Page 23 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
“We’re fifteen minutes from your house,” he hisses, his grip on my arm getting a bit too tight.
“Yeah, but it took thirty minutes to find a rideshare willing to come get me.” I pull my arm out of his hold, my mouth watering at the scent of something deep fried.
“It’s fine.” He smooths the lapel of his burgundy dinner jacket, a bold choice in the sea of gray and blue. “At least you’re actually here.”
“I considered standing you up.” I snag a mini crab cake from a passing tray. “But I heard there would be free food.”
He scowls before grabbing my arm again and dragging me toward the opposite end of the room. Only five minutes in and I’m already starting to feel less like a guest and more like prey.
“Wow, you’re actually stupid enough to go through with this,” says a voice from behind us.
Stella, like Julian, isn’t much like the girl I remember throwing sand in my eyes. She arrives in a cloud of rose-scented perfume, wearing a silver sequined dress that would probably look hideous on anyone other than her. At sixteen, she’s grown into the type of person who looks like they just walked out of a magazine—luminous skin, dark, thick hair braided down her back, high cheekbones, and full lips. A face worthy of eighty thousand Instagram followers and a brand ambassadorship with the latest flashy celebrity skincare line. Something that has always infuriated Maya, who spent an entire paycheck on said celebrity’s overpriced seven-step regimen.
The one thing that hasn’t changed is Stella’s voice, flat and disinterested, as if she’s never experienced another emotion besides extreme boredom.
“Shut up, Stella,” Julian mutters, glancing over her shoulder. “Have you seen Liam?”
“No.” Stella crosses her arms, looking pointedly at the two of us. “You know he’s never going to believe this, right?”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I have other options.” Julian pushes past her, gesturing for me to follow.
“You could’ve just blocked him and moved on like a normal person,” she replies.
Julian stops in his tracks, inhaling sharply as he turns back to his sister. “Can you please not be a pain in my ass for one night?”
She mulls the question over for a second before conceding and heading toward a table covered in champagne flutes.
Julian takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, you can ignore her.”
I peer over my shoulder at where Stella has helped herself to champagne and a bruschetta. “Should I be worried that your sister thinks this is a bad idea?”
Julian takes a concerning amount of time to answer. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
Another pause. “No.”
Great.
Julian stays rooted in place, staring at me with a frown that speaks volumes. It feels like he’s thrown the ball into my court, like he wouldn’t stop me if I walked away. I consider it. Walking away and saving myself from whatever disaster’s waiting for me on the other end of the room. But I’ll take chaos over losing our cabin, so I offer him my hand.
“Guess we’d better go find your ex.”
Julian stares at my hand, lips parted but no sound coming out. His own hands tremble at his sides.
“Well, don’t leave me hanging,” I snap when my arm starts to ache.
“Right, right.” He shakes himself off and takes my hand.
Our fingers slide together easily, Julian leaving them suspended in midair until I push them back down to our sides.
“Relax. You look like I’m holding you hostage.” I send a friendly wave to the waiter who’s eyeing us suspiciously.
“Sorry.” Julian rolls his shoulders back, releasing some of the tension. “It’s just weird.”
“Yeah, I’m not exactly having the time of my life here either.” I’m no expert in hand-holding, but Julian’s hands are a special brand of weird. Ice cold, yet damp to the touch. I readjust my grip, grimacing at the slick glide of Julian’s palm against mine.
We take a lap around the dining room, keeping our eyes peeled for any sign of Liam. I still don’t have any idea what he looks like, but I have a hunch. Tall, stylish, and handsome enough to charm someone like Julian. He should be easy to spot based on age alone. This place is a sea of well-dressed middle-aged men.
