Page 19 of Love, Academically

“I mean, I’ve not been celibate for the last five years.

But people find out my name, my family, check the Sunday Times Rich List and it all changes.

People don’t like me for me, they like me for what they think I can give them.

Connections, money, a certain lifestyle.

” He shrugged and looked into his pint. “I don’t want that anymore. ”

“That’s why you’re an Aubrey.”

“That’s why I’m an Aubrey.”

Lila sucked in a long breath.

“Well, Rhys Aubrey,” she said lightly. “I can’t guarantee that I won’t use you for your connections in the construction industry and, uh, Parliament or whatever ‘connections’ you rich people have.”

He snorted into his drink.

“But I will charm the pants off your family. They’ll all see you’ve made the right decision for you.”

Rhys looked up at her and his heart lifted.

Apparently, affirmation from Lila Cartwright was exactly what he needed to soothe his anxious mind.

Lila

Lila’s heart went out to Rhys because, bless him – all he was doing was chasing his dream, which his family should have encouraged.

Instead, they put him down, made him feel small and unworthy.

She’d been there. She knew how it felt, and luckily had Jasmeet and Maddy to pull her out of it. Rhys had, what? Kickboxing? Dan?

Perhaps not all of his family felt that way, though. It seemed his father was the biggest culprit. But still, who would want to work in boring corporate construction anyway?

“You don’t mind?” Rhys asked, glancing at her before assessing the menu again.

“Mind? Why would I mind?” she asked. “Hang on, what would I mind?”

Rhys squirmed in his seat.

“Coming with me. Being my fake girlfriend. After everything I’ve just said? It won’t be easy.” He offered her a wan smile. “By that, I mean, I probably won’t be easy.”

Lila blinked at him, because that was excellent self-awareness from Rhys Aubrey.

“I’ll help. We’ll get through it together.” Her voice was quiet, because it seemed that was exactly what Rhys needed.

Rhys narrowed his eyes at her, searching her face for any sign of her making fun of him. Poor, hurt, untrusting man.

“Anyway, shall we order?” Lila asked, as the waitress headed in their direction.

It didn’t take long for their food to arrive, but Lila’s stomach was grumbling by the time she shovelled the first forkful of her lasagne into her mouth.

“What time will we be eating? If it’s late, I’ll have to have a snack beforehand. Otherwise, I’ll expire and you’ll have to catch me as I faint,” she said, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and fanning her face with the other.

Rhys snorted a laugh.

“I don’t know, eight-ish? There’ll be canapes I would imagine,” he said, picking at his hunter’s chicken.

Shit. In all of the Rhys-o-Drama, she’d forgotten.

“Um, Rhys?” Lila laid her knife and fork down carefully on the edge of her plate.

“Mmm?” he said, not looking at up her.

“Rhys, this is important.”

He must have noticed the urgency in her voice because he stopped chewing, swallowed heavily and looked at her intently.

“What is the dress code?” she whispered. The super rich? Canapes? Boring business-y type people? It could only be one thing.

Please be smart casual. Please be smart casual.

“Oh,” Rhys said, screwing his face up. “Black tie.”

Black tie. Oh, good lord.

“And what will you be wearing?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and low.

“Um, a tux? That’s what black tie is.”

Lila took three deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, but it was no use.

“Oh my God, Rhys,” she said, burying her face in her hands. What, in the name of all that was holy, was she going to wear?

“What’s the matter?” he asked, calmly cutting up his godforsaken chicken.

“What’s the matter?” she squeaked.

How could he be so stupid? Rhys Aubrey-Dallimore would be wearing a tuxedo and there was nothing more attractive than a man in a well-fitting tuxedo. It probably was designed especially for him, clinging to his pert little arse like a wasp on picnic food.

Lila pushed out a breath and laid her hands flat on the table.

“What does black tie mean for women, Rhys?” she asked, but he just looked confused. “Is it a long dress? Is it a cocktail dress? Is it sweeping? Oh my god, is it Met Gala?”

“Um,” Rhys said, obviously dredging his memory. “The last time I went, Elin wore a long dress. So did my mother and Seren.”

He calmly looked back to his chicken.

“That’s a pretty name,” Lila murmured, poking at her pasta. “Sister or cousin? You’re going to have to draw me a family tree. There are too many of you.”

“Seren, um.” Rhys’s mouth turned into a cringe. “I kind of forgot about her. She’s my ex-girlfriend...”

“Oh, lord me.”

“Well, actually, ex-fiancée…”

“Pardon?”

“And she’s married to my cousin, Ieuan.”

What fresh hell was this? “You’re joking me.”

