Twisted Love (Modern Romance #3) - Piper Lawson Page 0,20
his throat. “Cross that question off.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but more warmth for sure.
By the fifth question he vetoes, I can’t stand it anymore. “We’ve already crossed off five questions. At this rate, it won’t be an interview, it’ll be a photo with your names on it.”
Camila stifles a snort.
I need a new approach. “Why don’t we put the questions aside for a moment and you tell me about yourselves? How did you meet?”
Aiden shifts back in his seat, his dark hair and suit perfect. “Eight months ago. At a charity event.”
I hide my surprise. “And were you attracted right away?”
“Aiden does cut an impressive figure,” Camila comments, but I get the sense there’s an inside joke.
“That’s not why we’re getting married, and you know it,” he says.
“Why are you getting married?” I ask.
They exchange a look, but the bride-to-be answers. “Because sometimes an opportunity comes along that you’d regret turning down for the rest of your life.”
Instead of tenderness in their shared gaze, there’s tension.
Interesting. But at least it’s something.
I spent last night getting lost online in the digital footprint of Aiden and Camila. Hers was mostly on the charitable side. His was more checkered. There were some questions about the legitimacy of his business dealings on behalf of his father’s company. Maybe that’s why he’s so tense— he’s concerned the magazine will raise his business dealings.
“Aiden,” I say carefully, “I’ve told the interviewer specifically to focus on you two as a couple. But if they raise any questions about business—”
“I’ll tell them there’s nothing to discuss.”
“If there is anything to discuss,” I go on pointedly, “it’ll be easier if I know.”
“There’s nothing to know.” The finality rings through the room.
I started to text Ben last night to see if he knew anything about Aiden personally, but second-guessed it because of the dynamics between us leaving the Met. I could still feel his presence down to my toes.
So much so that when Lily came in, she stared me down with delight. “You’re doing it. You’re fake dating, I can tell.”
I’d groaned and sworn her to secrecy, saying, “I’ll have a check for your tuition soon.”
At which point she hugged me and vowed I was the best sister ever.
We circle back to the questions, and Aiden and Camila’s interactions improve, but it doesn’t feel light or warm or romantic. Unless the writer is a miracle worker, this might come off closer to a prisoner interview than a wedding one.
But this is what Richard will use to judge my ability to market the resorts. If it doesn’t get better fast, I’m screwed. I try to stay focused on the conversation, prodding them toward something that feels like connection, but I know I need a backup plan.
“If we’re done, I have another commitment,” Aiden says fifteen minutes later.
“Of course. The interview is set for Thursday morning.” I try one more time before he leaves. “My firm has handled numerous campaigns with discretion. I assure you, anything you tell me that would help us do our jobs would be kept in confidence.”
He leans in, the lines of his suit and face appearing even sharper up close. “I don’t care about your firm’s track record. I don’t know you. I’m not telling my life story to People or to you.”
He heads for the door and I swallow a sigh.
Once it’s the two of us, Camila says, “I’m sorry about Aiden. He’s an acquired taste. But Richard is hell-bent on the right publicity for this. He wants us to be the face of the new resorts. Unofficially, of course. Honestly, I’m ready to get out of the spotlight during the bachelorette weekend.”
I frown. “Where is it being held?”
“The Vineyard. The company has a property we’ve booked for the entire weekend, no other guests allowed. It’s a place to relax.”
The wheels of my mind turn as I search for a way to make something from their relationship that the public would view as romantic. “Would you be open to doing something there aimed at bolstering your profile? Small and time bound. Say, the first afternoon you arrive.”
Camila toys with the handle of her Prada bag, reluctant. “If it would help, I suppose so,” she decides at last. “I’ll have Aiden’s assistant book you a room.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll follow up myself.”
Once she leaves, I call Aiden’s assistant who confirms that yes, in ten days, there’s a weekend trip to the Vineyard which includes a farm tour one afternoon, and a reception before the