Page 23 of Merry Fake Bride

“I feel terrible.”

“You didn’t push her.”

“No, but I scared her. Or I reminded her of something that scared her. I can’t…” My breath catches in my throat. “I can’t unhear the sound of her body hitting that car. It’s a miracle she’s walking away with just a broken arm.”

Martin watches me quietly before he opens the back door for me. “The board have been calling. They want to know how your meeting went.”

I gaze upward at the stars struggling to peek out through the haze of light pollution that blankets the city.

Thinking it over, I bet that small town gets to see a full sky of stars every single night.

“We’ll reschedule,” I say with a soft sigh. “Take me home.”

Martin drives me silently through the streets of New York.

They’re buzzing with nightlife, and usually I’d, spend the drive home just observing how the people swarm around this city, a thousand lives weaving together like some kind of glorious web.

But I can’t get Devon out of my head.

It’s not just the sound of her body hitting the car.

It’s her smile from the bar.

The taste of her lips against mine.

The abruptness with which she jerked away from me like she truly feared me.

Even in the hospital, she kept herself as far away from me as she could and immediately worried about how to pay me back.

Perhaps that’s the most normal response to this entire situation.

And now she’s my fiancée.

There were a hundred reasons I could have given that would have kept Devon on my insurance.

Why did I resort to marriage?

What possessed me to claim something so absurd about a stranger?

By the time we reach the Sycamore building, I’m no clearer on why my mind is stuck on Devon beyond a quiet understanding that I think she’s wonderful.

Guilt continues to eat at me as I greet the doorman and take the elevator up to my penthouse suite.

Sinking into a hot, steamy bath sounds like heaven and it’s the only thing I desire to close out the day.

A desire that goes up in smoke when the elevator doors slide open and my mother appears in the short hallway between the elevator and the lounge, screeching my name.

“Kairo!” She rushes toward me, tightly pinned curls bouncing and pearl necklace flying. “Don’t you ever answer your phone? I was worried sick!” For a woman wrapped up in a tight, knee-length skirt, she’s fast for her age and she reaches me just as I step out of the elevator.

“I’m sorry, I was?—”

“I thought something happened to you! Martin wasn’t answering, then I got a call from our insurance about a charge, and I thought you were dead!”

Before I can speak, her hand flies out and collides with my cheek. “How can you let me worry like that after what happened with your father?”

Her voice cracks at the same time as my heart aches.

I stare at the wall while my cheek burns, then very slowly suck in a deep breath.