Page 120 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

I rubmy fingertips together to get off the calamari crumbs, foot in his lap, pulse racing with dangerous hope.

He wants to keep our relationship going. It’s exciting—heart-spinning-in-mad-circles exciting.

The waiter delivers what is probably the most delicious fish meal this side of Costa Rica. I try a bite, but I barely taste it. I want this so much.

“I don’t see why we can’t date after this, see where things lead,” he says. “Certainly there’s some middle ground between fake fiancés and a lifetime commitment of great and tragic proportions,” he says, trying to keep the grumpy out of his voice.

It just makes me love him more. It reminds me that this man has the power to break my heart more violently and completely than Jacob ever did.

A lot of the charm of Jacob was about belonging somewhere with somebody for once. Rex is light years beyond that—every little thing about him gets my heart pounding. I wouldn’t survive Rex dumping me, and how could this end any other way?

I say, “Dating won’t work with us.”

“Who says?” he asks.

“I do,” I say. “And also, every article ever written about you.”

“This is different,” he says. “We’re different.”

I eat some more fish, surprised my digestive system is functioning when my stomach is in knots. I want to say yes.

“Tabitha,” he says. His tone is raw. Real. “Tell me at least that you know we’re different.”

I set down my fork and look up at this gorgeous, temperamental man I’ve wanted for two years. I won’t lie to him. Because I love him. “I know we’re different,” I say. “I know.”

He straightens. “We can give it a chance, then. Take it slow. Baby steps.”

My heart pounds nearly out of my chest.

“Right?” he says. “Why not?”

Because you have too much power over me,I think.Because you’ll never love me like I love you.Because I’ve seen this movie, and I know how this ends.“Because we can’t.”

“That’s not a reason,” he says.

“It’s my reason.”

“That’s a shitty reason. Give me one actual reason,” he says. “Not a bullshit reason.”

“This isn’t a negotiation table,” I say. “You can’t huff and puff and blow my reason down.”

He has his stormy look; he really wants to huff and puff—really, really badly. This is a man who is not used to the word no.

“Can we rewind and just be here in this beautiful place?” I say. “Stop worrying about the future?”

“Not until you tell me you’ll keep an open mind,” he says.

I look at him sadly.

“How about if we stop thinking about the future just for right now?”

He rumbles a little. I put my hand down on the table, on his side. “Fine.” He takes it.

“Thank you,” I say.

He squeezes my hand, frustrated and determined and achingly real. I’m going to miss him after this.

I’m going to miss his loyalty and his nearly imperceptible sense of humor. I’ll miss the sharp intelligence in his gaze. I’ll miss the way his scowl softens when he’s feeling sentimental. The way the world lights up when he smiles his genuine smile, elusive as the dodo. I’ll miss the way his annoyance makes me want to grab the scruff of his beard and kiss his face. I’ll miss being able to do that.

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