Page 44

“Didn’t have to.” His hand moves higher. “You synced our calendars, remember? Part of the whole ‘happy couple’ act.”
Back then it seemed like a good idea, genius even, not having to personally invite him to everything. Now…
I stop his hand from wandering. “You’re such a?—”
“Brandon,” Mom says, “how’s the Milton Group doing? I heard there were some exciting developments.”
“Nothing too exciting,” Brandon says. “Just the usual corporate politics.”
“Don’t be modest.” Dad’s voice carries across the table. “I heard about that deal with Harrison Industries. Quite impressive for someone your age.”
“That was mostly Elijah’s work.”
“Ah.” Dad’s disappointment is palpable. “And your restaurant venture?”
Brandon’s hand tightens on my knee. “Almost sold.”
Sold? The restaurant, his dream, his escape, the one thing that was truly his. Is he really selling it?
The word scrapes past my lips before I can stop it. “When?”
Brandon doesn’t look at me. “Deal’s not final yet.”
“Smart move,” Dad says. “Best to cut your losses and focus on what you’re good at. The restaurant business is risky. Better to stick with what you know.”
This is what Brandon knows. Better than anyone. This is what he loves. Or loved?
“The Milton Group certainly suits you better,” Mom says. “Such a prestigious position.”
When did that happen? Why didn’t he tell me? We might be fake, but I thought…
I don’t know what I thought.
That our arrangement somehow entitled me to his secrets? Can I really blame him when I’ve been the one dodging his calls, letting his texts pile up like unpaid debts?
The main course arrives, some kind of roasted meat I push around my plate, because my stomach is a writhing knot of hunger and revulsion.
Brandon shifts closer. “You okay?”
“Fine.” My fingers tighten around my fork.
“Naomi, darling,” my mother’s voice drips honey, “you’ve barely touched your food.”
“I’m eating.”
“Are you?” Brandon asks.
I kick his shin under the table. Hard.
“Ow, fu—” He covers with a cough. “Food is really good.”
Mykel’s eyes dart between us. “You two seem… weird.”
“Everything’s fine.” I stab a piece of meat, the fork scraping against the plate. “We’re fine.”
“Really?” Mykel asks. “Because you look ready to murder him.”
I am. “Don’t be dramatic.” I force the meat into my mouth, chewing mechanically. Counting. One, two, three… “How could I ever want to murder my loving boyfriend.”