Page 42 of The Bad Boy's Fake Wife

“I didn’t leave you alone. You were with your brother,” I point out, but she’s barely listening.

“I don’t know anyone here; I literally only came because of you.” She sighs. “Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I say. I guide her back to the table she was sitting at and motion for a waitress to get us some drinks. Emma still has that gentle smile in place, even though her words are sharper than they ought to be.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask her. The silence between us is deafening, and I want to talk to her.

Emma shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t know anyone here, and Reed disappeared seconds after you did. Do you know how awkward sitting alone like this is?”

The waiter sets down our glasses of champagne, and Emma lifts hers, taking a bold sip—then another. I watch, amused.

"You aren’t acting very ladylike," I tease. "That wasn’t very demure of you. Shouldn’t you be sipping it slowly?"

Emma rolls her eyes, swirling the champagne in her glass. "Get me another, and I promise I’ll sip it like the proper lady I am."

I chuckle and flag down the waiter for a refill. True to her word, she takes her time, raising the glass with exaggerated elegance.

“So,” I begin. “Reed says that your manuscript is almost ready? Are you excited?”

Emma grins. “Oh, Jonathan! It’s brilliant, I know it. Better than any of my work before this, and Agnes is very pleased with my progress.”

“That’s lovely to hear!” I say, genuinely meaning it. I like seeing her confident about her story like this, when only days ago she seemed ready to give up entirely and move on to something else.

“Am I doing well?” Emma asks, and I turn to her.

“Huh?” I ask, confused.

Emma repeats, “Am I doing well? Are we fooling them into thinking that we’re married and in love?”

I shrug. “The media seems to be buying it, so nothing else matters. But you’ve done your part well, so if this falls apart, it won’t be your fault.”

“l never said it would be,” she says.

We sit in silence after that, and it seems to stretch between us for an eternity. Emma doesn’t seem to mind, but I do. I already miss her voice—like I need to hear it just to stay sane.

I’m a mess, and I seem to keep digging myself deeper and deeper into my feelings.

Emma huffs. “Okay, I need to go find the restroom. Where is it?”

“Down that hall, if I’m not mistaken.” I point her in the right direction and watch her leave. She looks even better from behind—the dress really does hug her in all the ways a dress should.

Just then, a flash of ruby red trails right behind Emma, and I know it’s Jessica.

I follow them, keeping my distance. It might be a coincidence that they’re walking in the same direction, but I know Jessica well enough to know that she’s meticulous and she won’t stop at anything to get what she wants. What Jessica doesn’t understand is that nothing can make me want her ever again.

Emma turns the corner to the bathroom, and so does Jessica. I know this place, and this hallway leads nowhere but the restrooms. Jessica still hasn’t approached Emma, but I stay close, ready to intervene if something happens.

They slip inside the restroom and I realize I can’t follow them into the ladies’ room.

Crap.

The door is shut tightly so I stand there, staring and wondering if it’s worth it to barge into the restroom. But what if nothing is happening and I’m just making a big fuss for no reason? It could be possible that they’re just using the restroom at the same time, and I’m getting worried for nothing.

Minutes stretch by, each second heavier than the last. Neither of them comes out of the restroom. Just as I’m about to call out, a loud thud echoes from inside. Without thinking, I shove the door open, my pulse pounding as it swings wide.

Emma stands in the corner, wide-eyed, while Jessica blocks her path. A dangerous gleam flashes in Jessica’s eyes, and her grip tightens around something small and sharp—a pocket knife. My stomach twists.

“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice cuts through the tension. Jessica startles, just enough for me to lunge forward and knock the knife from her grasp. It clatters to the floor, and she gasps as if I’m the one who startled her.

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