Page 115 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

He glares at me. He doesn’t like being silenced.

I say, “Acting like it’s something else besides vacation sex.”

He flips us over, pins me down. “Is this still about the hate list?”

“Another way to ruin vacation sex—talk about the hate list.”

“Just answer me this—do you not believe my explanation for why I misconstrued my strong reaction to you, or do you simply not wish this thing between us to be anything more?”

“Oh my god,” I say. “Talking about our relationship now. I’m getting out my bingo card.”

“You’re not fooling me,” he says. “You feel it, too. I know I’m not wrong.”

I sigh and close my eyes.

“Is that youryou’re exasperatingsigh?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I whisper, and I shift his arm to not be like a stone under my right shoulder, shift so that we fit perfectly together, willing him not to say anything more, because I love the feeling of being in his arms.

I want to confess everything to him. I feel like I could tell him anything right now, and I want to tell him that I’m scared—scared of my own powerful feelings for him. But I might as well give him a knife and let him know he’s free to stab it into my heart at any time.

He seems to know that he’s pushed it, or maybe he wants to stay like this as badly as I do, because he stops with the relationship talk.

“Okay,” he whispers softly. “Okay, then.”

I nestle deeper in.

Chapter 19

Rex

I linger discreetlyat the breakfast bar, a ways away from where Tabitha is holding her Gail-enforced focus group.

I’m noodling on my phone, or at least that’s what I’m pretending to do; I don’t want to distract Tabitha or put her off her game by seeming to listen.

In truth, I’m listening with rapt attention. It’s fascinating to see her pull honesty and information out of the seven women without them even realizing it—that’s how good she is at making the whole thing feel like fun.

Running with such a light touch is smart; nothing ruins a focus group faster than when the people in it sense that you’re deeply invested in the outcome. It’s human nature to want to give the preferred answers, to please the person in charge.

She’s posing a series of either/or questions to the group now. She’s encouraging them to keep talking even when they have a problem with one of the choices. Serena especially seems to enjoy pointing out flaws in her plan, and Tabitha doesn’t seem unhappy about it; rather, she encourages her, drawing her out with that indomitable sparkle, perfectly at ease.

The group is laughing. They don’t see Tabitha’s intelligence, her preparation. Except for Gail—Gail sees it. Gail chimes in from the sidelines now and then, but she trusts Tabitha, and Tabitha trusts her.

Tabitha had told me that she likes Gail, but now I see how much she likes Gail, how much she looks up to her. They’ve found a certain kinship. It makes sense; Tabitha’s mother sounds like she checked out early; a woman like Gail taking an interest in Tabitha would mean everything. And none of Gail’s daughters seem to have taken an interest in business.

They’re perfect together.

Is this what Marvin senses? Does he feel threatened?

She throws out another idea, hidden in a volley of ideas like so many bright balls in the air, all fun and games.

I know it’s an illusion—I can see right through her. She cares more deeply than most people realize.

The yacht dropsanchor in the St. Herve harbor right on time that afternoon. A group of fifteen of us board a dinghy to the shore.

Gail stayed behind; so did Clark. Marvin, unfortunately, is along, and so is Serena.

We head out into the bay; the water sparkles like diamonds on a field of unearthly blue. Tabitha sits at the front of the boat, squinting out at the dead volcano in the middle of the island. I told her to dress up in something somewhat nice, wanting the excuse of a romantic dinner to be alone, but I wasn’t prepared for the hotness of her in a cobalt-blue halter sundress.

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