Page 17 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

“What?” she mutters. “This better be good. I was actually having fun for the first time today, and you just ruined it.”

I give her a grim smile. “Well, consider this your lucky day, because there’s bad news. We leave for Bora Bora tonight.”

Emma sighs, looking away. “I suppose that’s part of the deal. I better get a perfect book out of this. Maybe two. You’re definitely getting more out of this than I am.”

“Hey!” I exclaim.

She rolls her eyes. “You know I’m right. Anyway, we can’t say no to this without looking suspicious.”

“You’re right,” I say.

She exhales, a wistful look crossing her face. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Feels like a cruel joke that my first visit will be with you.”

“You’re not the only one suffering,” I counter. “I’d rather stay back and catch up on work. But I’m just as stuck with you as you are with me.”

Emma scoffs. “Oh, don’t act like a tropical vacation is some great hardship.” Then she tilts her head, smirking. “Scrub that scowl off your face. We have people to impress. Big smiles now!”

She gives me a goofy look, then sticks out her tongue. I can’t help but laugh.

“You should be a comedian,” I tease. “You’re funny when you want to be.”

She lifts a brow. “Am I funny? Or are you just so smitten with me that you find everything I do hilarious?”

My heart stutters.

I don’t know how to respond.

This flirty dynamic? It’s new. Unfamiliar. And confusing. My heart shouldn’t be racing, yet here we are.

“I’m only laughing because you’re making a fool of yourself,” I finally say. It’s a lie. But she doesn’t have to know that.

Her smile falters for just a second. But then she recovers, plastering on a grin for the audience around us.

This I can handle—the biting remarks, the sharp edges, the teasing. Not this new, unfamiliar territory.

Then why does my heart crave the unfamiliar?

Mia rushes over, beaming. “Come on, you two! Let’s dance before you leave for your honeymoon!”

Emma’s hand slips into mine.

Our fingers lace together—effortless, natural.

And I hate that it’s not real.

Chapter 9

Emma

“No.”

Jonathan exhales sharply. “What do you mean, no?”

I cross my arms. “No. Absolutely not.”

He rubs a hand down his face, clearly losing patience—but so am I. “Emma, we don’t have a choice here.”

“Absolutely not, Jonathan. I cannot, in good conscience, subject myself to this torture.”

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