Fake Fiancée(67)

Now, I worked part-time at a dress shop that made up-cycled clothing. One day I wanted my own boutique, but for now, I was enjoying being with Max.

Life was perfect.

As far as Felix went, he hadn’t been picked up in the draft.

Oh, how Max had loved that.

When it came down to it, Felix didn’t have the talent. We’d heard he was a used car salesman in Florida. After much discussion, Max and I had mutually decided to put him behind us and let the past go.

We didn’t spend time thinking about him.

We had too many good and real things to focus on.

He kissed me again. “You’ve got that dreamy look on your face. Whatcha thinking about?”

“You.”

He grinned. “I am pretty damn dreamy.”

I poked him in the ribs and he collapsed against me, his naked body gliding against mine. The air thickened around us, heat building. It never took much for us to be hot for each other.

He touched me, his hand coasting down between my legs and dipping inside. He kissed me, soft and then hard, his tongue sucking on mine.

My need ramped up. I cupped his ass, pulling him in closer, wet and ready. “Hurry,” I murmured.

Lifting my leg over his shoulder, he said my name with reverence and slid inside.

I arched, my body accepting all of him.

“I love you so much,” he ground out as he made me his.

I kissed him.

Our lives were just beginning.

Max . . . us . . . Fate had divined our love.

Since the night we’d met on that shore, an invisible thread connected us.

I didn’t understand the hows and whys of our meeting, but life isn’t nearly as complicated as we make it.

Sometimes there really is a bigger plan.

Sometimes there really is that one person.

Sometimes true love finds you no matter what.



The End

Turn the page to enjoy the first two chapters of Dirty English, a Wall Street Journal Bestseller





PROLOGUE


A stabbing pain in my temple.

Fat and swollen lips.

A throbbing tenderness between my thighs.

Why did I feel like I was dying?

Muddled images flashed in my head, but nothing connected or made sense, just a big black hole of nothingness. Thanks, vodka.

The ache seemed to spread across my face. I groaned. Had something hit me?

Nausea curled as I got my bearings in the dark. Bit by bit, I figured out I was sprawled cross-wise on a bed that wasn’t mine.

A small hotel room came into focus.

Careful to move my head slowly, I gazed around, taking in the battered nightstand and a rickety desk that had seen better days. In the corner of the room lay the beaded clutch purse I’d borrowed from my best friend Shelley for prom. Okay. But where was she?

My last memory was dancing in the gym. Maybe on top of a table?

My eyes went around the room.

Threadbare navy curtains.

A bed that reeked of stale cigarettes and body odor.

A bottle of Grey Goose.

My stomach lurched at the memory of that bitter taste sliding down my throat, and I swallowed to keep the bile down.

Was this a hangover?

I didn’t know. I had nothing to compare it to.

Snippets of the night came in vivid clips.

Dinner with my boyfriend, Colby, and my friends Shelley and Blake at an Italian restaurant in downtown Petal, North Carolina. Lots of giggling. Colby sneaking in his flask so we could spike our drinks. Dancing under twinkling lights at the prom in the Oakmont Prep gymnasium. Getting in Colby’s Porsche to head to the lake for an after-hours party.

No memories of the lake came to me.

Colby, though, I remembered him urging me to drink, pushing the bottle at my mouth on the way to prom and then later as we drove to the lake. Don’t be a pussy, Elizabeth. Drink it. Let’s rule the world, babe.

Rule the world was his thing. He was invincible, and I guess since his father was a Senator of North Carolina, he believed it. Being part of his inner circle, especially being his new girlfriend, made me feel like I was freaking royalty.

My tummy still fluttered from winning prom queen to his king. On stage when they’d set the sparkling crowns on our heads, he’d turned to me and told me he loved me. Crazy and giddy happiness had filled my heart. He loved me. The girl from the wrong side of town. The girl without a real family. The girl who was nobody.

I’d waited for someone to love me like that my whole life.

More flashes from the car came and I groaned.

I remembered the second sip. Third. Fourth.

Things got hazy.

God, I couldn’t remember.

Colby giving me a little white pill.

Did I take it?

It was all so fuzzy.

Pink, sparkly sequins dotted my hands and I gazed down at them on the bed. My dress—the one I’d scrimped and saved to get by waiting tables at the local diner—lay in scattered pieces around me. My body was on display with my breasts hanging out.

I whimpered and tried to cover them, but my arms were too sluggish. Panic ate at me—and then an awful realization hit. The material had been ripped from bust to hem, the delicate spaghetti straps torn off. My underwear lay twisted around my ankles and spots of blood dotted the coverlet below me.

For a millisecond my brain refused to accept what was plain as day, but when reality finally settled in, horror pooled in my gut.