Page 50 of One Small Secret

His reaction is better than I could have imagined. “So you like my dress?”

“You know I like it.” His eyes dip down for a brief glance and his fingers look like they might rip the doorframe right off the wall. “Now please put your shoes on so I can take you to a public place.”

I sit on the bed and bend over to grab my black strappy sandals, then lift my left foot to put on the shoe. Here’s the other thing about my dress. It has a slit directly on the side. Most of the time it doesn’t show—not even while walking. But I’m not walking. I'm sitting on the edge of my bed with my leg elevated, so he’s pretty much getting a view up to mid-thigh. I could have started with the other shoe, or turned so I was facing him, but I didn’t. Maybe I’ll send him a picture of me putting my shoes on when we text later tonight.

Ruben clears his throat. “I’ll just wait outside.”

“Are you sure? I may need some help with this.” I lift the shoe like the straps are impossible.

Ruben clenches his jaw. “Please tell me you're joking.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be joking?” Because I would let him help me put this shoe on.

“Cadence.” He says my name like it’s a plea. “I need you to be joking.”

I smile. “Then I am. I’ll meet you in the hallway in one minute. And I promise I’ll keep my shoes on all night so I won’t have to do this again.”

The lounge is below us, and we're silent in the elevator on the way down. I eye the emergency keypad, but Ruben doesn’t have a card to control this one. Too bad. I'd much rather spend the evening with Ruben in the elevator than getting to know his fancy friends.

Music pounds the second the doors open. The lounge has track lighting in multiple colors, and directly in front of us are floor to ceiling windows looking out over the crowds on Times Square.

Where am I, and where did real-life Cadence go?

Ruben steps forward, his palm warm against the skin of my lower back, and steers me into a different world.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I hadn’t realized I would be dancing so much, but it seems all of Ruben’s friends had read about me online and were dying of curiosity. They were used to him bringing supermodels, clothing designers, and actors, but a mom who worked a 9-to-5 job? Turns out I’m a novelty.

I’m dancing with Bernard, who's probably fifteen years my senior and has already mentioned two different ex-wives. His date is sitting at a tall table with Ruben and a few other women, one of whom is Daphne VanPelt. She arrived while I was on the dance floor and I haven’t had a chance to meet her. I’m not looking forward to it. I smile at Bernard’s date, but she doesn’t smile back, which might have something to do with the fact that Bernard's hand has almost reached the spot where my dress starts back up again. If he goes even one inch lower, I’m either chopping off his fingers or stepping away from the dance before it ends.

Luckily for him, his hand stays put until the music stops. We walk back to the table together and Ruben jumps off the swanky bar stool and motions for me to take his seat. I’ve been dancing so much, I haven’t had a chance to eat anything, but he’s saved me a plate of fancy hors d'oeuvres and a glass of water. “Thank you,” I say.

After I sit down, Ruben stays behind me, placing one hand on my shoulder.

Daphne VanPelt smiles at us. For a woman scorned, she certainly looks happy.

Because it was all fake, dummy.

“So lovely to meet you, Cadence. I’m Daphne, and I want to start by saying how sorry I am about that news article. I had a bad relationship last year with a boyfriend who did cheat on me, and my friends are really protective. They went berserk and I let our real relationship slip. I should’ve known the story would spread.”

Daphne is so sincere and kind that I decide then and there to give up on the Daphne VanPelt nonsense. “No harm done, really. Right, Ruben?”

I turn so I can smile up at him. He nods and places a soft kiss on the nape of my neck. He starts to move away, then seems to think better of it and grazes the top of my shoulder with his lips as well. I grab his hand on my shoulder like my life depends on it. Or at least, like it might steady me so I don’t fall off the barstool at the thrill of his touch.

While my heart is still adjusting to those whispered kisses, Amira—one of Ruben’s romances from about two years ago—introduces herself. She didn’t need to. I absolutely know her from her dancing skills online. Following Ruben when they were dating was extra fun, and I tell her as much. She laughs. “I was just telling Ruben how refreshing it is to see him with a woman he's actually in love with. I was so relieved when I found out about you two.”

“Relieved?” I ask with a funny hitch in my voice. She just stated that Ruben is in love with me like it’s a fact written in a textbook.

“Of course.” Daphne lays an arm on Ruben’s shoulder. “We both were. It’s our cruel feminine pride. It’s hard to accept the fact that the man we're spending our free time with isn’t falling in love with us. I mean, we had agreed on a fake relationship, but…” Daphne shrugs and I know exactly what she means. His kiss on my shoulder illustrates the point perfectly. It felt so real.

Amira nods. “We never had a chance. And now, at least we know it isn’t because we lacked charm.”

I swallow hard. Ruben’s hand is a firebrand against my skin. These women are both a lot more charming than I am, and they probably had similar thoughts to mine. Maybe this could be real. But it isn’t. Ruben is simply very skilled at pretense.

Bernard reaches for a glass of champagne. “How did the two of you meet?”

We probably should have gone over questions like this in advance. I’d mentioned it once on the flight over, but Ruben had told me not to worry. We’ve known each other way too long to say something wrong.

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