Page 10 of The Fake Affair

The cab turns a corner, and I glimpse myself in the rearview mirror—makeup smudged, eyes too wide, mouth pressed into a tight, ashamed line. Audrey doesn’t let me off the hook.

“Oh no, we’re talking about this,” she snaps, the edge in her tone cutting through the speaker like a slap. “I can’t believe he—actually, no, I can believe it. Karen last year, Melissa before that...”

“Audrey—” I start, but she barrels over the protest, her voice rising.

“And now you. Does he have some kind of checklist? ‘Sleep with all of Audrey’s friends’?”

I shift in my seat, curling tighter into myself as if I can disappear into the shadows of the car. My forehead rests against the chilled glass of the window, the city flickering past in shades of gold and steel. I speak quietly, like it might dull the sting of what I’m admitting.

“Please stop. I knew what I was getting into.”

“Did you?” Her tone softens slightly, but not by much. “Because the Bella I know wouldn’t have gone home with my brother unless…”

I don’t answer right away. There’s a hollow feeling opening up inside my chest, something that grows heavier with every second of silence.

“Unless what?” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the quiet rumble of the car.

She sighs, and for the first time since I called, there’s something gentle in it. Something understanding. “Unless you actually liked him.”

That does it. That little phrase. It breaks something loose inside me, something I’ve been trying to keep buried beneath bravado and sarcasm and the sting of his morning-after coldness. My fingers tighten around the phone as I stare out into the blur of downtown traffic, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.

Liked him?

Liked him doesn’t even cover it.

I close my eyes for a moment, leaning my head back against the seat, and suddenly I’m not in the car anymore.

I’m twenty-one again, barefoot on Audrey’s tiny apartment balcony, clutching a plastic cup of wine as Logan Fraser holds court in the living room. Fresh from Edinburgh, full of swagger, rattling off some story about a venture deal he’d just closed. All her friends were hanging on his every word, especially Melissa, who kept twirling a piece of hair around her finger and laughing too loudly.

I hadn’t been impressed. I’d rolled my eyes and muttered a line from Shakespeare’s Macbeth— “atale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

He’d caught the reference. And instead of acting insulted, he’d looked at me, really looked at me, then laughed—deep and unguarded. The first time I saw the mask crack. And the way he stole my breath later with a kiss that should have never happened…

* * *

Present

“Bella?” Audrey’s voice cuts through the memory, pulling me back to the present.

I shift the phone to my other hand and press my fingers to my temple, trying to push it all away. “I was in need of an outlet,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “It was a mistake. End of story.”

My mind is still stuck in the flashback, and I don’t know how many minutes pass until Audrey’s voice finally pulls me back. Somehow, I even made it home without remembering taking a single step to my loft.

“Bella?”

“Sorry, just... remembering.” I lean my head back against the couch and close my eyes. The day is already too much, the city traffic still echoing in my ears from the ride home, and Audrey’s voice in my ear is the one familiar anchor that somehow makes this feel even more surreal. “What about Sunday morning?”

There’s a brief pause, like she’s bracing herself. “Logan wasn’t talking to you.”

I sit up straighter, the words not registering at first. “What?”

Audrey coughs delicately. “When he said to let yourself out… he wasn’t speaking to you. He was on a business call, Bella. Firing someone. He had no idea you were even awake.”

My voice trails off. I want to argue, but already my mind is shifting through the memory, turning it over like a stone in my hand. The silence. His back turned. That clipped voice, colder than usual. No eye contact. Just… instructions.

“He had earbuds in,” Audrey continues, calm now, as if she’s been waiting for me to put the pieces together myself. “He came out of the bathroom, and you were gone. The clothes he left for you? That was his version of thoughtfulness. He told me he wanted to take you to breakfast and wanted you to have something comfortable to wear.”

The room seems to tilt slightly. I blink hard, but it doesn’t help. The memory rearranges itself in my mind—no longer a cold dismissal, but something completely different. Something almost gentle. My stomach turns.

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