Page 57 of Love You, Mean It

“Thank you. For that and…for tonight.” He leaned closer, stopping a few inches from my mouth. “We really do make a good team.”

And then his hand wrapped all the way around to my back, and I was giving in to the kiss before I really knew what was happening. After a few long seconds, he pulled away.

“Talk tomorrow?” I said, physically stepping back. Apparently my body couldn’t be trusted otherwise.

“As long as you text me that you’ve made it home safe.” He smirked.

“Good-bye,Theo.”

“Sweet dreams,darling.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but there was…somethingbeneath the words. Something that sent my internal temperature plummeting again. I smiled vaguely and hurried to the elevator, suddenly desperate to be out of there, knowing—and hating—that I couldn’t trust myself to stick to even the most basic rules if I stayed in his presence.

I made it all the way home before I leaned my head against the steering wheel and groaned.

What had I beenthinking? No, nix that, why had thinking completely abandoned me in the most critical moment?

Champagne. Dammit, how had I let myself be tricked by rich-people wineagain?

After a few long seconds, I sat up, forcing myself to sort through my thoughts.

We’d made a mistake. Obviously. But it was just that—a mistake. We were both so caught up in pulling this off that we’d lost touch with reality. It didn’t have to happen again. No, nix that, itwouldn’thappen again, no arguments this time, clitoris, you had your chance to lead this wagon train and you sent us over the edge of a goddamned cliff.

I’d just…keep my distance. Stick to public appearances. That wouldn’t be hard; after the party we’d basically be done, right?

I could not seriously entertain the idea ofTheo Taylorin my life.

My phone pinged.

FROM: Little Lord Doucheleroy

Home yet?

The words squeezed around my heart, threatening to thaw the protective ice layer I’d built up—when was the last time someone had cared enough to check that I was safe?

Stop it. That’s not logic, it’s your genitals trying to mount a rear attack.

Yup! Talk tomorrow.

Can’t wait.

The words released a burst of tenderness I hadn’t even known my ice-heart held, and I had to throw the phone onto the passenger seat to keep myself from texting back something moony and ridiculous. I groaned again, dropping my face into my hands.

Dear lord, how had I let this spin so far out of control?

I stared at my closet, physically paralyzed by the decision.It’s just an outfit…and also my armor for the party that would hopefully tilt the war against Ted in our favor. Plus, Theo would practically be required to keep his eyes on me as we worked the crowd. Which shouldn’t affect me—it was just sex, not some courtly romance where the knight wears my fucking flower into battle—and yet…

Wanting to look good was just the smart move. For theplan. Nothing more.

I pulled the peacock blouse free, running my fingers over the iridescent silk. Theo had said it would impress his family…but he might assume I was wearing it for him, which wasn’t the message I wanted to convey right now. If he was similarly Stockholmed, things might get even messier.

I flipped through options until I saw the answer: a knee-length cocktail dress in delicate silver-threaded lace, the plunging shoulder-to-waist vee of the neckline vaguely Grecian, the capelet whimsically beautiful. I’d whipped it up out of scraps for a myths-and-legends-themed party my roommate’s friends threw one Halloween, butlooking at it now…it felt like something Marta might wear. Besides, Iwasplaying a part.

I threw it on before I could second-guess myself, pulled my hair into a messy topknot, and turned in the mirror to admire the result. I looked like a more glamorous version of myself, the silvery dress a delicate chain mail protecting me.

Dame Ellie the Mendacious, prepared for battle.

Theo got stuck in a meeting and told me to meet him at Belle Glen,Donotgo inside without me, we have to present a united front.

I rolled up the club’s long, winding drive, old-growth trees on either side shielding the view of the building. I’d half-expected alarms to go off at the gates at the sight of my Camry—could security systems recognize poor cars?—but the teenager inside the booth barely looked up when he asked why I was there.

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