Page 37 of Pretend for Me

Dead silence.

Even my heart seems to have gotten the memo because it goes still while Dev’s impassive face—save for the way his eyes darken—freezes in place.

“You want me to?—”

Thedingof my phone cuts him off, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Let me make sure this isn’t important.”

But the blood drains from my face when I read the message from the number I should have blocked earlier.

Unknown Number

What’d you do? Show off those tits? Good for you, sweetheart. Glad you’re finally learning to use what your mother gave you. It’s about the only thing she gave you that was worth anything. And you certainly didn’t get any of my brains or talent. Now, tell me, when and where can we meet? I might just be in your neck of the woods, and it’s been too long since I saw my little girl.

My lips curl into a snarl.

My dad is clearly off the wagon and off his rocker again. Probably sitting in some shithole bar, falling off the stool, drowning in his self-loathing and filth.

Good. I hope he fucking rots there.

He’d always been cruel, entitled, and selfish, but had he ever been as despicable and vile? Not from what I can remember. But time has a way of smoothing out the rough edges of our memories.

He’d apparently been harassing Rowan too, even showing up to his game to stir up unnecessary drama, but thankfully, my brother put him in his place. The only place he belongs—out of his life.

So why the hell is he trying to get back into mine?

The answer is obvious, of course, because he thinks he can get something out of this, and my response to it will be just as obvious.

My finger hovers over the button to block his number when Dev’s voice stops me cold. His gaze sharpens on my face, which probably betrays my shock.

“Who is it?”

I shake my head. “Just a wrong number.”

Dev’s eyes narrow, as if knowing I’m lying. “Piper. Tell me who it is.”

“Dev, really, it’s no one?—”

“It’s definitelynotno one,” he cuts in. “Because if a message can wipe the smile off my fiancée’s face, I’m going to need to know which motherfucker just wrote his death warrant.”

fourteen

piper

Simmer Down, Tony Soprano

“Piper,” Dev’s mom, Claire, whispers my name, her frail hands clutching mine as she stares at me with the kind of adoration I feel unworthy of. Her pale blue eyes might look weary, but there’s a kindness and understanding behind them that I haven’t seen in anyone else’s besides perhaps my own mother’s.

A handkerchief adorned with red and pink roses is tied around Claire’s head, concealing what I’m sure is a surgical scar and thin hair, but even so, her beauty is unmistakable.

And despite reminding myself to stay strong, to not think about the fact that this woman, my soon-to-be mother-in-law, is not going to be alive in a few short months, all I can think about is how shitty it is that the world will lose her all too soon.

I hardly know her, but within point-five seconds of meeting her, I’ve figured out that she’s special. Some people just have that kind of pull, an aura and light that no disease, not even death itself, can diminish. And Dev’s mom is amongst those beautiful souls.

Returning her smile, I linger just inside the threshold of her home, conflicted with the guilt of betraying her trustalongside her son. But the absolute joy shining in her eyes quells some of my turmoil.

You’re doing this to give her peace; to make her last wish come true. Put on your best performance and do this for not just her, but for the man beside you.

In Claire, I catch glimpses of Dev, but it’s the man standing behind her—tall, proud, with dark eyes as sharp as a hawk’s—who unmistakably mirrors Dev.

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