Page 23 of The Faking Game

I laugh. “You did that?”

“Of course.” She uncorks the bottle with a loud, familiar sound and holds it out to me with a flourish. “There we go. Now you can tell me the whole lurid tale of how you ended up right here, right now. Pretending to be in a relationship with West.”

I take a fortifying sip of the champagne first. “Okay. So… it started a few months ago, with a letter on my doorstep.”

“Wow. Not what I expected.” She fills her own glass and then wiggles her eyebrows. “Watch,” she says, and extends the glass to Sam. “Want a glass?”

His eyes slide to hers, and his stoic façade doesn’t break for a second. He just shakes his head firmly.

“Right. If you change your mind!” she tells him.

“You weren’t lying,” I tell her. “Have you had guards often?”

“The last decade or so, yes,” she says with a shrug. “On and off. Mostly West will assign me a driver with security training to give me a little freedom.”

I sigh. “God. I’d love that.”

“You have the whole team?”

“Yes, and they’re around constantly. For the last week, my schedule has been monitored every single minute.”

Her mouth thins into a line. “Oh. I’m sorry. What happened with the letter? I derailed your story completely.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s just… I started getting threatening letters. I think it was just someone trying to scare me, but I told my family, and Rafe hired guards.”

“Threatening letters,” she repeats. “Oh my god, that’s terrifying.”

I laugh a little. I’ve become so used to laughing it off, to pretending to be strong, to seeming like it doesn’t really bother me all that much. Like all my hopes weren’t dashed today with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

I don’t want people to feel like they have to comfort me.

“Yeah, it hasn’t been the best. It started with all these online messages, really. Texts and comments. But when the first letter arrived, that’s when we knew it was serious. It escalated to a few pictures in the mail. Pictures of me doing things. Walking around the city. Waiting in line for a casting.”

“Shit.” She glances from me to the security guard and then back again. “Okay, he should not be drinking, and it’s very good that he turned me down. I’m sorry.”

“I’m getting… used to it, I suppose. I wanted to move to New York, specifically for a job, and I didn’t want this to stop me.” I lift a shoulder in a shrug. “My brother asked his friend to help with the security.”

“Ah,” Amber says, nodding sagely. “And my brother doesn’t do anything by half measures.”

“No, he most certainly doesn’t.”

“Is he smothering you?”

“A bit,” I admit, looking at the doors to see if he’s nearby. I don’t want to sound too ungrateful.

She laughs. “He’s not all-powerful, even if he likes to think he is.”

“I’m just… it’s not that I’m not grateful,” I tell her. “I’m just struggling with all of it. The stalker sent flowers to my new workplace today, and everyone freaked out. That’s why I’m moving in here tonight. Apparently Fairhaven has excellent security and lots of space.” I take another sip of champagne. The bubbles are quick, delightful little things, and my head feels lighter than it has in a week.

I’m going to have to figure out a new kind of atelier. Maybe buy a sewing machine and see if I can set it up in the guest room I’ll be staying in. There’s no way I’m missing my shot at the Fashion Showcase.

“It’s a beautiful place.” Amber’s voice turns a bit wistful. “I love this house. The ocean, the orchard, the library… I spent most of my childhood here.”

“It’s incredible. It’s a little hard to believe it’s where you grew up. Both of you.”

She glances at me with a smile. “Yeah. I know we were lucky that way.”

“Do you still live here?”

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