I tell my heart to take half a dozen seats and chill. Anthony’s a smooth talker, yes, but he’s going to have to perform some serious verbal gymnastics to convince me to stay at his place tonight, let alone commit to exploring a relationship.

Which reminds me…

“I need to text my friend,” I say, tugging my phone from my purse as he shuts the front door behind us. “Tell her that I won’t be to her place for another hour or so.”

He nods tightly. “All right. An hour is generous. Thank you. I’ll do my best to make the most of it.” He bends down, scooping a purring Pudge into his arms. “I’ll go get him a treat. Then, we can talk.”

I nod, my pulse speeding faster as I text Sydney, warning her of the change of plans and promising to text or call as soon as I’m on my way.

She texts back almost instantly—Okay. Hopefully he can explain himself. Like I said, he doesn’t seem like a bad guy, but this whole situation is…bizarre. And I want better for you than a bizarre liar, even if the liar in question is some kind of financial genius who’s richer than God.

My brows shoot up. Richer than God?

What on earth?

But anyway,Sydney continues, good luck, honey. Let me know when you’re on your way. I already have the guest room ready for you, and I’m ordering five different types of ice cream now!

I’m about to text Sydney to demand more information—and to ask her to get Butter Pecan, the most comforting ice cream flavor—but stop myself.

I don’t want the truth from Syd. I want it from the man pouring two glasses of water from the pitcher in the fridge while my cat twines through his legs.

Pudge is clearly still a big Anthony fan.

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