Page 89 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“Bedtime,” I say, my voice lower than I mean it to be.
Helena nods but doesn’t move; she just stands there, looking up.
I put my hand on the back of her neck and guide her into the bedroom, where I lift the blankets, wait for her to slide under,and tuck her in. She looks like she’s half-asleep already. When I straighten to leave, her fingers catch my wrist.
“Stay,” she whispers. “Just until I fall asleep.”
Every rational part of me knows this is a terrible idea, that I shouldn’t even entertain the thought. The problem is that I don’t have many rational parts left in me. Instead, the way she’s looking at me—something soft, something raw and vulnerable—has me sinking onto the edge of the bed without question.
She turns on her side, still holding my hand, pulling me in behind her. And I let her. Because I’m weak. And dumb. And… falling in love.
Desperately falling in love.
We don’t speak. We just sink into each other like brushstrokes on a canvas.
This might be a bad decision. But holding her like this doesn’t feel bad one bit.
I've spent my life pretending. Pretending to be someone I'm not. Wearing masks so convincingly that sometimes I forget who's underneath them all. But with Helena, I find myself wanting to be real. Wanting to be me.
And that’s more terrifying than any con I've ever pulled.
Helena’s breathing slows quickly, her body relaxing into mine. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For today. For everything.”
29
HELENA
At first, it doesn’t register. My brain is still adrift somewhere between dream and reality, still warm with the remnants of Ben’s body pressed against mine. But when I reach over, the bed is cold, the Ben-shaped indentation gone, and that well-known knot in my belly makes a dramatic comeback.
For a moment, I just lie there, holding my stomach, staring at the ceiling like it owes me more answers. The apartment is quiet—too quiet—and I hate how the absence of him feels like something has been stolen.
It’s ridiculous. I’ve been alone for years—by choice! I’m good at it. I’ve practically built a whole persona on isolation. But now that I’ve had him wrapped around me once or twice…
I miss him.
I sit up, pushing the covers down with a sigh, only to freeze when the bedroom door swings open.
Ben walks in, his hair wild, his shirt rumpled, holding a tray like he just raided a cute French café. There are two steaming mugs, a bowl with fruit, some jam, and something that looks suspiciously like croissants.
“I thought I’d have time to surprise you,” he says, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. It’s not the trained smile he gives everyone else. It’s real. Unpolished. Just him. “But apparently you’re up early. Missing your body pillow, hm?”
“You enjoy sneaking up on innocent young women in their bedroom way too much, you know that?”
“I just enjoy sneaking up on you. And I’m not sure I’d consider you all that innocent.”
Fair enough.I nod and move the blanket to make room for him. Ben sets the tray down and hands me one of the mugs. Our fingers brush against each other, and I’m pretty sure I blush.
“Thanks,” I mumble, sipping the coffee. “Okay. You’re forgiven for disappearing.”
“And for sneaking up on you?”
“And for sneaking up on me.”
“Good.” Ben takes a sip as well, kicks off his shoes, and slides in next to me. “Then I’ll forgive you for your snoring.”
Involuntarily, I spit a little coffee back into my mug. “Forgive me? Rude.” Our eyes meet—a teasing grin in his, the tiniest bit of outrage in mine. “You should be thanking me. That snore is basically a healing frequency. You’re welcome for the free therapy.”
He nods and grabs one of the croissants. “Well, that explains why I was up so early then. It was a very intense therapy session for me.” He scoots a little closer, our shoulders touching lightly.
