Page 72 of Strictly Pretend

“You’ve always wanted to be a mom. We talked about it when we were together.”

“That’s not true,” I tell him. “I said I wanted a family. That’s different.” At least that’s the truth.

He frowns. “How?”

And I realize that he has no idea about me, about my life. About the need to be with people who love me. I don’t care about having kids of my own, I just want to belong somewhere.

Withsomebody.

“Goodbye, Will,” I say, my jaw tightening. “Please don’t message me again. Or talk to me.”

“Emma…”

I turn on my heel and walk out of the library before he can see the tears stinging at my eyes. I don’t even know why I feel like crying. Maybe I feel humiliated or sad, or a mixture of every emotion.

All I know is that I need to be alone right now.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

BROOKS

I check my phone as the executive bus pulls back into the ranch. I haven’t heard from Emma for the last three hours, despite sending her five different messages and trying to call her twice. Of course she doesn’t owe me a reply. But I’m still annoyed. I haven’t been able to relax not knowing what’s going on back there.

As soon as we climb off the coach, I head straight to the pool area where there’s music pumping out of the large speakers on the deck. The DJ is still going strong. Some bachelorettes have made a little dance floor, others are floating in the pool on those blow up beds with holes for their cocktail glasses.

But even though I’ve looked twice, there’s no sign of Emma.

I don’t know why that makes my heart race. But it does.

I spot Mia sitting on the edge of the pool. Grant has already found her and she’s grabbing his hand like she’s trying to get him to sit next to her although he’s wearing a pair of expensive dress pants and shoes that I know cost a thousand dollars.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. “Where’s Emma?”

She lets go of Grant’s hand and looks up at me. “She wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t she message you?”

My throat feels tight. “No,” I say, my brows wrinkling. “Where is she now?”

“Back at the yurt. She said she was going to lie down for a while. She swears it’s the sun but I’m thinking the margaritas may have something to do with it.” She leans forward and unlaces Grant’s shoes. “I said I’d go back with her but she said she was going to nap.”

By the time she finishes speaking I’m already halfway across the pool area. There are some ATVs lined up at the front of the house ready to take any of the bachelors who want back to the yurts to get changed. No sign of carts and horses this time, thankfully. I grab the nearest one and climb onto it. The seat is baking from the sun, and it’s distinctly uncomfortable as I straddle it and start the engine up, but damn it, if Emma is sick I need to be with her.

It takes a couple of minutes for the ATV to span the distance between the ranch house and the yurt. And each one feels like it stretches on for hours. I push the engine as much as I dare – but it’s hot and the terrain is bumpy – and by the time I reach the camp I’m sweaty as hell.

I abandon the ATV at the edge of the trees and push my way to the clearing, dust clouding around my feet as I rush to our tent. When I pull the door open I notice she hasn’t locked it –again– and it annoys me, but I bite it down, because damn it, Emma is sick.

I hate that thought.

I expect her to be prone on the bed when I walk in. But instead she’s sitting on the edge, staring off into space.

“Hey,” I murmur, walking over to her. “Mia told me you weren’t feeling good. What’s going on?”

She brings her gaze to mine and I can see there’s a rim of red around her eyes. She’s still in her bikini with one of those sarong things wrapped around her waist. I walk over to her and hunker down in front of her, reaching for her face and cupping my palms around her jaw.

“Do you need me to call a doctor?” I ask softly, my eyes scanning her face for signs of pain. I briefly touch her forehead. It’s warm but not feverish. “Are you in pain?”

She swallows, her throat undulating. “I’m not sick,” she whispers.

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