Page 60 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“Why don’t you take your seat,” his father says in a gruff, unfriendly voice. “We’ll be departing soon now that you’ve arrived.”

His parents return to the seats closest to the front of the jet, but this time, they sit in two adjacent chairs on either side of the narrow aisle, gesturing for us to take the other pair opposite them so we’re all sitting across from each other.

A handful of strained minutes pass as the boarding crew prepares for take-off, doing the necessary safety procedures.

During this time, a flight attendant takes our drink order, returning with a steaming cup of tea for Damian’s mother and three cups of coffee for Damian, his father, and me.

It’s uncomfortable—the silence that follows as we quietly sip from our mugs, like we’re all waiting for someone to speak, but none of us wants to be the first to do it. The tension persists after take-off, and before we’re even in the air, I sense the interrogation coming.

“So, Alexandria, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” Lenore suggests, that kind smile unnervingly tight around the edges of her lips.

Alarm bells ring in my head at the use of my full name.

Damian called me Lexi when he introduced me— not Alexandria.

I suppose it’s possible his mom made a wild guess, or assumed, though something tells me that’s not the case here.

Maybe Damian mentioned it to them, and his mother was just exaggerating when she said he hasn’t told them anything about me.

He did say they specifically requested I come today, which means they must know about me to some extent, full name possibly included.

Or more likely, they’ve seen what’s been posted online, a wary voice mutters in the back of my head.

Damian is sitting too far away for me to risk a casual glance at him—to try to read his face—the aisle between us suddenly as expansive and broad as an ocean.

You’re on your own. Just stay calm.

Straightening my back, I swallow my rather unladylike gulp of coffee and set down my mug. “Well, I was born and raised in Newport. I live with my mom and my aunt. And I go to Conwick with Damian, though we don’t have any classes together. I’m a sophomore.”

See? No need to be nervous, I assure myself. Nothing you just said is a lie.

“And how did you meet?” she presses.

I return her careful smile with one of my own.

“In the library.” It’s still the truth—no need to panic so long as I leave out the part about her son fucking me against the stacks in the mathematics section to win a bet.

Given what’s been said in the media lately, she already knows. Generally speaking, that is.

“Miss Dornan, we’re going to cut to the chase,” Lenore drawls, wrapping long, manicured fingers around her steaming mug. “We know you were one of the young ladies connected to our son’s ill-conceived… endeavors last spring.”

And there it is. The topic I had hoped to avoid.

Even with the gulf between us, I sense Damian stiffen as Lenore clears her throat.

“We also know you’re on a full scholarship to Conwick, that you’re studying mathematics, but what we don’t know—and what we’re trying to understand—is why you’re dating him after what happened with you two last semester. ”

I mask my stilted breath by taking another hearty sip of my coffee.

Okay, so his parents are aware of my connection to his bet, and they’ve clearly read enough about me to know a bit about my personal life, but what’s most important is they’re under the impression—or at least open to the idea—that this fake romance between us is real.

They’re skeptical, sure, but they aren’t in complete disbelief.

Not yet. Which means there’s still a chance, however slim, that we can pull this off.

“It’s just…unusual,” Lenore continues, her fingers now moving to the string of pearls around her neck. “And after everything, why now ? It almost feels like?—”

“Someone’s twisting someone else’s arm,” Hector finishes.

All eyes swing to Damian’s father, who watches me with narrowed eyes, like a hawk tracking an unsuspecting rodent. It takes all my self-restraint to not cower under his withering gaze.

“That’s not—” Damian interjects, but his father cuts him off with a warning glare.

“We would like her to answer.”

Damian visibly recoils, shrinking into his seat, his eyes dipping to the table between him and his mother, and it dawns on me as his hands squeeze into fists on his lap…

he’s afraid. Not of his father—that’s not the vibe I’m getting—but of the ramifications that will no doubt arise if I say the wrong thing.

Worry stretches across his features, and in the briefest sliver of a moment our gazes meet, I see him—his real face past the easy-going mask he’s always wearing.

Like armor, I realize.

It occurs to me then that Damian’s joking demeanor, his sarcasm…

it’s all a guise—another piece of that bewildering puzzle I’m still failing to see the complete picture of.

He uses humor to protect himself, I can see that now.

I think I’ve known it since that day on the Navarros’ yacht when he explained to me why he doesn’t have any friends.

But why? What is he hiding that makes him so determined to keep everyone at a distance?

The answer doesn’t come to me. All I know is the man beside me—the one who’s trying so hard to look calm but has a frightened-looking boy in his eyes—is the real Damian, and the fuckboy I met at the beginning of the year is the costume he wears to hide that person.

But there’s something else here I’m not seeing—something beneath the surface that I know will explain this almost tangible hostility between him and his parents.

Something that might also give me the answer as to why he got so mad when I called his problems small.

As that thought crosses my mind, another follows.

There has to be more to his parents’ ultimatum than what he told me, just like there’s more to why I need his money than I was willing to tell him—the truth hidden behind that ridiculous cosplay excuse.

It seems that secrets abound between us, and I suspect they’re each just as consuming and present as our irrefutable attraction.

Unease stirs in the pit of my stomach because, on some distant level, I can relate to what he must be feeling.

I might have an unshakable bond with my mother, but I would be lying if I said our relationship hasn’t been complicated by her cancer diagnosis, and as for my dad…

well, I remember a similar tension with him that makes this situation hit too close to home.

Damian’s father might not have left him like mine did, but I suppose his threat to cut him off is a kind of abandonment of its own.

Perhaps it’s for that reason that, for the first time since we made this agreement, I find myself wanting to help Damian—to be more than just a participant in this lie, but an active contriver.

And not for my own selfish reasons, not just for the money, but because I know how it feels to be a constant disappointment in the eyes of someone who is supposed to love you unconditionally.

And perhaps it’s for that same reason, words start flowing out of me without reservation.

“With all due respect, I can appreciate how it must look, but no one’s twisting anyone’s arm here.

” I peer across the aisle at Damian and offer him a reassuring smile before turning my stony gaze back on his parents.

“I was furious with your son about what he did last spring, but I don’t regret that it happened.

If it hadn’t, then I never would’ve known the person he is now.

The person who is more than those bad decisions. ”

It’s not the truth…but it’s also not entirely a lie. If the bucket list hadn’t existed, I wouldn’t have gotten a glimpse past Damian’s fuckboy shell, and I wouldn’t be sitting here desperate to see more of the real him he keeps tucked away.

You hate him, a small voice reminds me from a space in the back of my head. Why should you care?

But as those words flood my thoughts, I can only respond with, Maybe I don’t hate him. Not anymore.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that what I feel for him now is more nuanced than something as straightforward as loathing.

In the weeks we’ve spent together, I’ve seen so many little pieces of him, and while the picture they form might still be disjointed and unclear to me, I see enough to grasp that there’s more to him than the guy who ghosted me freshman year. There has to be.

“You want to know why I’m dating Damian?

” I ask, not meeting his eyes, though I can sense him watching me, just as curious about the answer as his parents.

I shrug. “It’s simple. He owned his mistake, apologized for it, and I chose to forgive him.

The person he is with me now is not the same person who made that bet. ”

Another half truth. His apologies so far have been apathetic at best, and I’m not sure I can ever forgive him, not really…

but I also know he isn’t the same guy I fucked in the library at the start of the year.

Because I wouldn’t be capable of anything but hatred for that man, and the Damian sitting beside me?

Well, I’m certain now I no longer despise him.

If I did, I wouldn’t be this eager to clap back at his parents.

“It’s just all very sudden,” his mother persists, exchanging a concerned glance with her husband.