Page 9 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
“I really thought I would never see him again.” She turns and tugs my hand, trying to walk in the opposite direction, completely forgetting about the bags of books at our feet, until a voice calls out from behind me. A man’s voice.
“Tessa?”
She freezes and then spins on her heel. Her eyes are wide, her grip on my hand tight. I give her a squeeze and turn around, too. There’s a white American man walking away from the bar of the hotel. An Asian woman perches at one of the barstools he just vacated, watching him walk toward us.
He’s sharply dressed, fitting in perfectly at the hotel, while my polo shirt and khakis are out of place. The woman he left behind has a severe haircut, black clothes, and wears a lot of jewelry. They both look well-put-together and wealthy; her purse is a brand I recognize, not the same as Tessa’s. “James,” Tessa says in greeting, an undercurrent of tension in her words. She’d mentioned a James, hadn’t she?
“Fancy seeing you here,” the guy says, waving for his partner to join us. She gracefully gets to her feet and follows him, her jewelry catching the light and making her sparkle. James holds his arms out for a hug as his partner joins us. Tessa reluctantly accepts the hug with one hand, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder.
“It is my favorite hotel in Paris,” Tessa says.
“And I have you to thank for introducing me to it,” he responds.
The guy’s attention turns to me, and his gaze zeros in on our hands, which are still tangled together. “Who is this?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
Tessa looks down at our joined hands and then glances up at me. There’s a moment of hesitation, and I smile at her. The grin she returns is mischievous. Her hand relaxes, letting go of mine, and Tessa’s arm slides around my back to grip my waist, her other hand coming up to my chest. I return the embrace, wrapping my left arm around her shoulders, but instead of cupping her, I let my palm sit at the junction of her neck and shoulder. James’s eyes zero in on my hand.
“This is Luc,” Tessa says.
“A tour guide?” James’ attention is on my shirt now, where the company logo sits. His lips curl up in a sneer like he’s judging her for being on a guided walk of the city or judging me for my job.
“Well—” Tessa starts, but I interrupt in French.
“Tessa’s far beyond the need for a tour guide in Paris. She’s practically a local.”
He glares at me. “We don’t speak French.”
I pretend to be embarrassed and switch to English. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I was just saying, Tessa doesn’t need a tour guide. Sheisso fluent and familiar with the city.” I look down at Tessa, and she’s already flushed from the compliment, so I squeeze lightly with my fingers. Her reaction distracts me; her eyelids flutter, and her body shudders against mine.
Interesting.
A throat clears, and I break eye contact with Tessa. I offer a hand to James.
He takes my hand, and the handshake is so typical of a guy with money, I almost laugh; a firm grip as if to put me in my place beneath him. James glares at me when our hands drop, and I’m clearly not forgiven for pointing out that they’re the ones dealing with a language barrier, not Tessa.
It’s petty, but if one were keeping score, I’d be winning.
I don’t like this guy, and I can’t believe that us running into him is that big of a coincidence, but I feel the need to stand up for her, stake my claim over her and wipe the smirk off this moron’s face.
The woman at James’s side clears her throat, and James introduces us. “Tessa, Luc, this is Yumi.”
Yumi offers her hand to Tessa and smiles. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not.
And then James justhasto open his mouth again. “Yumi is my girlfriend.”
Yumi nudges him, eyes wide, and James laughs. “Oh, right. You’re the first ones to hear. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my fiancé now.”
Tessa, who had relaxed against me somewhat, stiffens again.
They don’t notice, and Yumi tosses her straight black hair with a flick of her chin and holds out her left hand, showing off an enormous diamond ring. “He just proposed today! At the Eiffel Tower.” She gazes up at James with fluttering eyelashes, but James is watching Tessa. Us bumping into them cannot be a coincidence; it’s calculated to rub their engagement right in Tessa’s face. This is one of those things I’ll never understand about human nature. How can someone intentionally hurt a person as sweet as Tessa?
Tessa doesn’t react, but with all the discussion today about romantic gestures and the city of love, Tessa’s got to be hurt. She obliges social conventions and leans in to admire the ring. “It’s beautiful,” she says, and Yumi and James preen. Despite the situation, I feel like laughing because even though I’ve only known Tessa for the better part of the day, I know she’s lying. She’s smiling, but it’s fake, and James and Yumi are too self-absorbed to notice. “This isn’t your grandmother’s ring, though,” Tessa comments.
“Oh, no. Yumi would never settle for that thing,” he laughs.
Tessa doesn’t flinch at the insult. I wonder how Tessa knows what his grandmother’s ring looks like. Perhaps they’d looked at it together, planning their future.
Beneath my hand, I feel Tessa brace herself. “Were you surprised?” she asks Yumi. Tessa is so achingly polite when all I want to do is punch James.
