Page 112 of Faking All the Way
“I’m not saying that’s definitely what’s happening here,” she continues quickly, her expression sympathetic. “But given the timing, and everything he’s been dealing with… I just think it’s worth being aware of the pattern.”
“My relationship with Asher isn’t any of your business,” I tell her, my voice coming out colder than I meant it to.
Alexis’s expression shifts, her veneer of bright friendliness slipping away like a mask falling. Her tone changes, becoming harder and more direct.
“Look, I’m just trying to help you see reality here.” She sets down the book she was holding, turning to face me fully. “Asher has obviously been going through a rough patch in his career over the past year. Struggling with the injury, dealing with uncertainty about his future. Floundering a little, if we’re being honest. Which explains how he ended up with someone like you.”
She purses her lips, one perfectly plucked eyebrow arching.
“But now that he’s signed with a major team? His star is about to rise again. The endorsement deals will start coming in, the media attention, all of it. And when he’s back at the top of his game, when he’s the Asher Vaughn everyone wants a piece of…”
She pauses, looking me up and down with an expression that manages to be both pitying and contemptuous.
“There’s no way he’s still going to want to be with a fat, struggling artist from a nowhere town.”
My head jerks back in shock, my entire body jolting at the casual cruelty of her words. She doesn’t even know me, but she’s managed to hit on every insecurity I’ve ever had about myself—about my body, my career, my worth—with horrible accuracy.
I stand rooted in place, unable to form words past the shock and hurt that’s flooding me.
“I’m sorry if that sounds harsh,” Alexis says, although her tone suggests she’s not sorry at all. “But someone needs to be honest with you. You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak if you think this is going to last. Asher needs someone who fits his lifestyle. Someone who looks the part, who can handle the social requirements, who belongs in his world. Not…”
She trails off, but the implication is clear.Not someone like you.
I turn on my heel and leave—not saying another word to her, not trusting my voice.
The bell above the bookstore’s door jangles violently as I shove my way outside, and tears blur my vision as I walk away, my arms wrapped around myself against the cold. It feels like I just got punched in the gut, all the air knocked out of my lungs.
Her words keep echoing in my head, over and over, like a recording stuck on repeat.
A fat, struggling artist from a nowhere town.
I walk without really seeing where I’m going, just putting distance between myself and Alexis. When I reach the edge ofthe town square where they’re setting up for the ice carving competition later, I finally stop. Workers are arranging blocks of ice, getting ready for the event I was so excited to attend with Asher not that long ago.
Now I can barely see it through my tears.
I close my eyes, dragging in a deep breath that hitches in my chest, trying to pull myself together. Trying to remember who I am, what I’m worth.
But all I can hear is Alexis’s voice.
I think about going home, but I don’t want to go to the cabin right now. It’s felt like home for the past couple of weeks, but right now it just seems like what it is—someone else’s property that I’m just using for a while. A borrowed space. A temporary arrangement.
Just like my relationship with Asher.
Just like me.
Chapter Forty
Asher
My dad and I have been working on clearing the basement out for about an hour now, making piles of stuff to get rid of and organizing what’s actually worth keeping. The space is packed with junk that probably started accumulating not long after he moved to Maplewood years ago.
Murphy keeps getting underfoot, weaving between our legs and investigating every box we open like he’s conducting a very important inspection. Every time I set something down, he tries to climb into it or bat at it with his paw.
“You’re not helping, big guy,” I inform him wryly. “You know that, right?”
He just meows at me and continues his investigation.
I eye an old wooden dresser shoved in the corner, half hidden behind a stack of boxes. The top is warped from water damage, and one of the drawers is hanging off its track. “You should get rid of that. It’s broken and just taking up space.”
