Page 97 of Fake Married to the Grumps

Now, I want to know more.

"Then tell me. Tell me what's true and what's not. Tell me why you do the things you do."

Bryce hesitates, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he's searching for the right words. "I guess ... I guess it's just easier this way," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. "Easier to keep people at arm's length than to let them in, you know?"

I nod in understanding, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. "It's because of your childhood, isn't it?" I ask, my voice soft with sympathy.

Bryce's eyes snap up to meet mine, surprise written clear across his features. "How did you ..." There is a vulnerability in his eyes now, where before, there had only been walls.

I shake my head, cutting him off before he can finish the question. "These things could affect the kind of person you become. I get it, Bryce. I really do."

His hand trembles slightly as he reaches out to take my hand. I feel the warmth of his palm against my skin. His touch is gentle, tentative, as if he is afraid I will pull away.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess. I'm sorry for everything."

I squeeze his hand in return, a silent gesture of forgiveness. I was never even angry with him in the first place. Horrified at the prospect of doing this, but never upset.

"It's okay," I say, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips. "We're all just trying to make sense of this crazy world, aren't we?"

Bryce nods, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah," he says, his voice tinged with something that sounds suspiciously like hope. "Yeah, I guess we are. Why aren't you in a relationship, though?"

I shift uncomfortably on the couch, unsure of how to respond. I know it's because I want him to wake up one morning and really see me. It's stupid, really, but I'm hopeless.

"I guess I just haven't found the right guy yet," I say finally, the words feeling inadequate and flimsy in the face of Bryce's penetrating gaze.

He nods in understanding, his expression oddly sympathetic. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's hard to find someone who really gets you, you know?"

I nod in agreement, even though all I want to do is to scream that he's the only one my heart craves.

He may have built up a wall around himself, but there's something undeniably genuine about him, something that always lures me in.

"You know, despite what everyone else thinks, you've got a good heart," I say out of the blue. Bryce has a tendency to self-destruct, so I feel the need to reassure him.

A faint blush creeps across his cheeks. It's the most attractive sight ever. Even though he tries to hide it, I find it heartwarming.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, his voice soft but inquisitive.

"I don't know. Call it a gut feeling. There's something about you that just ... shines, you know?"

Bryce's blush deepens, his gaze dropping to his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "Thanks, I guess," he mutters. "I don't think that anyone's said anything like that to me before."

I reach out to place a comforting hand on his arm, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine. "Well, get used to it, because I'm not going to stop saying it."

Bryce looks up at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears and my heart clenches. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I say, my voice choked with emotion. "Yeah, I'm here for the long haul, whether you like it or not."

Bryce offers me a shaky smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. "Thanks, Marissa," he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude that takes my breath away.

I smile back at him, feeling a sense of contentment settle over me like a warm shroud. Despite the messiness of our situation and the fate of the future, I know deep down that everything is going to be okay. Even if Bryce doesn't reciprocate my feelings, for now, I’m content being close to him like this.

Chapter 18

Bryce

The morning rush of traffic buzzes around us as Marissa and I drive to the set. The car ride is surprisingly quiet, the only sound is the soft hum of the engine and the occasional honk of a passing car.

Marissa sits beside me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside. I steal glances at her out of the corner of my eye, trying to decipher the myriad of emotions flickering across her face.

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