Page 79 of The Princess and the Fraud

Paige shot forward, eyebrows raised. “No kidding?”

“I know, I know.” I batted my hand between us, breathing hard. “I used to lack the mental capacity to know that dating a member’s son is abad idea. Especially a Holland. I was stupid. Dumb. Idiotic. Too tempted by big biceps and a full wallet. How pathetic.”

Something about that caused panic to flash in her eyes. “Maybe youshoulddrink more water, Lovey.”

No, what I really needed was this drinking sessionlast night, when the promise of alcohol could’ve dulled the memory of that stupid elevator incident more. No, instead I’d been fully sober, and even now, that nightmare was locked in, too easy to recall. “Aaron told Grant we were engaged—why would he do that? To make my life tougher than it is?”

“Ooh, what if Aaron’s jealous?” Paige waggled her eyebrows, and in the shadows of the bar, it looked almost scary. “Two rich men fighting over you? Sheesh, Lovey, and you’re upsetwhy?”

“They’re not fighting over me,” I insisted, going back to try to salvage my pickle chip from the pit of ranch. “It’s not like that. They just… both offered me a house.”

The explosion was what I expected from my tipsy counterpart. “What?” Paige all but shrieked, loud enough to cut into the air, causing heads to turn toward our table. Paige was oblivious, her jaw dropping. “Girl, what have you been getting into without telling me?”

The server stopped by our table before I had a chance to explain, setting our shots down in front of us. There was a bead of liquor that had fallen out of the glass on its journey over, dripping down the side of the glass. She pressed the bill to the table. “No rush,” she said to us, “but you’redefinitelycut off.”

She said it sympathetically. For my sake, probably. I looked at the green tea shot sadly.

“This house?” Paige prompted, not to be deterred.

“It’s my mother’s dream house,” I said, wrapping my fingers around the shot but not picking it up. “Aaron said he’d buy it for me if I helped him get married.”

“Generous guy.”

“But then Grant—he said he’d pitch in so I can buy it. Or, well, so we could buy it together.”

Paige’s nose wrinkled. “Oh. That’s easy. Go with Aaron. At least then you’re not the one spending money.”

“But Aaron’s not getting married for love.” I fell back into my seat, throwing my gaze to the dark ceiling. The abrupt action caused my world to tilt, to where I almost tipped over in the booth. “I’d be—enabling. He doesn’t think he deserves love. Or is made for love. One of those.”

Paige picked up her green tea shot. “I’m not sure he does, either.”

“Everyone deserves love. Even people who suck sometimes.” I turned my attention to the bead of liquor as it dribbled down my glass. “But Aaron… he doesn’t suck. I mean, he does, but he—he says dumb stuff sometimes. He’s just socially…inept. He’s good at putting on a mask and pretending, but when he tries to be genuine, he’s out of practice.”

She snorted before tossing her shot back, wiping the back of her hand along her lips. “Anything else you want to say about Aaron Astor?”

Gosh, there was so much, wasn’t there? “I want him to be happy. I don’t know why I want it so bad. But I look at him, and I see this, like, cute little boy making all the dumb decisions.” I brought my palms up, as if cupping his face. My mind’s eye filled in the blanks for me, and I could practically see his warm eyes staring back at me. “I want to tell him,shh, shh. Forget Fiona, forget the money, and just… let’s do it together.”

“Do what together?” Paige asked. “Get married?”

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t think of the answer. My brain hazed up, closing ranks around my consciousness. When I spoke next, it truly was my tongue moving without the help of my head. “Stop resenting the lives we’re living.”

A smile curved over her lips. “Together?”

This time, I picked my shot up, staring at the clear depths. “Together.”

I threw the shot back. Green tea shots didn’t burn the way tequila did, which made them that much more dangerous. But as this final shot slid down, I knew immediately, with a sinking feeling, that I shouldn’t have drunk it. That line I’d been teetering on, on the edge of too much? As soon as the liquid slid down my throat, I knew I’d just hopped over it.

Paige seemed to see the realization on my face, already fishing out for her purse. “Should we get an Uber?”

And that was the beginning of the end.

Apparently, blackouts weren’t silence—not for me. There was still sound, a melody unraveling without structure, notes smearing together like an out-of-tune piano played by unsteady hands. The world didn’t fade to quiet, but instead into a chaotic symphony, too many instruments clashing, their harmonies distorted. I didn’t remember Paige paying for the bill or calling the rideshare. Maybe those moments had been rests in the composition, empty beats lost in the measure. I could vaguely recall her asking where I lived, and I could remember telling her, “I live at Alderton-Du Ponte, didn’t you know?”

Everything after that was disjointed fragments of sound—half-played notes, unfinished phrases, a song unraveling before the final chord.

“I can’t take you to my house—my mom would kill me.”

“Can you take us to Massey Suites, please?”

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