Page 123 of Merry Fake Bride

Warm one moment and then inexplicably cold the next, with no way for me to fix it.

It left me walking on eggshells as a teen and now, as an adult, I’ve spent my years aiming to be direct and honest with everyone to combat those kinds of reactions.

Now Devon gives me the same feeling.

“It’s complicated,” she murmurs, her gaze falling to her lap. She pushes one hand through her hair. “I had a really good time with you at the gala, and afterward. But it made me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“We’re from different worlds, Kairo. And mine is just… You made me feel like I was living in this perfect dream, and I enjoyed it. It was supposed to be just business, remember? I let myself get sucked into this fantasy that you and I could actually be?—”

She halts and when she looks at me, tears shine in her eyes. “I can’t put you through this.”

“Through what?” The tightness in my chest increases tenfold and my next breaths are overwhelmingly strained. “Devon, please just talk to me.”

Her eyes shine more as the tears build and her lips part.

For a moment, it feels like the truth really is balancing on her tongue.

Then a shadow falls over the table and my concern for Devon morphs into deep irritation that the waiter couldn’t wait a few more minutes.

As I lock eyes with the pale green eyes of the stranger, something shifts at the table.

The air grows colder.

Devon becomes rigid in her seat as a man looms over our table.

He wears a dirty-gray jacket with a green T-shirt underneath and low-slung jeans.

His face is covered in pockmarks and scars that lead up to his close-shaven, almost bald hairline.

“Can I help you?” Every drop of my irritation goes into those words, but there’s something else too.

Devon’s reaction immediately puts me on edge so I lift my hand and run three fingers through my hair.

“Nah,” the stranger replies, giving me one sneering glance and then focusing all his attention on Devon. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t move.

She’s staring intently at the single rose within the small vase in the middle of the table as if she’s frozen in time.

She doesn’t speak.

“We’re in the middle of something,” I say, lowering my tone. “So if you don’t mind, I’d greatly appreciate it if you left us to it.”

“Oh, my bad.”

The stranger turns to me with a smirk, popping obnoxiously on some gum while placing both hands on his chest. “You’re having dinner with my wife andI’mthe one who’s supposed to leave?”

Wife?

My attention splits between him and Devon as her brows twitch together and she still doesn’t move a muscle.

“Wife?” I manage to say.

“Yeah, buddy. I’m Axel.”

He sticks out a hand with warped fingers from too many breaks and a few scars along the joints. “I’m Devon’s husband.”