“Nope,” Rhys said, stabbing at his chicken like he wanted to kill it again.

“No wonder you avoid going. She’s tall and blonde and super model-y, isn’t she? Oh no, she’s actually a super model and I’m going to be dowdy and frumpy and ridiculous in a twenty-pound maxi dress from Matalan.”

Lila knocked back her drink for fortification.

She was going to a black-tie event as a fake girlfriend, with a supermodel ex-girlfriend who was married to said fake boyfriend’s cousin?

If this was an American soap, there would be a person with amnesia and a secret baby.

Also, her twenty-pound maxi dress from Matalan (the only long dress she owned) was not going to cut it, was it?

It was a summer dress with sunflowers on it.

That would not go down well with Rhys I-have-a-custom-tux Aubrey-Dallimore.

Something crushing and hot rose in her. She wasn’t going to be good enough for this. She couldn’t just sprinkle some glitter and make herself acceptable to rich people.

“What’s happened to you? You were all calm and helpful. Now you’re,” Rhys waved a hand at her, “panicky.”

“Rhys, do you know any women? At all?” She stuffed pasta into her mouth.

Eating would help. Eating was her safe space.

“Some of us like to not look ridiculous in front of her fake boyfriend’s supermodel ex-fiancée, and his rich list family,” she said, trying to slurp the dregs of her drink.

“You are not being very helpful. I’m liable to not make a good impression and probably make things worse if you. Don’t. Help. Me.”

Rhys pressed his lips together, but his eyes sparkled. If he laughed, she would stab him with her fork.

“It’s not funny, Rhys!”

But if she couldn’t laugh then she’d just worry and very possibly cry, because it was all so ridiculous.

“It is a bit funny,” Rhys corrected, letting a smile come out. “Besides, I’m sure a twenty-pound maxi dress from Matalan will be fine.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so, Rhys Aubrey-Dallimore. There will have to be shopping. You’ll have to come.”

Rhys’s face slackened.

“You can help me pick something appropriate, okay?” It was more a beg than a question, because she desperately needed help. How was she supposed to know what to get? “Please?”

His eyes shuttered and he let out a long-suffering sigh. The silence between them stretched taut.

“Fine,” he said, turning back to his food.

Lila sat back in her seat and blew out a breath. “I thought you were going to say no for a minute then.”

“Why would I say no?” he said, shaking his head. “You’re helping me. The least I can do is help you help me.”

She made a strangled noise that could have been a laugh in her throat. Did Rhys just make a joke?

“Okay, tell me about Seren and your cousin Ian,” Lila said, stabbing at her food.

“Ieuan,” Rhys corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said Ian. It’s Yigh-an.” Rhys shrugged haughtily. “Sometimes English people struggle.”

“Ha, ha. Yigh-an, Yigh-an,” she tested.

“You’ve got it, Ieuan.” He smiled that smile again, and she looked to her food, swallowing quickly.

“Please tell me the rest of your family have more easily pronounceable names?” she begged.

“Bleddyn, Myfanwy, Angharad, Myrddin. You know, standard Welsh names.”

Lila took a breath. “I’m going to have to practice. I can’t have your family thinking I’m some uneducated heathen.”

What if they hated her? She wasn’t rich, she wasn’t of good breeding stock or whatever rich people said and she certainly wasn’t Welsh. The least she could do was get their names right. What if they thought she was just too plain next to Rhys? What if she let him down? What if—

“I’m teasing, Lila,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her. A small smile crossed his face.

“Is that the first time you’ve made a joke? Ever?”

Rhys sat back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, assessing her. “Lila, you’ll be absolutely fine. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you could do it.”

High praise indeed.

“Thank you, Rhys,” she said. “I promise, I’ll be the best fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.”

Rhys

Rhys’s car still smelled of cookies and vanilla long after he’d dropped Lila home. Her smell got literally everywhere. He’d have to vacuum the car, because if there was the remotest chance that there was glitter in the car (and there was always that chance with Lila), then he had to get rid of it.

He’d been tempted to linger in Lila’s house, accept the proffered cup of tea, but Dan had texted as they were leaving the pub, wanting to meet up, so now he was on his way.

It was surprising that Dan had asked him to meet up so spontaneously; he knew that Rhys preferred to make plans rather than have things sprung on him.

Since Dan had been missing in action, he felt he should see him.

Even if only to show how displeased he was with Dan missing kickboxing all the time.

“Dan,” he greeted, putting his lemonade on the table. Why was it that small, local pubs always had the most uncomfortable wooden chairs, second only to plastic hospital chairs?

“Rhys, hey man,” Dan said, looking up from his phone. “I got you a pint.”