Page 88 of The Fake Date (Brides of Beaufort 4)

Sighing, I took her hand in mine. “Mrs. Robinson, the truth is, I’m in love with your daughter. But she’s either too scared to love me back, or she already does and she’s too scared to tell me. But trust me when I tell you, I’ll figure it out. And when I do, you’ll have nothing to worry about. We’ll be happy, and she’ll be fine.”

She looked startled by my confession, but then she softened slightly. “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not going to let her get away.” With that, I ran out of the dining room, eyes scanning all the faces in the hall.

“Beau, hey. I didn’t realize you were working this wedding.”

I did a double take at the videographer I’d met at a few weddings in the area, instantly remembering him as one of the jerks who’d dated Lyndi for way too short of a time to have gotten to know the real her.

My jaw clenched automatically, but I shook his hand. “I’m not here working.”

“Oh, you’re a guest? How do you know the couple?”

“I’m here with Lyndi.”

He tilted his head. “I thought you said you weren’t working.”

“I’m not. She’s mydate, not myclient.”

His confusion morphed into understanding, and he slowly nodded. “Right. I’m picking up what you’re putting down. Don’t worry, man. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“It’s not—” I stopped, realizing this guy wasn’t worth taking the time to defend myself to. The only person who needed to hear this stuff was Lyndi. “Never mind, I’ll see you later, man.”

I moved away, but not fast enough to miss the way he zipped his lips and threw away the key. Annoyance rippled through me. See? This is what happened when you built your whole life on lies. No one believed you when you were telling the truth.

I’m like the grown man who cried wolf.

On my quest to find Lyndi, I decided to stop at the men’s room and wash my hands. I’d spilled a little coffee on the back of one when I’d been distracted by something Lyndi had said, and I could still faintly smell it on me.

When I came out a minute later, I heard that videographer—what was his name again? Jimmy? Johnny?Tommy. That was it—talking to Lyndi around the corner.

I hung back a sec, just so I knew what I’d be walking up to.

“How’ve you been?” Tommy asked her.

“Well, thanks. You?”

“Not bad. Listen, when Aria referred Clara to me, I have to admit I kind of thought it was fate.” He let out a short laugh that made me roll my eyes.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, I feel like we didn’t really have much of a chance to get to know each other when we went out before, and if you’re up for it, I’d love to try again.”

My hands balled into fists, but I stayed out of sight. Lyndi could handle herself. She was a grown woman, and she didn’t need me to step in like some white knight on a horse. Then again, that was probably exactly what a swoony book boyfriend would do. Maybe she would want that.

No.

I wasn’t a cardboard cutout of a man, and she deserved to tell this creep to go away without me puffing out my chest before she got the chance.

“Tommy, that’s really sweet,” Lyndi said, the sympathy in her tone making me grin to myself, “but I think it would be better if we didn’t.”

I brought my clenched fist up and pumped the air.

“Why?” he asked, a little too abruptly. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Well, no. It’s not that.”

Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the wall. My fault. Not hers.