Page 70 of Wildest Dreams

“Maybe, but I will, and I’d never forgive myself.”

I had nothing to say to that. I didn’t want to push him around. Not that he couldn’t take it—Rhyland was a big boy.

But then he added, “But I’m beginning to see that I’m fine living with the guilt if it means I can have you.”

“What do you mean?” I blinked.

“After those two kisses, I’m starting to think we’re inevitable. I think we always were. Since you were eighteen.” A tiny pulse of silence. “Fucking is baked into our fake engagement if you wantit to be. As long as you understand it’s not contingent on you getting paid.”

“I get it.”

From this point on, we both pretended to focus on getting to know each other. I found out he was part of a bridge club and a thriller book club and that he’d won a few mini golf tournaments. That the woman who bought his penthouse for him hadn’t hired him to be her fake date at all—she was actually an elderly widow who felt lonely, and he still saw her twice a week for a game of bridge and some bickering about thrillers they buddy-read together. Only now he was doing it for free.

I found out he went to see Row in London at least once a month and that he’d never done anything with his business degree, because at first he’d wanted to help Row set up his businesses and travel Europe, but by the time he moved to New York, the fake-dating business was booming and demanded only a fraction of the time he’d have had to invest in working in finance. It was the easy way, and he’d taken it.

I, for my part, told him about my perfect 1600 SAT score, the colleges that had come knocking on my door, and that Mom was the reason I decided to stay in Staindrop. I told him things I had no business sharing. Things that had nothing to do with our fake engagement.

Like the night Gravity was conceived. I was on the pill but also taking antibiotics for a sinus infection. I confessed to Rhyland about the crushing disappointment I felt when I took the pregnancy test and held it in my hand, perched on the closed toilet seat, and my reaction when the second line turned blue. How I’d collapsed on the floor and fallen apart, because the day before I bought that test, I’d received an acceptance letter from a college.

Dad was dead. Mama was recovering. I was finally ready to spread my wings and fly. And then this happened.

When a waitress—not Wendy, who’d disappeared into the ether—came over with the dessert menu, Rhyland didn’t even take a look at it. “Get us one of each for the table.”

Soon, I found myself wolfing down orange-sauced crepes, tarte Tatin, and crème fraiche meringues.

“My favorite one is the tart,” I moaned around my spoon.

Rhyland pressed his lips hard together to avoid a dirty joke, and I grinned back at him.

“Go on—you know you want to.”

“Nah. The only way I can see myself coming inside my best friend’s baby sister without hating myself is if I treat her like a lady.” He sat back, watching me.

“I guess it’s good that you had a vasectomy, but I want you to know I’m also on the pill. And this time, I know better than to disregard antibiotics.” I rolled my tongue along my upper teeth. “We do need to give each other clear health sheets though.”

“I’ll get mine tomorrow.” His upper teeth scraped at his lower lip, and I knew exactly what he wanted to ask me.

“You’re wondering why I didn’t terminate my pregnancy with Gravity.” I set my spoon down.

A lot of people wondered. I’d been accepted to a good college on a full ride. I was about to leave Tucker. I was on the brink of a turning point.

“Yeah.” He tapped his clean spoon on the table. “I kinda do.”

“My mother is a devout Catholic, and I knew it would destroy her if I terminated my pregnancy. But that’s not even why I decided to keep her. I kept her because the truth is I fell in love with her way before I knew her. After the shock and hurt subsided, I felt…enthralled. By the idea that I would have someone of my own. Someone to mold, to take care of, to protect.”

He stared at me with rapt fascination but not an ounce of sympathy, and I appreciated that he didn’t feel sorry for me. So many people did.

“You’re not eating.” I cleared my throat, changing the subject.

“The only thing I’m hungry for is currently hoovering her dessert.”

Butterflies flapped behind my rib cage. “Does this mean we’re heading up to your apartment after this?” Because let’s be real, this wasn’t a romance book, and I was uncomfortably full. To the point where sex would only be possible if he was okay with missionary while I fought my reflux each time he pressed home.

His cock seemed impressive too, from our brief encounter when he’d pressed against me during that fake kiss. No. The kiss wasn’t fake. The feelings attached to it were. And I knew Rhyland joked about ten and a half inches, but honestly? It seemed legit.

“No,” Rhyland said gravely, his voice gruff and a little strained. “As much as I want to take you home and fuck you to oblivion and back, I’ve decided I’m going to do it the right way. We’ll let it unfold organically.”

I pouted. “You and your stupid rules. Just remember not to fall in love with me, because I don’t do relationships.”

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