Page 52 of The Princess and the Fraud

“Why are you pushing back so much, then?” Caroline turned to stare at the wall. She looked like a pouting toddler. “You have to admit I’m a better match for him than her.”

“Aaron doesn’t want to date.” My voice was low. “He wants to marry.”

“So do I!”

“Since when?”

“People are allowed to change their mind, Lovey.” Her lip curled in what looked like distaste. “You, of all people, know that.”

I drew in a slow breath through my nose, using the air like a shield to brace against her words. I wanted to dig my fingernails back into her, to shake her and make her see reason, but it felt pointless. “You’re right. What do I know? My boyfriend of four years cheated on me.” I threw the last dregs from my wine glass back, wincing at the overload. “Do whatever you want.”

An awkward silence stretched between us. My words were harsh, but nowhere near as harsh as I’d been last night with Aaron. I stretched forward and picked up the wine bottle, the glass slipping a little in my fingers. Imagining her draped over his arm instead of Fiona—Caroline beside him at the end of an aisle—was an ugly image in my head.

“Gosh, you’re so intense,” Caroline said, but her voice was light. Flippant. She shot me a grin as she held her wineglass out to me. “I was joking around, Lovey. And like you said, he’s got his sights set on Fiona. Lord help him.”

For the first time in our friendship, she caved first. I stared at her for a moment, stunned. Maybe it was because she realized she shouldn’t have said what she did, or maybe she felt bad about the topic of Grant as a whole, but for the first time ever, she was the first to let the argument go.

Before refilling my own glass, I poured more wine into hers. Too much. By the time I pulled the bottle up, I realized too late I hadn’t left any for myself. “Yeah,” I muttered, laying my head back on my couch cushion, staring up at the ceiling. I felt as though the water stains could’ve swallowed me whole. “Hopefully he gets exactly what he deserves.”

CHAPTERELEVEN

You could only call rooms at the Massey Hotel & Suites from the hotel side, not Alderton-Du Ponte’s side, which was why—despite being onfundraiser prepduty—I currently hovered in the hotel’s business center, staring at the phone set attached to the wall.

Staring at it, but not picking it up.

I’d been standing there for the last ten minutes trying to work up the nerve to pick up the stupid phone. Ridiculous. It was just a simple phone call.

Get a grip, Lovisa. Wave your white flag.

I tried reaching for it again, and the moment before my fingers touched it, my pulse jumped, and I pulled back.

There wasn’t much I could offer Aaron Astor in terms of olive branches. After Caroline left my apartment last night, leaving me to ride out the tipsiness from my wine alone, I’d racked my brain for a possible peace offering. Because while I felt bad for my execution, I wasn’t totally apologetic for the meaning behind the words. So I needed an apology without an apology. It’d taken all night, but I’d finally landed on one thing. The perfect thing.

I just had to pick up the phone and call Aaron’s hotel room.

Letting out a forceful breath, I shot my arm forward, breathing through the sick feeling that reared its head. Punching in his room number, I held my breath while it rang. My throat became tighter and tighter with eachbrrrrrng.

Maybe he won’t pick up. Maybe he’s off somewhere with Fiona, and I just wasted the last ten minutes for no reason. Maybe?—

At the last moment, there was a click. “Hello?”

The phone nearly slid from my fingers, but my stomach dropped instead.

“Hello?” Aaron repeated when I didn’t speak. He sighed once, and I knew he had to be drawing the phone away from his ear, ready to replace it to its base.

“It’s me,” I rushed out, scrubbing a hand over my lips. I waited in the hanging silence for the click, sure that Aaron hadn’t heard me.

The pause stretched for another beat. “Me,” he repeated.

“Lovey.”

Another pause, and this time it was longer. “Lovisa.”

He didn’t sound horribly annoyed, at least. He didn’t immediately hang up, either. A good sign. “Uh… are you busy?”

“Busy?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” I asked, and then froze when I realized how snapping the words could’ve sounded.Notpeace offering material. “I, uh—well. You know the music hall?”

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