Page 53 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

“Sushi,” I say, because that’s our fake favorite food.

“Like they knew we were coming!” she says.

After what seems like an endless appetizer course and a song sang by children that is long and boring and makes me glad they are sequestered on a deck of their own, the main course is served. Tabitha and I both choose the fish with a hazelnut crust.

“So where did you two meet?” Marvin asks, looking from her to me and back to her.

“Work,” I say curtly.

There’s an awkward silence, and I know I should add something, but I would so much rather drive my fist into his face. If Marvin so much as breathes in her direction again, he is going to find himself laid out on the floor eating his own broken teeth.

Unfortunately, other people are listening. “Work?” one of the cousins says.

Tabitha puts her hand on my arm and leans forward. “I was his hairdresser. I have mobile styling business, and Rex was one of my clients.” She grins at me.

I tilt my head. “Two years you were cutting my hair.”

“And then what?” Marvin asks.

“Yeah, what’s the story?” PR woman Nala asks.

“We always had this fun jokey thing going when I’d give him his weekly trim.” Tabitha gazes at me. “We were kind of simpatico, right from the start.”

“Simpatico,” I agree, looking at her, waiting for her origin story. She was the one who thought we needed one.

She beams. “It was all very professional, at first, but in a fun way. Us talking about our days…” She trails off.

Is that all she has? Shit. I grab my drink, and take a swig.

She blinks, looking like she’s racking her brain. “Buuuuut then I was out for tapas on a Tinder date one night. And out of the blue, I spotted Rex across the place. He was with some guys. Important clients from Tagastan, I found out later.”

I nearly choke on my drink. That’s not even a country. “You mean the Greeks,” I say.

“Right,” she says. “And remember how you kept looking over at me?”

“Well, it was strange to see you out of context.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s all it was,” she says sarcastically.

Her fox-brown eyes look soft and translucent in the candlelight. She reaches up and smooths a bit of my hair sideways.

“He was burning up with jealousy,” she continues. “And he didn’t realize what a high point of his week my haircuts were until he saw me with another man.”

I hold my breath. Where is she going with this?

“He didn’t like it at all,” she continues, beaming at me, “but of course, he would never come over. Rex would never hit on another man’s woman.”

It’s true, actually. It shouldn’t mean anything that she’d guess such a thing, but I like that she did. “A man doesn’t hit on another man’s partner,” I growl.

This seems to delight her. “You have a code. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.”

I swallow. I do have a code. Does she really admire it?

She grins. “The Tinder date was going poorly. The guy was drunk. And suddenly he gets kinda handsy. I was like, ‘no, thank you, dude.’ But some of these Tinder bros…”

“Oh my god, right?” Kitty Driscoll shrieks.

Tabitha flings up a hand. “Save us from the Tinder bros, right?” The Driscoll girls are laughing. “And suddenly Rex is there,” she continues, gaining steam. “And he clamps his hand on the guy’s shoulder, like really hard, and he growls.”

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