Page 40 of Twins For My Pucking Fake Fiancé

“Alright, you can have your space!” she slaps her thigh and stands to leave. “I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

“Thank you,” I say, but she doesn’t turn back to reply.

I plop backward in bed, my shoes still on and my purse over my shoulder, and just stare at the ceiling.

Getting a theater degree in Los Angeles sounded like a great opportunity and a way to chase my acting dream, but the truth is that at the end of everything, I was jobless and out of money, and my father had to send me the money to bring me and my belongings back.

Now I’m relying on someone else’s money to save me, and the more I try to convince myself this was just an acting gig, the truth is I’m realizing I grew too attached to Harvey and his family to keep it professional.

A notification causes my phone to vibrate, but I ignore it. It might be Harvey and I’m still too overwhelmed to think about him.

I kick off my boots, nestle myself in bed, and take a little nap. After I wake up, I look at my phone, only to find a text from Parker there.

I’ve been dying to know: how was it? Did they eat you alive?

I scoff momentarily, already typing my reply:

His family is lovely, Parker.

I put the phone away and get to changing. It takes me a while to locate which piece of clothing is where, but soon I find sweatpants, a t-shirt, and slippers.

I look at my phone again before going upstairs to find mom, and there’s a new text from Parker.

Really? They’re not brutes like him?

Frowning, I quickly text him back.

Why would you call him that? I thought he was your friend!

I start climbing the stairs and halfway up, another message comes.

He’s my best friend, Elsa, and you need to be careful with him.

Anyway, did he pay you?

I’m now at the top of the stairs facing mom in the kitchen as she gets started with cooking lunch.

With my shoulder against the doorframe, I text Parker back:

Yes, he did. Already spent some of it, but I don’t think I can spend the rest.

Parker is typing. I take a seat at the kitchen table, and mom places a glass of water in front of me.

My phone buzzes a few times with his texts.

Are you CRAZY?

Give the money to me, then!

I shake my head.

“What is it, dear?” Mom wants to know.

“Parker is being a tool,” I say, nonchalantly.

Mom goes on a rant about how I shouldn’t disrespect my brother even if he’s being a tool, but I’m not listening anymore.

I’m too busy texting Parker back.

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