Page 40 of Sweet Caroline
Can I? I’m trying to be honest here. Fuck.
A fresh wave of ugly resentment surfaces that her dad would put me in this position. I’d guessed from what I’d seen on TV that Pete Brennan would be an asshole, but this is next-level, top-shelf, above-and-beyond assholery.
“Red wine? White wine?” Another bright-eyed server appears at my side, presenting a tray.
Just one drink, a little voice in the back of my head whispers. That lying little voice I’ve spent all these months trying to shut up and stuff down. I grit my teeth, sweat prickling at the back of my neck. It takes everything I’ve got not to reach for a glass.
Taking one last look at Caroline, I force a step back, then turn and head straight for the exit. I hit the call button next to Barry’s name before I’ve even pushed outside.
9
CAROLINE
I’ve had an hour to spiral on the ride back to town.
Miles left. He just… left.
Nothing about it makes sense.
He swore I could trust him. He was confident—cocky, almost—about how he could handle being my fake boyfriend. And the night had been going well. We’d been having fun, he’d gotten along with Adrian, he’d played along for the photographer, and… he kissed me.
Well,almostkissed me.
Oh, God, and he’d pulled it off perfectly. I can still feel the way he’d whispered against my cheek, the way his words had fallen like silk on my skin. “This okay?”
It had been more than okay. For a relatively chaste and very public half-kiss, it had left me breathless. And there’d been regret in his eyes when we’d gotten interrupted, like he felt the same way. Wanted more.
But, when I came back from helping Adrian with Portia Stanhope, Miles was just… gone.
I should never have asked him to do this. It was too much.
Still, the need for answers tugs at me, and I scroll back through our texts.
Me
Where did you go?
Miles
Sorry. Something came up.
I can explain in person.
Can you swing by my place on your way home tonight?
Me
After midnight?
Miles
Anytime is fine. I owe you an explanation.
When the car rolls up to Miles’ building, I tell my driver not to wait. He gives me a look in the rear-view mirror but says nothing. Let him think what he wants; it’ll only help solidify the story that Miles and I are a real couple if he thinks I’m spending the night.
Dad had pulled me aside tonight and made it clear I’m in the doghouse for showing up with Miles instead of Fletcher. Despite his reservations—and his frustration over losing control of the narrative—he made clear what should have been obvious to me all along: this new boyfriend of mine can’t just disappear without fueling the very rumor I was trying to dispel. Now that I’ve been photographed with Miles a second time—and destroyed any ambiguity about our so-called relationship—I’ve committed us both to making this look real until after the election.
The fact that Miles took off on me earlier isn’t exactly boosting my confidence that he’ll want to keep helping me out.
