Page 77 of The Princess and the Fraud

I stared at my ex-boyfriend, the one who’d been long-distance for the majority of our relationship, and saw his words for what they were: manipulation.

Two weeks ago, had he come home and presented the same offer, I might’ve accepted. Two weeks ago, I’d even considered calling him to be my co-signer. And even now, I hated myself for thinking about it. I hated myself for being tempted by it, even if it was only for a moment.

But everything fell into place with Aaron before Grant had his chance. It was strange to think about—that Aaron had swooped in at exactly the right time.

I turned back to the roadway, hiding my trembling hands in my lap, curling my fingers into fists. “Take me back to Addison,” I told him, no room for anything else.

This time, wordlessly, Grant obeyed. He reached for the gearshift, merged in with traffic, and got on the road that’d lead us out of town. And the entire way back, neither of us spoke.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

“Let’s order another,” Paige suggested, and across the sticky bar table from me, she slumped her head into her hand. “I need another.”

I shook my head, but the slight movement left me spinning. “I can’t,” I said, and then, inexplicably, repeated, “Can’t.”

Paige picked up her water, gnawing on the straw. “You don’t work tomorrow. And—ha! Neither do I.” She took a long pull. “Ha. Freaking Alderton-Du Ponte. Freaking Mr. Roberts. Freaking Aaron Astor.”

Honestly, half her words went in one ear and out the other, because my world was a symphony oftoo much. Peter’s Bar & Grill was a magical place for busy Saturday nights, since ladies got half off drinks after ten. Group after raucous group came in and ordered their weight in sangrias and iced wines. The roar of people, combined with the blaring country music that sounded a bit more rock than twangy, sent me into sensory overload.

And my saliva was starting to taste like Irish whiskey. I didn’t like Irish whiskey.

“I gave six months of my life to that place,” Paige continued on, shaking her head. “Six months. And they just fired me! No warning, no scolding—I hadn’t done anything wrong before this. It’s ridiculous!”

Her mood had shifted drastically to when we first walked into Peter’s, with her head hanging low, blonde hair in her eyes. “I’ll drink what you drink,” I’d told her when we sat down, fishing out my ID. “Let’s drown your sorrows.”

I thought she’d order a shot of tequila—I could handle one shot of tequila—or maybe she’d go easy on me and order a cocktail. Apparently, though, she’d heard through the grapevine that green tea shots wereamazing, so she kept ordering them.

At first, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t like it. After forcing my third one down, I forgot I should’ve been honest.

“And thenyougo and waltz out of your shift, only for no one to notice!” Paige threw her hands up, incensed. “Not that I’m upset with you, of course, but I get why everyone else calls you the Princess of Alderton-Du Ponte, like,sarcastically. It is kinda annoying.”

I picked up a fried pickle chip that sat on the table between us, accidentally dropping it in the ranch. Furrowing my brow in determination, I tried to fish it out. The ranch was like quicksand, though, sucking my pickle chip into its depths. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, because I’m done.” Paige flung herself back against the booth. “I don’t need those stupid, stuck-up, richfreaks. In fact, I hated acting all proper all the time. I’d much prefer a place like this, where you can throw your peanut shells on the floor. Aaron Astor wouldn’t be caught dead in here.”

I smirked as I imagined it.

“How we doing over here?” the waitress asked as she stopped over.

Her features had once been so clear, and now all blurred together. I blamed the bar’s low lighting. “Could we—” My words came out stilted. I took a second to regroup. “Could we have the check?”

“Ignore her,” Paige said quickly, leaning her forearms onto the sticky table. “We’ll take another round.”

I sucked in a breath, and it tasted like bad decisions. “No, we will not.”

I blew past my limitagesago. I couldn’t even remember how many shots she’d made me take—the server had taken the glasses away because too many filled the table. My stomach churned with the alcohol, but the buzz—who was I kidding, I was pastbuzzed—still made the world happy and fuzzy and warm. But still. No more.

Paige, though, nodded at the server. “She will. One more, and then she’s done.”

The waitress gave me a sympathetic look, but nudged my glass closer to me. “You should drink more water, hun, or you’re going to regret it in the morning. Or, well, later tonight.”

I groaned.

Paige pushed the fried pickles closer to me when the waitress walked away. “Eat. The grease will help.”

I obeyed. “Since when did Post Malone start singing country?” I found myself asking, hiccupping. My lungs choked on that air. “This—this is Post Malone, right?”

Paige pressed her lips together as she gave a little sigh. “I’m over here, upset after being fired from the best job I’ve ever had, and you’re thinking about Post Malone?”

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