Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“Why did you lie?” she asks straight out as I cross the living room to apologize for my sins under the lights of the Christmas tree. “And don’t lie now, wild child.”
There’s nothing tough in her voice. She’s hurt, and I have to give her the courtesy of the truth. “I didn’t want to be set up,” I admit with a helpless shrug.
“Then just say that,” she says crisply.
“I tried to tell you,” I point out.
She arches a doubtful brow. “How hard did you try, Wilder? How hard did you ask not to be set up? As hard as you tried to run a billion-dollar business? Were you as committed to that as you were to lying? Were you as devoted to telling me the truth as you were to beating Brady in the competition?”
Triple ouch. “Fair enough,” I admit.
“You didn’t have to resort to this,” she says tightly, taking the high road.
“You’re right. I thought I did. I’m sorry.”
“Bibi, cut him some slack,” my mom says gently from the kitchen. “He really likes her.”
Bibi snaps her gaze to her sister. “Did you know about this all along, Elizabeth? And you went along with the ruse?”
My mother looks over her shoulder, then says truthfully, “I’ve known for a few days.”
Bibi draws a sharp breath and holds up a stop-sign hand my way. “You played me for a fool. I expected more of you.”
Then she walks off, away from her sister and me.
I drag a hand down my face. Everything is a shit show.
I trudge through the kitchen. “I should go…talk to Fable,” I say to my mom.
“Yes, you should, kiddo,” Mom says with a smile.
I see nothing to smile about. I knew this was a bad idea from the start, but I did it anyway and hurt nearly everyone. This is what happens when you lie. I’m just like my father after all.
With heavy feet and a heavier heart, I enter the shared living room, then trudge down the long hallway to our cabin, where I find Fable in our honeymoon suite, curled up on the couch, clutching her phone like she’s waiting for something. She tears her gaze away from the screen and turns to me, a flash of worry in her beautiful eyes.
More questions pummel me from that look alone.
What would happen if I let this go on? And sure, it’s been easy to play boyfriend and girlfriend while we’re living together during the holidays, but how would Fable fit into my real life? Where would she wind up? Sucked deeper into this mess at work?
Fable’s trying to achieve her dreams. To open her jewelry shops, not to get caught up in a complicated romance that started from a lie.
If I let this continue, how could it possibly go anywhere good? Love never does. Bibi’s husband died, Mom’s romance sputtered out so badly she’s happier alone, my father can’t break his addiction, and I somehow stupidly thought a fake relationship was a good idea. Clearly, I’m not cut out for romance.
It’s not that I don’t trust Fable. I don’t trust myself with her heart.
Because trust is as real as Santa Claus.
46
IT’S ME. I’M THE PROBLEM
Fable
Don’t you dare let on this hurts.
It doesn’t hurt.
You’re fine.
So fine that the second the door snicks shut, I erase the sad face I know I’m working right now. I’m the bold one, the fun one, the one who keeps her act together. I did it for my sister growing up, and dammit, I’ll do it now. I can’t take a chance ruining her wedding with my drama.
I’m on edge, waiting to hear from her. In the chaos of the town square, she told me she needed to talk to Leo, who was hurt that she’d kept this from him, and that she’d text me when they sorted it out.
I’ve been glued to my phone, but she hasn’t messaged yet.
Wilder comes in, I try to hide my surprise at his appearance. I’ve never seen him like this. Broken down. Exhausted. Like he’s reached a dead-end maze and can’t figure out how to turn around.
But first things first. “How is Mac doing?”
“She’s fine. She was embarrassed and felt terrible. But she was over it pretty quickly.” He blows out a heavy breath. “Bibi, not so much.” He waves a hand like he’s psyching himself up. “But I’ll figure it out. I’ll sort it out. I’ll…”
He trails off like he’s run out of steam.
The man who bought out half a store, the man who invented a naughty and nice list so that we could ace this, the man who developed a plan so we could be the best fake daters. The man who figured out all my wants and needs before I even told him.
Right now, he’s got nothing. He’s a car sputtering into the driveway with no gas left in the tank.