Page 34 of Matched with Her Fake Fiance

“They act intimidated, like you’re some kind of tyrant.”

“That’s because I’m the son of Anita Clark. She strikes that kind of fear into people.” He looks at me and says, “Are you okay?”

“I mean, it’s a little crazy,” I say, crossing my eyes in an attempt to help him relax. I also put that detail about his mother into my memory vault. The woman sounds scary.

He chuckles. “It has its perks. I mean, I don’t have to worry about waiting too long when I go to familiar places.”

“I assume this is like the paparazzi? Has it been this way your whole life?” I ask. Getting stared at wherever I go would be a big drawback of being rich.

“Not my whole life. I think that’s why my dad started Gentleman Prep, so I would be trained in all the things I needed to survive life.”

I frown and try to figure out if I’ve missed something. “What do you mean?” I ask. “Your dad wasn’t a schoolteacher, was he? I thought you said he’d started the business before meeting your mom.”

Miles chuckles and shakes his head. “No, not a teacher. He just wanted me to be a decent guy. With all the things to learn in business, he was worried I wouldn’t understand some of the important manners. So, we would have a small lesson every week that he called Gentlemen Prep. We would work on things like etiquette and opening doors for women and stuff like that. My friend Jack usually came for those.”

There’s definitely a factory where this man was made. I’m pretty sure my mouth has been hanging open for most of the conversation.

Everything that had to do with manners in the Higgins family came from our mother, not that our dad was bad about it, but he often worked until late in the evening, unless we had a game or a concert. It’s interesting to note that the things I’ve been impressed with from Miles came from the time spent with his father.

“What?” he asks.

“That’s really cool. I mean, my dad was working a lot and we got along, but it was my mom who did most of the training in our house.” Heat rises to my cheeks. “And I have to say I probably didn’t listen to the instructions as well as I should’ve. When you meet Mama Higgins, don’t blame her for that.”

He laughs loud and long. “I think I’d like to meet her. I can imagine she’s got as much spunk as you.”

A woman hustles up to us looking to be in her mid-forties. “Mr. Clark,” she says, walking up with her hand outstretched. “What a pleasure to have you here today. I was just finishing up the last few items for your summer order. Is there something else you need?” She hasn’t made eye contact with me yet, but Miles turns attention to me.

“We need to get a few things for my girlfriend,” he says with a whisper of a smile on his lips.

He just said girlfriend. Cue the internal scream of excitement as the sound of his voice goes in a loop in my brain. Clay had always avoided calling me his girlfriend, probably to look for better options.

Red flag four hundred and ninety-six.

The woman finally glances over at me and to her credit, her expression doesn’t change. No expression of disgust, no frown.

“Perfect. I’ve got the list of your upcoming events. Do you want me to follow those while fitting?”

“Yes. That will work. She’ll also need a few casual outfits, for any random meetings and for her job.”

I squeeze his arm and make him turn to look up at me. “How many events are we planning here, sir?” I whisper as Sonia heads up to the counter to get a tape measure.

“I’d rather have you prepared for whatever comes,” he says. The half-smile he gives me sends my heart racing.

I laugh nervously. “Well, if this is what you do for your fake girlfriend,” I say, dropping my voice to whisper, “I wonder what it would be like to be your actual girlfriend.”

And now to usher in the embarrassment.

My hands are waving and my eyes are bug-eyed at this point, wishing I could take back what I’d just said. I don’t want him to think that I am after him for his money.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say. “I just meant for us, as friends, this is kind of a lot.”

His expression shifts from somber to a smile with the word friend.

“Do you think of us as friends?” The words are low and they do something to the walls I’ve built around my heart. Like a tiny earthquake that’s setting up for the big one to come along and knock everything down.

“Yes,” I say. “I mean, we’ve been through what feels like battle together with our mutual break-up date. You also introduced me to one of your good friends at a really nice restaurant. So I kind of feel like we’re friends, but I mean, if you don’t want me to refer to us that way—”

It's his turn to wave his hands, and he rests them on my upper arms, sending a shiver running down my spine. “No, I like it. You haven’t been the one begging me for things, and we talk just like friends, like true friends.”

---