Page 115 of Surprisingly Us

Hannah stifles a laugh. “Those words all mean the same thing.”

“I know. That’s how self-centered he is. I have to list the same attribute four times.”

Except, before last night, before his proposal, I had started to think Rhys wasn’t the guy everyone thinks he is. He was different. Thoughtful, endearing, supportive and a lot of fun to be around.

“So, what do you want to do?” she asks.

“I don’t know. The whole point of fake-dating him was to help me find more passion in my dancing and I think it’s happening. Last night’s performance felt incredible, and just now I got some great feedback from Alexei. He sees more expression and passion in my moves. But I’m so mad at Rhys I can’t even think straight.”

Having Rhys help me practice dating was supposed to be safe. A way to dip my toe in the dating pond without getting burned. Turns out, the water is HOT. And our charade has already spiraled out of control.

I don’t tell Hannah that I was starting to have feelings for Rhys. The surprise proposal is justification enough for my anger, so admitting that I was starting to fall for him and his proposal felt like a bait and switch isn’t going to do me any good now.

“Okay, here’s an idea. You can go along with this fake engagement—”

“But—” I start, because of all people, this is not what I expected from Hannah.

“Hear me out. You go along with the fake engagement but make sure Rhys knows who’s the boss now. He’s got a lot of groveling to do. Use that to your advantage. That way you canreap the benefits with your dancing, but also hold this shitty stunt over his head. It’s a win-win.”

I pick at the callus on my big toe while I think about Hannah’s advice.

“I’m not the best at holding a grudge.”

“It isn’t a grudge. It’s thinking about what is best for you in this scenario. Last night, Rhys was only thinking about himself, so maybe it’s time you did the same.”

I let her words sink in.

I was beginning to love the idea of me and Rhys as a team, but maybe Hannah’s right. I need to focus on what I need out of this arrangement and not let those pesky feelings I was starting to have derail my progress.

Before ending the call, we chat about brunch plans on Sunday and Sophie’s upcoming bachelorette party, and then we promise to look at our calendars to plan a weekend together at Lake George before the summer is over.

Then, I shower, taking my time to blow dry and curl my hair. I’m hoping the routine activity will let my brain figure everything out. When I’m done, I’m no more certain what I should do about Rhys, but at least I’m somewhat ready for my appearance at the children’s hospital this afternoon.

When I walk out onto Sixty-Fifth Street, I find the man himself at the curb, leaning against a black SUV.

At the sight of him, my stomach flutters.

His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his suit jacket and slacks tailored to perfection. His hands are in his pants pockets, his gaze down at the sidewalk, causing the longer hair on top of his head to fall forward. As if he senses me, he looks up.

Even with sunglasses on, I can sense the intensity of his hazel stare, causing that fiery passion in my belly to come flooding back. I want to ignore it, pretend it’s not him making me feel this way and go home. But if I want to keep dancing like I have been,proving to Alexei that I can handle the emotional depth and passionate dancing the lead inRubiesrequires, then I’ll need Rhys’s help.

But, right now, with last night’s ambush fresh in my memory, I hate the thought.

“I’m sorry.” Those are the first words out of his mouth as I approach.

Instead of assuaging my anger, they only serve to upset me more. I’m so mad, I can’t even find the words to express it. It’s funny, I didn’t know I had a temper until Rhys Spencer became my fake boyfriend. Now fake fiancé.

Maybe I’m not ready to talk to him. I’m probably going to start screaming at him right here on the street and cause a scene. I change directions to start walking home, but he follows.

“Lettie, did you hear me? I said I’m sorry.”

I whip back around, my emotions bubbling up inside of me. “What exactly are you sorry for, Rhys?”

“Last night I fucked up. I shouldn’t have proposed without talking to you first.”

“Maybe sorry isn’t good enough,” I shoot back before starting to walk off again.

“Lettie, please. Not here.” He reaches for my elbow, pulling me against him before pressing me back against the car. It’s a Lettie sandwich. I’m stuck between the hard plastic of the car door and Rhys’s firm, muscular body.

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