My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,39

like this again, that’s for sure.

And I really do need to focus on work!

“That’s great, Lorenzo. How about two o’clock? We’re doing a balcony brunch and then we’ll be ready to go.” Emily throws out one more jab, letting me know that my plan of ‘hanging out’ is grossly lacking compared to her romantic brunch overlooking the lush grounds of the resort.

I roll my eyes, but Lorenzo nods for us and Emily beams. “See you tomorrow!” Emily says as Lorenzo takes my hand and leads me . . . well, half drags me, out of Heat.

Once we’re in the elevator, I growl at him. “Why’d you agree to tomorrow?” I ask, finally able to be furious. “What are you trying to do, Lorenzo?”

I’m prepared for all sorts of answers. He likes kayaking. He thinks he and Doug can be bros. He wants to work on his tan, although that’s sort of stupid.

But I’m not prepared for what he says.

“Because I want to spend time with you,” Lorenzo says, his utter honesty flooring me as surely as a bonk on the head. “Without this fakeness, we have no excuse to be together. And all through dinner, all I could think about was that as I had you pinned to the door earlier, I never got a chance to taste your lips the way I want to. I want to taste them, feel your tongue on mine, feel your legs wrap around my waist for real.”

Heat shoots through me, but it’s not anger any longer. Nope, we’re back to pure, unfiltered lust.

And then he says the one thing that could make this whole fiasco even better. “Besides, after really meeting Emily . . . pissing her off is pretty much the most fun I’ve had in ages. It might be the best thing I can do in Aruba, especially if it keeps me close to you. She thinks you’re beneath her and wants to remind you of that at every opportunity when the truth is, you are so far in the stratosphere above the rest of us that we shouldn’t even be able to see you.”

I’m . . . speechless. This isn’t some spiel in a fake date. This is real, authentic, and as he looks into my eyes, I feel a fuzziness in my stomach. No, not fuzzy . . . fizzy and sparkly and sweet, like I’m filled with rose champagne from my toes to my nose.

He sees it, sees me, and thinks I’m fine just the way I am, not lacking because I’m not what an Andrews should be. And he sees Emily for what she is too. Everyone else is fooled by her fake saccharine sweetness, but not me. And not Lorenzo.

My defenses are crumbling, and all I can do is stammer. “I . . . I don’t know the first thing about kayaking.”

Lorenzo chuckles and pulls me close. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you or at least draw attention away from you with my own lack of skill so you won’t worry about it.”

I want to lean in and kiss him, to give in and let him have me, but something stops me. “Uhm, listen, that table thing? Meredith and Claire walked in,” I explain, not wanting to fake more than I have to with Lorenzo. “Meredith could’ve seen us, and even though there’s nothing wrong with our having a relationship . . . it’s not something I can afford to have her hold over me. Especially because it’s not real.”

I’m reminding myself. I’m reminding him. We’re here for one reason only . . . to work. Even if my thoughts of flowers are more stupidly romanticized porn right now than bouquets . . .

He spreads my silky petals, tasting the sweet nectar of my pleasure.

Lorenzo chuckles and cups my cheek. “What are you thinking, mia rosa?”

I shake my head, losing the silly train of thought, and he acts as if I were mentally here with him the whole time. “So no pretending, except with Emily and Doug. If Claire or Meredith sees us, we’ll simply be two contractors enjoying the resort.”

“Right,” I agree.

That smirk of his is back. “Then let us go to bed.”

I realize how stupid all of my arguing about appearing to barely know each other seems when we’re staying in the same room.

The same bed?

No, he’s sleeping on the couch. I’m putting my foot down on that.

Chapter 7

Abi

The light is too bright, and I squeeze my lids shut, praying for another few minutes of