Page 72 of The Romance Rivalry

He always said just the right words. Did just the right thing. Played the part of the romance hero perfectly.

Played me so easily.

It’s not real.

I grab my sweatshirt off my bed because I can’t get my body temperature up to where I’m not freezing. I grab a coat from the closet and put that on as well. And then I stuff my feet into my Uggs and rush out the door, barely registering Jeannette’s voice calling out to me asking if I’m okay.

No, I’m not okay. Not at all.

I run down the lit pathway that connects all the dorm buildings to the brick facade two doors down from mine. I take the stairs to the second floor and pound on the door to Aiden’s room. The whiteboard on his door readsAiden is: INandCurrently Reading: Lover Awakened by J. R. Ward.

It’s not real.Even these small, seemingly sweet things are fake. No one is that attentive, that supportive, that perfect.

Aiden opens the door, his sleepy eyes registering who is behind the pounding. When he sees me, his entire disposition changes. Relaxed. Happy.

Fake.

“Hi,” he says, his voice like butter. Like he’s relieved to see me.

Fake.

He reaches out to take hold of me, but I push past him into the room. I stare at his bed for a brief second, remembering what happened there.

Fake.

“What’s wrong?” he asks me. “Irene? What happened? C’mere.” He reaches out for me again. And I’m so so tempted to just let him pull me in. To forget everything and let him hold me, even if it’s not real on his side. The emotions are true on mine. I can just pretend, too, right?

But I don’t move.

“Is it true? You’re...” I struggle to even get the words out. “...writing a book?”

He stares at me, brow furrowed, trying to figure me out. “Yeah, I told you that the first day we met. Remember?” Slick. Playing it off like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not a betrayal. “Wait, what happened?”

“I saw the comments. Your followers.” I try to pull up in my head exactly what I read, though much of it is a ribbon swirl with the conclusions I made because of them. “Our competition, our fake dating, everything about us sounds just like the book that you’re writing, doesn’t it. You’re using us, me, as research.” I cringe just saying the words. I’m the fool who has to speak the truth with her own lips. They feel like poison.

“Okay, I think you’re misunderstanding what’s happening here.” He holds his hands up as if to calm a petulant child. “Yes, I’m writing a book. I shared this with you from the beginning.”

I take a step back. He slowly takes a step forward, not allowing me to make space between us.

“And yes, our relationship, the things happening between us, what I’m feeling inspires my writing. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Experiencing it now, with you, has made my writing more real, more detailed, more alive...”

I step back. Aiden steps forward.

He says all the “right” things.

Fake.

“You’re... writing about me without my permission. You’re using me. You kept this huge thingabout me, from me. In fact, you seem to keep a lot of things from me. I trusted you.”

I step back. I’m not even sure why I’m so angry and so hurt. But the feelings overwhelm me like a tornado whirling inside me, circling back again and again to remind me that Aiden’s deception confirms what I’ve been too afraid to admit... that there’s no way he’d be with someone as unremarkable as me without a reason. And now I know.

But this time Aiden doesn’t move forward. His feet are rooted, eyes narrowed, lips tightened.

“How about how you kept the fact that you were failing litfrom me? Trust is earned and it needs to go both ways. You’re not exactly an open book, Irene. Getting anything honest out of you is like pulling teeth. And don’t get me wrong, I am in it. I know this and still keep trying to make my way in even though you don’t make it easy. Because you’re worth it.”

“Stop saying all the right things. Stop talking like you’re reciting a romance novel. This is real life. I’m not fodder for your fiction.”

Aiden lets out a frustrated sigh as he runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends. “Explain to me what you think is so wrong here. I’m not using you, I’m not pretending to have feelings for you so I can turn around and put it into my book. I know it’s hard for you to believe something is real when it’s actually something you want...”

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