Page 64 of Merry Fake Bride

“Kairo, when were you going to tell me this?”

Unable to find fault in my words, Kairo suddenly becomes her target and while his shoulders tense, he smiles.

“I had no idea. Devon is so humble when it comes to her creations.”

My heart flutters and warmth floods my cheeks as he looks my way.

“But her talent clearly speaks for itself.”

Clarice’s attitude shifts after that.

Suddenly, she speaks to me like I’m an equal and her questions, while still probing, are gentler than before.

Apparently, my association with Andora is enough to earn me a decent, civilized conversation while Kairo, looking pained, does his best to guide our discussions away from personal matters.

By the time Clarice has drilled me on my education and financial situation, I’m at my wits’ end, and thankfully, she’s at her limit.

“Having dinner so late was a terrible idea,” she murmurs as she stands, glancing at Kairo with accusation in her eyes as if it was his suggestion. “It’s late. Time to go.”

She leads the way out of the restaurant much like the way we entered, but her sourness melts away from my mind the second we step out into a glorious winter wonderland.

The hours spent inside have given the snow enough time to coat the entire street and every parked car in a thick layer of snow.

This late at night, the road and sidewalk are mostly untouched and every surface is crying out for that first perfect imprint.

“Come, Kairo.” Clarice heads toward her limo, but Kairo hangs back.

“No, mother. I’ll be seeing Devon home.”

Clarice doesn’t even look back at us. “Fine.”

Kairo and I stand side by side as Clarice enters her limo without a word and then she’s gone in a flash, leaving us to the silent world the snow has created.

“Devon.” He sounds pained. “I am so,sosorry. My mother is…” His face twists while searching for the right word.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I assure him gently. “She’s your mother, and I got the impression she thought I was some kind of gold digger. It must come from a place of concern, right?”

“Something like that.”

Snow lands ever so gently in his hair and before I fully process the urge, I’m reaching up and lightly brushing it away.

His brows lift in surprise and when my thoughts catch up to my actions, warmth floods my cheeks and I look away. “And it turns out I was the worst dressed out of the two of us.”

“I would rather have shared waffles than steak,” Kairo says warmly. “Please, let me take you home.”

In the soft glow of the twinkling lights from the surrounding shrubbery and the icy breeze nipping at my fingers and nose while snow drifts lazily around us, I nod.

“Sure, you can take me home.”

16

KAIRO

Martin takes his time driving the road between New York and the cozy town Devon lives in as the snow continues to thicken around us.

With the heaters on full blast, Devon and I relax together trying to shake off the judgmental weight my mother leaves behind.

“When did you move to L.A.?”