Page 52 of The Americana Playbook

Fitz slips his hand in mine. “Come. Let’s put your new hobby of spending my money to a good cause.”

I lean all my weight into my heels. “I told you, I’ll pay?—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Parker. With me, you’ll want for nothing.”

I’m taken aback by his serious tone, and Fitz knows it. “What’s with you tonight?”

“What’s with me?”

“You’re awfully enthusiastic about this.”

“The auction?” he asks.

“Us,” I clarify. “You’re awfully…”

Into me, I nearly say.

“Bourbon and a beautiful woman would do that to you, Parker.”

My eyes widen.

“You can take the compliment. You’re beautiful. Do you need me to poll everyone in this room?” he teases. “I’ll only say this one more time. Since you’re mine, you’re going to be taken care of the way you deserve. Besides, you in that dress is already a return on my investment.”

“I still think you’re enjoying this a little too much.” I try to keep my tone kind of playful, but I still stand by what I’m saying.

This ismorethan I expected—more touching, more closeness, more effort even when it’s just the two of us. Then again, it’s not like I have other fake relationships to compare. Maybe this is how it should be. But there’s something about the way his finger rubs against my ring that makes me feel it carries more weight than the sum of its carats.

“I’m just making lemonade out of lemons,” Fitz tells me.

“Did you just call me a lemon?”

His mouth winds into a grin. “Yeah. When you’re added to something, you make it better. No matter what it might be.”

Fitz changes the subject again, pointing out a private whale-watching excursion on the auction table. But my thoughts are elsewhere, wondering if he notices how my hand grows sweaty in his as I try to decipher how it’s possible he remains so calm, cool, and collected against my nerves when I’m the one who orchestrated all of this in the first place.

* * *

“I’m surprised he let you out of the house looking like that.”

With my legs crossed, the slit rides all the way up my thigh. I shift in my seat, bringing the fabric to curtain together. I’m about to vomit a sea of excuses about how Fitz gave me little notice, but that wouldn’t exactly support our cause, considering Lo and everyone at this table believe we’ve been in a relationship for well over a year.

“I was so busy down in DC,” I tell Josh’s wife, Lo, “The gala completely slipped my mind. I had to scramble. I guess it’s a little boring.”

Lo throws her mane of bouncy blonde curls back. “Boring? The way that’s draped on you? I just meant, considering he kept you hidden away for all this time, maybe Fitzy is the protective type.”

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. I have no idea if Fitz is protective, but I go ahead and assume at least a little bit because, for the first hour we spent here, he didn’t go a minute without touching me in some way.

“I don’t blame you for not going to the games and all that. Seeing as, you know”—she looks at Agent Samuels against the wall—“you kind of have an entourage.”

I try to fight off the grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’ve never had a friend with private security before. Josh doesn’t exactly ride with that crowd. But you have to promise you’ll come to games next season. We really have a lot of fun. And don’t let them fool you”—she motions around the table—"they act all macho and like their head is only in the game, but nothing makes them happier than having us there. They totally love it. Bonus points if you rock his jersey.”

I would’ve thought thatwhois watching the game is far less important than playing the game itself, especially for someone as focused and determined as Fitz. I glance at him to my right as he leans back in his chair with his head turned away from me. When Lo is called into another conversation, I place my hand just above Fitz’s knee. Like it’s instinct, he covers it with his own.

“Doyoulove it?” I ask, my question a whisper.

Fitz drags his face to mine. “What was that?”

---