Christmasland - Anne-Marie Meyer Page 0,45

it was her idea.

But was I just taking advantage of her? That wasn’t what I wanted to do. I’d been so focused on how I was feeling over these last few hours that I hadn’t thought about what this might to do Bea.

Was I going to hurt her in the end? I didn’t want to.

“I would suggest that if you don’t know what you are doing, perhaps you pull away?” Mom was fiddling with the handle of her mug when I turned my attention back to her.

That wasn’t fair. She’d convinced me to play along, and now she was telling me to back away? Realizing that Mom need more context, I turned to face her.

“Bea is just helping me.” I blew out my breath. “Scarlet showed up and wants to talk. Bea saw her and helped interject on my behalf.” I grabbed the next dish and flipped on the faucet. “That’s it. Nothing more.”

“Scarlet?” Mom asked.

I nodded as I stared at the water. “Yes. She flew in all the way from Chicago. You just checked her in.”

“Really?” Mom’s voice was a whisper.

I rinsed the dish and then stuck it in the dishwasher. “So it’s all fake. All of it.” It was strange, but saying those words hurt. It felt as if a dagger had been shoved into my heart. All of my experiences with Bea were fake. What I’d planned for her and what she’d proposed to me. None of it had to do with either of us wanting to be in a relationship. Instead, we were just creating a facade for the other.

Or, at least, she was creating that for me. The more time I spent with Bea, the more time I wanted to spend with her. I liked being around her. She made me laugh. She was easy to talk to. If planning ridiculous Christmas activities kept her around me, then I would keep doing that.

But for Bea, our “relationship” was nothing more than a smoke screen to help me save face in front of Scarlet. And even if we were successful in dispelling her, I was still going to be left alone in the end.

Bea would finish up her vacation here and leave. While I would be stuck behind with no future and only memories of the past.

And that sucked. All of it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with pretending?” Mom finally asked.

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. The truth was, no, I wasn’t okay with pretending. I was tired of this whole charade. I wanted something real, but when I lived in a town that literally peddled in fake realities, it was hard to remember what that even felt like.

So instead of speaking the truth, I lied for the umpteenth time since coming home. I nodded and shrugged. “Yep. I’ll be fine.”

Mom didn’t look convinced but thankfully didn’t push me further. Instead she just nodded and moved to pull some butter from the fridge. We worked in silence, her prepping the kitchen to make cookies and me loading the dishwasher. Once I was done, I excused myself and disappeared to my room. Thankfully Porter hadn’t decided to do the same.

I needed some privacy. I needed a break to gather my thoughts and focus. If I was going to pretend, then I needed to stop caring. But I feared that no matter how many times I tried to convince myself of that, it was going to be difficult.

Because I cared.

A little too much.

16

Beatrice

I was sprawled out on the bed, watching Em as she attempted to break down what I’d just told her. She was tapping her chin and casting her gaze upwards as she worked through my predicament in her mind.

When we’d got back to the room, I told her everything. I told her about the food fight, the almost kiss, and my agreement to be Ethan’s fake girlfriend as he tried to save face in front of his ex. Em’s eyes got wider and wider as I spoke. She had not been anticipating it, and when I was finished, I’d shocked my best friend into complete silence.

She took in a deep breath and returned her gaze to me. “Well, how do you feel about this?” she asked.

I chewed my bottom lip. I honestly hated that question. I felt a mess. My insides were jumbled, and my brain was of no help either. I wanted someone else to tell me what to do—what to think. I didn’t want to weed through my feelings and come