Page 12 of Fake Dating Adrian Hunter
In the hundred years that pass from when I first spot Jake walking in my direction, my heart entering arrhythmia, and me cursing how gorgeous the cheater looks, he arrives at my side, leaning an elbow on the bar.
“Verena, what a nice surprise.” His legs brush against my knees like they would in a crowded bar, only there’s no one beside us.
All I can manage is a stutter of words as I slide back on my stool to create distance. “What are… you doing… here?”
“I’m a plus-one at the wedding. And you?”
“Maid of honor.”
“Which side?”
“Tory’s.”
You’d think he would know that, but Jake and I are each other’s best-kept secrets. Not once during our two-year relationship did I introduce him to my family. I never had the chance, considering I wasn’t willing to visit Sitka. My family never came to New York, either. And considering how the media loves to twist reality—like this supposed flirtation between Darius and me, and now with Zac apparently sleeping with his co-star—I’ve always kept my relationships private.
Jake was in the same position. He’d never been eager to share news of us. As a child, he grew up with nothing. His sister married into money, but Jake has fought for every opportunity he’s been given and has always had a hunger to prove himself. It’s one of the reasons we connected so well. We’re both ambitious and hard workers. It would destroy him to have people believe he only made it as a successful restaurant entrepreneur because he leeched off Verena Valentine.
So, while the media and our friends and family knew we were each in a relationship, they never knew who the other person was. Darius and Zac were my exceptions. Jake and I didn’t attend events together and he wasn’t on my show. In private, however, Jake was my world. We understood each other. He told me every day how much he loved me, that he was going to marry me, and that we’d start a family.
But Jake was full of lies.
I’m questioning whether the universe is punishing me for the sins of my past life. The world has over seven billion people living on it. I traveled to a different country. Yet, Jake, of all people, manages to be at the same wedding as me.
It seems my withdrawal from him brushing up against my legs wasn’t obvious enough, because now Jake places a hand on my shoulder. From the tender look in his eyes, it’s meant to be a comforting gesture, but all it does is make me want to puke.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and I know he’s referring to us. The painful breakup and seeing him now.
“I’m fine, Jake.”
“Listen, I didn’t know you would be here. This won’t be awkward, will it?”
“Not on my behalf.”
“Good.” He takes my hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze. Before I can swat him away, he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “It’s great to see you. You look amazing. We should catch up some time throughout the week.”
Without giving me a chance to answer, Jake walks off, disappearing into the sea of guests. A flood of emotions attack me all at once. I’m remembering the first kiss we shared. It was in the rain, like one of those epic movie moments. I can’t stop thinking about all the times we made love, which couldn’t have been love at all if it was so easy for him to be with another woman.Girl. That’s what she was. Barely a legal adult.
“Excuse me, Verena?” the bartender, Samaya, speaks. There’s humor in her voice. I spin to face her and the shot glass she’s sliding toward me—midori with kahlúa on top. “Courtesy of Adrian. Shit on Grass.”
My eyes dart to him in rage. I know I started this petty thing with the shots, but after the Jake incident, I’m an inch away from hurling the shot at his pretty face.
A better idea comes to mind. Why waste the alcohol? I need it to deal with Jake’s presence. I shoot it back and smile.
“Samaya, let him know it was delicious and he can send more over.”
Darius and Zac need to hurry up and get here.
Trapped on an island with Adrian and Jake for an entire week. How the hell am I going to survive?
ChapterFive
In the lead up to this wedding, my biggest rule (aside from resisting World War Three with Adrian) was that I would survive this week without alcohol.
That clearly isn’t happening.
I’m on my fifth glass of champagne—don’t forget about all the shots I drank—and am pleasantly dizzy, alone at the bar when the speeches at this welcome dinner commence. Mom and Dad are up at the front of the cliffside restaurant, running a slideshow presentation. They’re clicking through photos of family events from the past seven years—none of which I’m in.
But then, the slideshow goes back in time, starting with baby photos. There I am on the screen, next to Tory. At first, everyone’soo-ingandah-ing,until we age up in the photos and the reactions aren’t so adoring. I’m five and Tory is three. We’re naked in the bath together and Tory is peeing on me.
