Page 84 of The Princess and the Fraud

“Ah, yes, because we had two little tiffs in front of my hotel room yesterday.” To his credit, Aaron seemed calm about the whole thing. Understanding. “I get it. You were upset about your friend.”

I forced myself to look up. He deserved eye contact. “But it wasn’t your fault. I… didn’t mean what I said.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You mean youdon’tthink I’m a chameleon?”

Despite his attempt at a joke, I didn’t smile. “I don’t think you’re a jerk.” I wanted him to see the earnestness in my eyes. I wasn’t teasing or joking or trying to spin it into anything other than it was. I was serious. “The things you’re going through—the trauma youwentthrough. It’s not trivial. And I—Iwas a jerk for saying it was.”

For a moment, we sat there staring at each other, letting the words settle between us. Something shifted in the darkness of his eyes, and even though I didn’t know what it was, I watched it anyway, captured.

“It’s funny,” Aaron murmured, leaning into the palm of his hand. It pressed into the mattress beside my thigh, dipping down. “I don’t usually care what people think about me. Not really. Not unless it’s family. Everyone else—I can ignore it. I always have. But when it comes to you…” He hesitated. “It’s like I can’t breathe until I figure out why I’ve upset you.”

I swallowed, my chest tightening. “You seemed more angry than worried yesterday.”

Aaron’s eyes softened, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a secret just between us. “It hurt.” He paused, and I could feel the weight of his words before they even landed. “That you thought I’d do something like that to someone who didn’t deserve it.”

I felt my shoulders drop, the confession like a blow to my chest.

“But it wouldn’t have hurt, had it been anyone else. That’s my point. If it’d been Fiona accusing me, I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but it was you. And ithurt.” Aaron shifted his hand on the mattress again, moving so that his knuckles brushed my leg. A spark lit inside me. I fought to steady my breath. “I care about what you think of me.”

The quiet, earnest confession wrapped around me like a breathless embrace. The words from last night floated back into my mind, thick with meaning:Because I care about you. And that scares me.I bit my lip, fighting the tremble that threatened to invade my voice.

“So you didn’t mean what you said yesterday afternoon,” he went on. Was it my wild imagination, or did he shift a fraction of an inch closer? “But what about last night?”

I almost was too afraid to ask. “Which part?”

In truth, everything I could remember—telling him I cared about him, that he had my approval, that he was made for love—I’d meant. I wasn’t sure I’d necessarily say all that again sober, or I’d at least try for a bit more clarity, but I’d meant it.

Aaron, though, didn’t specify. Instead, he was quiet, watching me as if he hadn’t asked a question at all. The expression on his face caused my stomach to flutter, and I realized where I’d seen it before. Aaron had on the exact same expression now as he had last night, except last night, the moment had been ruined by my vomiting.

Marrying me is catastrophic?

Not marrying you. Falling for you.

Now, though, in the light of the morning, there was nothing but an unspoken line between us. I waited for him to cross it first, to bring up that conversation, but he didn’t. No matter how much I wanted to go back, to follow that train of thought to the end of its road, I was too much of a coward to. So, instead, I took a long drink of water, pulling my leg away.

“Do you work today?” Aaron asked suddenly.

“You think I’d drink that heavily if I did?”

“You constantly surprise me,” he reminded me. “I told you it’d be fun if you kept surprising me.”

A corner of my mouth tugged, unconsciously mimicking him. “Me throwing up on you is fun?”

“‘Fun’ might not be the right word.”

We shared a laugh at that—his more amused, mine more mortified. “Did you have something planned?” I asked him, reaching up and trying to comb my fingers through my hair. Unsuccessfully. The tangles were definitely knots. “Are you waiting for me to leave?”

Aaron tilted his head. “I want to see your mother’s house.”

That was the last thing I expected him to say. “My mother’s?—”

“Her dream house. I want to see it. 1442 Everview Road, right?”

My breath caught again. He remembered theaddress? “I?—”

“I looked online and found the realtor for the property. If I can convince him to give an impromptu weekend showing, I want to tour it. With you.”

Aaron’s words weren’t as hope-inducing as they should’ve been. Really, I should’ve jumped at the offer, at the chance to see my mother’s dream home from the inside. I’d never toured it, only looked at it from the outside. But instead of being excited, I only felt sick. “Why?”

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