Page 26 of Faking With Mr. Steele
“That’s your best sisterly advice? How do I tell Mom?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re so blind.”
I run a hand through my hair. “What?”
“She loves you.”
“Who?” Is she talking about Mom?
“Zoe.” She places her hands on her hips, her eyes shooting bullets at me. “And you need to stop being an idiot.”
“No, she’s not. Trust me.” No, Zoe is doing this for a soap deal. And I don’t blame her.
“I know love, and she’s got it. And so, do you.”
“I do not,” I scoff.
Her brow rises, and her hands stay firmly rooted to her hips.
“I’m not in love.” I raise a brow back. “I’m not.” Right? I mean, Zoe is great—really fucking great—and I’d love to date her and all,but...
I don’t long term date. Ever. My life is simple, easy, it’s the making of my own design. And I like things the way I like them. I wouldn’t call me stubborn, but I’m definitely not one to go and fall in love.
Yet, Zoe just fucking does something to me, like makes my heart beat this whole new rhythm. If there was anyone who could get me to hang up my bachelor suit and tie, it would be her. She’d be the one I’d settle down with,but again…
I’mnotin love.
Lindsey nudges me. “Are you still sure you’re not in love?”
I scowl at her. “It doesn’t matter.” Because Zoe doesn’t love me.
“You need to just come out and be honest with mom.” She grabs my arm. “But, you need to be honest with yourself first.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thanks.” For whatever that advice meant. Be honest with myself? Sure.
The door opens, and Zoe stands before me looking like a vision in her ivory sweater and jeans.
“Zoe, I’m sorry.” I step inside and Trudy brushes past, leaving the room. Good. “Everyone—“
“Graham,” Zoe cuts me off, “we have to end this.”
“I know,” I whisper.
She looks around at the curious faces assembled. “We’re not really engaged,” she blurts out, and my mouth is drier than a desert. And then she confesses to everything, including being the mall elf. “I’m really sorry about that,” she says to Lindsey.
My mother stands statue still in the center of the room. “I don’t understand. So, you’re not getting married?”
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling a pit of sadness forming in the middle of my chest. “I can explain.” I step closer to my mother, trying my best to get control of the situation.
“So, no dress?” the skinny man in a fedora, holding a white gown in his hands, asks.
“Pierre, not now,” my mother snaps. “Explain, Graham.”
Before I can say anything, Zoe rushes past me with her mother in tow.
“Wait, Zoe,” I say, following her out the door. I touch her arm. “I want to see you again.”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”