Page 39 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

I quickly slip it on, and I’m surprised to find that it’s my perfect size. It doesn’t sag anywhere, and it feels like a second skin. When I stare at myself in the mirror, I don’t recognize the person looking back at me.

What proves difficult is the zip behind me. I try to reach it, but I’m scared of straining so far that I tear the fabric and ruin it.

“Let me help you.” I hear his voice before I see him, and Jonathan materializes right behind me. He looks handsome in his tailored suit, with his hair styled to perfection. It takes all my willpower to get my brain working again, because seeing him like this feels almost wrong.

“I—” Before I can protest, his hands move behind me and I feel his fingers brushing the nape of my neck, making me inhale sharply. Slowly and deviously, he trails his hand down my spine and slowly zips my dress up.

Jonathan leans down, his breath warm against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. The air between us tightens, thick with something unspoken. He says nothing else, and yet the tension is there, hot and needy as ever. It curls around us, and I know he can feel it too.

He pushes my hair back with one hand, causing my heart to break into a sprint. Jonathan turns me around so I’m facing the mirror, and I see him reflected in the glass, his mouth dangerously close to my ear.

“You look beautiful today, my wife,” he whispers into my ear, making me shiver again. I lean into him without thinking. I can’t seem to control my movements or my thoughts around him. I lean against his hard chest and inhale the smell of his cologne. It’s divine.

“I hope I’m not late for the banquet,” I whisper, my eyes lazily blinking up at him.

Jonathan grins at me. “It’s fine. We’re the main event anyway. We can take a few moments of our time to appreciate your beauty.”

I can’t help it—I give him a huge smile. “Have you always been such a smooth talker? I feel like I never knew this part of you existed.”

He just smiles and says nothing else, eyes completely focused on me. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t even blink. At moments like these, it’s hard to remember that this is all fake. My mind is so clouded that I can’t differentiate between reality and fiction.

“Is this real?” I find myself asking, unable to stop the question. I want to know if it’s real. I want to know what he thinks of me, ofus. I want to ask about the woman who kissed him, and what she means to him. I want to ask about the flowers that he got me, the same ones that he stopped sending because I told him not to. I want to say so much, but I can’t make all the words come out.

Then, just as fast as he smiled and flirted with me, he pulls away.

Jonathan’s expression hardens, his gaze fixed on anything but me. Not a smile, not even a glance in my direction. My stomach twists, a cold weight settling in my chest as the warmth from moments ago vanishes. He steps away from me and clears his throat as he stares down at his watch.

“We’re running late, Emma, so I suggest you hurry up and get ready,” Jonathan says in a cold voice, so cold that I feel it running down my spine. It shatters me in a way, leaving me feeling a cacophony of emotions. Most of all, I feel thoroughly confused at his sudden coldness.

“Jonathan?” I say his name like a question. I can’t even hide the fact that I’m wounded. My throat closes up as I watch him turn into the stoic version of himself. This feels foreign to me.

“What?” he asks, frowning. “I need you to get ready so we can leave. We can’t dally around all day, Emma. I returned to pick you up, and you aren’t even ready.”

I want to cry, or maybe laugh at myself for being such a fool for letting my heart feel anything for this man. I can’t believe him.

“You’re sick,” I say to him, disgusted. “I get that you’re literally the devil incarnate, but you can’t play around with my feelings like this.”

Jonathan gives me a hard stare, exhaling sharply as he straightens his tie. “You reminded me, remember?” His voice is flat, devoid of any warmth. “None of this is real, and I don’t see the point in being nice to you when you said it yourself that this is all fake. No one is watching us.”

I let out a hoarse laugh, my fists clenching at my sides, even though nothing about this is funny. I’m very aware of the fact that this is my fault. Jonathan is using my words against me, and I can’t believe I ever had any feelings for him. My eyes sting with tears, but I hold them back. If he wants to be unfeeling, then I won’t show my real feelings either. I will look ahead and pretend he doesn’t exist.

I nod at him coolly. “I need a moment alone to finish up here. Thank you very much for helping me with the zipper.”

Jonathan nods once, pauses, and then leaves me alone. The second he leaves, I feel the urge to crumple onto the floor and cry. I want to sob into my pillow and then return to my room at Reed’s house and cry some more. Now when I look in the mirror, the silver dress looks ugly. I want to tear this dress apart, to ruin it completely—so I never have to think of Jonathan again.

But no, I have to show up. It doesn’t matter what my heart yearns for, because I won’t get it. I think of the contract, the deal we have yet to complete. I just have to attend this last event, and then I’ll be done with him.

Maybe I’ll even move out, leave this town behind, and start a different life. Perhaps I could return to New York now that I have a manuscript that’s nearly finished and another story idea in my head. I think of it for a while and it doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but it feels a lot like running away, which is something I don’t want Jonathan to think I’m doing.

Besides, I love Grover Hill too much to leave because of him. I love being here. The scenery is better than anything in the big city, and I love my brother and my best friend too much to leave them again. Besides, it’s my hometown. I was born here and my parents were buried here. I can’t leave all of this just because my heart feels like a thousand needles are being stabbed into it.

Okay, maybe not a thousand needles. But still, I should move on.

“Okay, you’ve got this,” I say to my reflection, and I take several deep breaths. My reflection looks ready, but I still feel like a disaster on the inside.

I guess that’s the thing about emotions—no one truly knows what you’re feeling unless they can see the cracks in your heart. But no one will. Not even Jonathan.

I walk out to meet him. He stands by the door, arms crossed and his gaze distant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. I don’t even glance his way. Instead, I walk toward the door, and he follows me. Jonathan’s long strides easily outpace mine, and he reaches the door first, holding it open with a practiced ease. A gentleman’s gesture—one that doesn’t fit the man I know he is.

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