Page 167 of Boyfriend of the Hour

“She needs me to take care of it?” I said once I’d set my phone back on the bed. “I’ll take care of it. And I’ll take care of myself too.”

THIRTY-THREE

THINGS NATHAN HUNT’S REAL GIRLFRIEND SHOULD REMEMBER

#5 his freinds names. crap what r they again?

And so, at six p.m., I was waiting in the lobby of Nathan’s and my apartment building, ready for the grand finale.

Or so I thought.

Kiara hadn’t come to play when she got me ready, finishing my elegant manicure, then rolling my hair into the barrel curls needed for the elegant updo more fitting for a first lady than an out-of-work dancer. The understated makeup was limited to a coy cat eye and nude lips, complemented by tasteful crystal drop earrings and a sedate chain around my neck—the only part of this costume that was mine was the twenty-four-carat gold pendant of Mary Magdalene hanging around my neck.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A costume. As beautiful as the Gucci gown was with its pleated, gold lame skirt and the plunging black top, it was hardly something I would ever wear on my own. Beautiful, yes. Glamorous, for sure. But never something I’d ever wear in real life, where I was more at home in thrifted jeans or loungewear.

Still, if it would keep me safe with Nathan’s upper-crust world, I’d take every inch of armor he could afford.

I hugged the black mink shrug to my shoulders and pulled out the little red booklet I’d tucked inside my matching clutch, along with my ID, a few extra dollars, and my lip gloss.

It was the final to-do list for this little charade. The one I needed to remember.

Things Nathan Hunt’sRealGirlfriend Should Remember

No interrupting. But also no raising your hand like a little kid.

Smile and nod when people talk about things you don’t know. It’s okay not to stand out.

Nathan likes you just the way you are.

“Just to way you are,” I repeated to myself as a large, black BMW pulled up to the curb. A driver got out, wearing a black cap that matched his uniform.

I smiled. Nonno used to wear the same thing as a chauffeur before he died, and now sometimes Mike did too, since he and Lea took over the garage and driving business when I was a kid. This uniform wasn’t family, but it was a way of having them with me. Even if I was mad at them.

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up to the front entrance of the Natural History Museum on Central Park West. I tipped the driver, a nice man named Miguel, and followed the line of other people toward the entrance.

At the top of the steps, I found Nathan, who had arrived straight from work, though not, however, before changing into an outfit that made him look like James Bond. The classic tuxedo was tailored perfectly to his sculpted body, making hisshoulders look even broader while tapering to the trim waist and muscled thighs in ways that put very dirty thoughts into my head. His hair had been tamed with pomade—or as much as it could be since it still misbehaved with a rakish bit sticking up here and there—and he’d foregone his glasses tonight in favor of contacts.

He was casting his sharp gaze over the entire steps, then checking his watch every few seconds, looking like a general surveying his troops. His world.

There was royalty in his blood, I thought as I approached. Royalty to my peasantry.

I couldn’t ever really compare. But somehow, he wanted me anyway.

His gaze finally landed on me when I was only a few steps from him, and he startled, forced to jog down to me to prevent himself from falling.

I grinned. Point for the gold dress.