Page 8 of Dirty Secret Love

The older woman huffs. “You mentioned you couldn’t fix the house. I had to ensure things were in order.”

Sutton’s posture stiffens. “I’m at work. You shouldn’t be here.”

The woman’s sharp eyes shift to me, sizing me up. “Well, if your fiancé is as affluent as you’ve bragged, you wouldn’t need to work. Sailor quit her job and is focused on her wedding. Have you set up a date? I hope he buys you a better house than the small place you live in.”

“I’m engaged, not married. And even then, I’ll pursue my passion,” Sutton retorts. “I’m marrying for love, not because of his money. I’m sure my sister couldn’t say that even at gunpoint.”

The woman scoffs. “This? It’s hardly a profession. What was the point of paying for your education if you were going to be putting books away for a living?”

“Can we discuss this later?” Sutton’s voice rises, exasperated.

The older woman smirks. “Invite me over to your house. I’d love to meet this mysterious fiancé,” she pauses, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, “assuming he’s real.”

That does it. I muster every ounce of confidence I have, straightening up. Extending my hand, I introduce myself. “River Kershaw. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Asher. Sutton speaks of you often.”

She looks at my hand, almost disdainfully, then at my face. “And you are?”

It’s obvious I’m not persona grata. I bet her demeanor would change if I was wearing a three-piece Brioni suit, a pair of Tom Ford loafers, and my hair had just been trimmed by Brayden Boyle—best thousand dollar investment.

Mrs. Asher isn’t looking at River Thorndale, instead, she’s trying to ignore a poor man with secondhand jeans and a terrible haircut done by his well-intentioned little sister. Playing the part of the Kershaws is brand new to me, and I don’t think I’m doing a good job. In fact, I’m hoping I’ll get to be myself again soon.

And since being in this town is all about pretending, I don’t see why I can’t continue this charade.

“I am River Kershaw,” I say, emphasizing my name with a pointed look. “Her fiancé.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You hardly fit the description. Where’s the wealth?”

A smirk plays at the corners of my lips. “My mother taught me that it’s poor form to dress with one-hundred-dollar bills to show my wealth.” I scoff. “She called it tacky. Clothes seem a more appropriate choice, don’t you think?” I shoot her a cheeky wink.

She narrows her eyes, assessing my attire. “Still, couldn’t you afford something more . . . refined?”

If I had to choose what I’m wearing, I would be asking for designer jeans. To this day, I can’t understand why CQS won’t go to my place and grab my belongings. I would be more comfortable wearing something I’ve chosen and not these rags.

Though, we both agree on the subject, I have to pretend that I’m okay with what I’m wearing. I lean back, looking her up and down with fake surprise. “I’m currently helping my uncle with the ranch. Why would I wear a ten-thousand-dollar suit for the occasion?” I glance sidelong at Sutton, silently communicating ‘Is she for fucking real?’

She shrugs as if she’s answering ‘See what I have to deal with.’ “Mom, as I told you earlier, we’re going out of town. I have a lot to do before we leave,” Sutton interjects, and it’s evident her patience is wearing thin.

Mrs. Asher’s gaze drops to Sutton’s hand, her face contorting into a look of concern. “Where’s your engagement ring? Did you lose it, again?”

Exhaling deeply, I shake my head. “Well, Sutton here has a knack for misplacing things. That’s two lost rings and a tennis bracelet. I’ve just placed an order for another custom design—with at least a ten carat diamond. Maybe the size will deter her from losing this one—five wasn’t enough.”

“It’s not necessary,” Sutton murmurs, her eyes slightly widened.

Ignoring the tingling sensation that travels up my arm when I touch her, I gently take her hand. The softness of her skin under my fingers sends a jolt of warmth through me. Bringing her hand to my lips, I press a lingering kiss on the back of it, my eyes never leaving hers. “Of course it is. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Mrs. Asher’s lips form a small ‘o’, clearly taken aback. “Oh.”

“So you’re with your uncle on the ranch then?” she inquires, attempting to divert the conversation.

Seizing the opportunity, I decide to push a few boundaries. If I’m going to pretend I’m profusely in love with this beautiful woman, I might as well get a few perks out of this agreement. “No. I live with Sutton, of course.”

She looks alarmed and glares at Sutton. “But you’re still a virgin waiting until marriage, right?”

Sutton’s cheeks redden, her eyes flashing with indignation. “Of course, Mom. We have separate rooms,” she asserts, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Fuck, she’s a virgin? I don’t know how to handle something like this . . . This is unexpected. What am I supposed to do with that information? But then, it hits me. This is all pretend. We’re not actually getting involved. We’re not. Right?

“I plan to wait until the wedding,” I say, winking at Sutton. “She’s worth it.”

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