The Problem With Pretending Read Online Emma Hart

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Funny Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
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“Looks like the murderous snowman is going to get me after all.”

“Jesus Christ. Come on, let’s get out before we get stuck among the books.”

“I wouldn’t be mad about that,” I replied, pushing away from the side table. “Although I suppose it’s a rather useless place to be without any light to read the books by.”

“Indeed.”

We took no more than three steps before the bright light of his phone disappeared and plunged us back into darkness. All we had was the gentle glow of the fireplace, but even that wasn’t bright enough to fully light our way.

I sighed. “Great.”

“Here.” He reached out and brushed his fingertips against my hand then grabbed it, using it to tug me closer. I almost tripped into his side, and I swatted his chest with my free hand.

I was more focused on him than the table that was right in front of me—small, dark, and possessing an extremely solid set of legs.

“Ouch!” I jerked back, hopping on one foot. “Motherfu—ow, ow, ow!”

“What did you do?” William asked, turning around, reaching for me. “You stubbed your toe?”

“You yanked me, and I was more interested in you than watching where I was going.” I used him for balance as I grabbed my foot, pressing my fingers down on my throbbing toe. “Ow.”

“That’s right, blame me.” He laughed and wrapped one arm around me, steadying me on my one foot. “You’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t feel like your toe is falling off.”

“You’re being very dramatic.”

“I just stubbed my toe, William. If there’s ever a time to be dramatic, it’s now.”

Laughing, he tucked me against his side and manoeuvered us around the side table, forcing me to release my foot. I gingerly set it down, putting the weight on my toes.

Why was it always the baby toe?

How could such a small appendage hurt so much?

“You’ll be fine.”

“It might be broken,” I pointed out, trying to wiggle my toes.

“If it was broken, you’d know.”

“How?”

“You just would. That’s how I know you haven’t broken it,” he said dryly. “Why did you have to forget your phone?”

“Why did you not check to make sure yours was charging?” I shot back.

“Touché.” His fingers lightly tickled my side. “Do I have to carry you out of here, or do you think you can make it without falling over yourself?”

I sniffed. “I can manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you keep carrying on like this, you won’t be making it out of the library.”

“Ooh. Miss Brown in the library with a book. There’s something Cluedo didn’t think about.”

Miss Brown.

I wasn’t Miss Brown, though.

I stilled, drawing him to a stop with me. “I…”

“What?” He looked down at me, and somehow, some-frigging-how, I was looking right into his eyes.

They were so bright despite the darkness.

I didn’t know how or why that was. How he always managed to stand out. He’d done that since we’d walked into each other at the coffee shop.

I wanted to say since we’d met, but that wasn’t true. We’d met long before that day, and he still had no idea about it. About whom I was, who my family was.

I had to tell him the truth.

“Are you sure you didn’t break your toe?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. He stepped in front of me and looked down.

“I’m sure, I—” I drew in a deep breath and stepped away from him. His arm was still around me and I pushed it away, turning my back to him and burying my face in my hands.

I could do this.

It was going to be fine.

And if not, it didn’t matter.

Right?

“Grace, what’s wrong?” Concern laced his tone, and I pressed the tips of my middle fingers into the inner corners of my eyes, like the pressure there would make it easier to admit that I was a big, fat liar.

“I have to tell you something,” I said quietly.

“Okay,” he replied slowly. “So tell me.”

“It wouldn’t be Miss Brown in the library with a book.”

Great. Well done, Grace. Excellent start, you nincompoop.

“Brown isn’t really my surname,” I continued, dropping my hands without turning to look at him. “Well, it is, but it isn’t.”

He didn’t say anything.

“And the coffee shop wasn’t the first time we met. But I didn’t know that. And if I did, I wouldn’t be here,” I huffed. “I made a big fuss about you when I didn’t exactly say anything either. I’ve hardly told the truth about who I am.”

Again, nothing, and then he said, “Forgive me, Grace, but I’ve got absolutely no bloody idea what you’re on about.”

“That makes two of us,” I muttered, finally turning around.

“Can we not have this conversation somewhere else?”

“No. If you can see me, I might lose my balls.”

“Lose your balls? I’d say having a pair is certainly a secret you’ve been keeping.”


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