Page 15 of A Game of Ruck
“I suppose youwouldknow,” I say softly.
“I do.”
He nudges my foot, playful again, but something in his expression is still tender.
“And for the record, I think what you’re doing?It’s badass.You built something to help other people, to give them a safe space to communicate and just be who they are.That’s more than most people ever do.”
A flush creeps up my cheeks.
Not from embarrassment—no, this is something warmer.
He sees me.Not just my curves or my last name.Me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not sure what else to say.
He tips his head.“You’re welcome.”
Then, of course, he smirks.
“But just so we’re clear—youdosigh dramatically.”
I snort.“And you definitelyarejudging me.”
“Only for liking sad books where everyone dies in the rain.Wuthering Heightsdamn near killed me in high school.”
“Those are classics!”I gasp with mock outrage.
“They’re depressing,” he replies easily.
“And yet, you’re still here.”
He grins.“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
And suddenly, I’m not worried about this whole fake date thing.
Because with Luca Warden sitting across from me, smiling like I’m the only thing he wants to look at, it doesn’t feel fake at all.
“How else are you different from your cousins?”
“Well, I didn’t marry a hedge fund manager or one of the executives working under my Dad.But mainly I think they don’t like me because I didn’t get abs in the womb and I don’t kiss my father’s ass to get a seat at the table, so to speak.So yeah, I’m basically a walking scandal.”
“Okay, so they don’t like that you’re different?”
“They don’t like that I don’t pretend to want what they want.”
He goes quiet for a second, and when I glance at him, his face is unreadable.
“If you’re not like them and you don’t care what they think, Angel, why are you doing this?Bringing a fake date to this wedding?”
“Well, I do care in a way.I mean, no one likes to be gossiped about, right?Anyway, I guess I just got tired of being the punchline,” I add, softer.“This time, I want to walk into the party with someone who makes them shut up.”
“So, you’re just using me for my looks,” he says, and I frown.
“No!I mean, yes, I suppose that’s why I bid on you,” I stammer.“Shit.Am I that shallow?I’m so sorry, Luca, if you want me to, I can tell the pilot to turn this plane around?—”
The jet hums around us, smooth and quiet.
“Not a chance, Angel.”
