Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I never want you to change, Hutton. I’ll always take you. I just wish you could see yourself like I do.”
I kissed her, glad that she saw me in a positive light, that she thought I was capable of doing things I knew I wasn’t. It meant that I was doing a good job playing this role—this version of me that deserved her—and she couldn’t see the man behind the curtain.
I had her convinced.
The following day, we slept late and ordered room service for breakfast, which we ate in bed while we looked at photos of us from last night online. I wasn’t at all surprised that pictures of us had been snapped without our even realizing it, but Felicity seemed shocked that she was now a figure of public fascination.
Many of the photos were blurry, zoomed-in shots of the ring on her finger. The internet speculated wildly about where it was from, how many carats the diamond was, and what it might have cost.
“Hutton.” Felicity looked at me with alarm. “Tell me some of these guesses are way too high.”
I shook my head. “I’m not even looking at that bullshit.”
The comments, as always, were a mix of effusive praise and shitty garbage.
OMG so cute together!
Seriously? Her??!
Couple GOALS!
He could do so much better.
Omg so pretty DM to collab pls
WTF Zlatka was way hotter
“Wow. People just say what they think, don’t they?” Felicity scrolled down through hundreds of comments on one pic. “How do you deal with this all the time?”
I took her phone from her hand and tossed it aside. “Fuck the internet. What would you like to do today?”
“I’d love to sightsee a little bit, but will people be following us everywhere trying to get pictures?” She touched her hair. “I feel weird about that. I’m not Zlatka, and people expect a supermodel, or at least someone with symmetrical hair and—”
“Hey.” I pulled her close to me and leaned back against the headboard. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that you are not Zlatka. You are superior to her in every way. You are beautiful inside and out, and you are real.”
“Thanks.” But her voice was hesitant. “I guess I’m stupid. I didn’t foresee this problem. But why would a billionaire choose a girl like me?”
Rage burned in my chest—at the idea she thought she wasn’t good enough for anyone, at the assholes out there who couldn’t just mind their own business, at myself for dragging her into this. “Listen to me. You are way too good for every billionaire I’ve ever met, and that includes me. Fuck those people.”
“I’ve never worried about, like, leaving my house before. It’s kind of a shitty feeling.”
I kissed the top of her head and held her tighter. “Being in the public eye is really fucking hard. Especially when you didn’t ask for it.”
“How do you handle it?”
“I don’t leave the house much. But I’m sorry I dragged you into this fucked-up orbit. I should have known better.” I paused. “Want to head home?”
She didn’t answer right away, and for a moment I was scared she’d say yes. But then she sat up and looked at me. “No. You’re right—fuck those people. They can’t steal our joy. Our fake engagement joy.”
I laughed. “Damn right.”
“We’re only here one more day,” she said, her voice getting more fierce. “I want to do things. If we hide out, the jerks win.”
“You tell me what you want to do, and I’ll do it. Even if there’s a crowd.”
“Nothing too fancy. How about the zoo?”
“Done.”
“But cancel the driver, okay? Let’s just walk. I don’t want to call any attention to us.”
“Good idea.”
We dressed like regular tourists in jeans and sneakers and T-shirts, and wore matching navy baseball caps (which I sent a concierge out to purchase) pulled low over our faces.
“Ready?” I asked her as she finished tying her shoelaces.
She stood up and grinned. “Ready.”
We left the room and walked toward the elevator. I was glad to see the excited smile back on her face, and honest to God, if I saw one person with a phone or camera pointed at us, I was going to kick their ass. Reaching for her hand, I pulled it to my lips and kissed it.
That’s when I noticed she wasn’t wearing the ring.
She saw me studying her hand. “Don’t worry, I left it in the safe.”
“That’s fine.”
“It’s not because I don’t love it or I feel strange wearing it. I just didn’t want anyone recognizing us. The ring seemed like a giveaway.” Her expression was concerned, like she was afraid I might be upset with her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand.” And I did—I’d taken my expensive watch off too. “You can wear it or not wear it whenever you want. That ring is yours, Felicity.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
I meant what I said, but as the elevator descended, I still felt an ache take root in my chest. It was true—the ring was hers.