Black Ties and White Lies(104)

I laugh at the nickname for Winnie. She hates it when we call her that, but neither one of us can help ourselves. She makes it too easy. My heart twinges with disappointment that I didn’t get to spend as much time with them last night as I’d wanted to. I’m a terrible friend for flying them out here and then ditching them.





MARGO




I’m fine! I just let Carter get to me more than he should have. What are you two up to?





EMMA




He’s a dick. It seemed like Papa Sinclair laid into him though. They left with things looking very heated between them.





My eyebrows raise at that bit of information. I’ve always liked Mr. Sinclair. He was always kind to me. It seemed like his boys loved him, even if they didn’t seem to love each other. I wonder what all he knows about Carter. If he knows how off he acted last night.





EMMA




I bet Beck reminded you why he was the better brother last night. ;)





WINNIE




We’re currently eating room service breakfast. Well I’m eating. Emma is complaining that the smell of pancakes is going to make her throw up.





It’s hard not to feel sad reading Emma’s text. It’s an innocent statement. We should’ve had the best time ever last night. Instead, I locked myself in my old room and refused to come out. I need some space from Beck, to think about everything I was told by each brother and decide who I believe. I need to figure out the truth, the problem is it’s buried so deep between both of their lies that I don’t know what the real truth even is.





MARGO




Would you want to grab lunch somewhere?





WINNIE




We’d love that!





EMMA




Obviously, bitch. What time?





Once we plan to get together in a few hours, I feel better. Part of me wants to tell my friends everything that’s happened, to get their advice on it all. But I know I signed an NDA. I don’t want to get in trouble. More so, I don’t want them to think badly of Beck. I’m still protecting him because deep down I want to believe every word he told me last night. I want to know that getting me to agree to be his fake fiancée wasn’t some sick scheme of his to get back at Carter. I much prefer the reason he gave for all of this. That he simply wanted me and he’d do anything to have me.

My heart wants to believe he loves me because I know without a shadow of doubt I’ve fallen in love with him.

Letting out a deep breath, I get up out of bed. I’m tired, my limbs not wanting to move as I make my way toward the bathroom. It feels off to do a morning routine in here. It feels too quiet. I’m too used to listening to Beck take work calls as I get ready or hearing him listen to some boring podcast while I try to distract him in the shower.

It all feels off and I hate how attached I got to him. It all happened so quickly, despite me swearing I wouldn’t let a man become my life again like I had with Carter.

With Beck it hadn’t seemed bad because he was just as obsessed with spending time with me as I was him. It seemed healthy. It seemed perfect. In hindsight, maybe it was too perfect and maybe I should’ve known that all along.

My stomach growls, proving I can’t stay holed up here for much longer. Luckily, because it’s Sunday, I don’t have to go into work with Beck. But we do live together. I’m going to have to face him if I want to eat.

I may have a stash of Twizzlers in one of my bags in my closet. Maybe I could live off that for sustenance.

Groaning, I know I need to get it together. I’m going to have to face him, even if my heart is broken from the betrayals of last night.

I yank open the door, thinking of how wrong of a turn last night went, when I come face to face with Beck.

His smell assaults my senses immediately, wrapping me up in a familiar advance. I never want to smell bergamot and jasmine again. Or maybe that it’s I never want to stop smelling his signature scent again, becoming all too addicted to everything that is him.

“Good morning,” he says gruffly, his eyes scanning my face.

Why does he have to look so good even when he looks so rough? I take in his simple pair of jeans and sweater. He might be dressed nicely, but his eyes are bloodshot and his hair is so disheveled it looks like he’s been constantly running his fingers through it. I’ve never seen him look so worn out.

I look from him to the empty hallway. “What are you doing up here?”

He holds up a coffee cup from our favorite coffee shop in one hand and a paper bag in the other. “I brought you breakfast. And coffee.”

He gives me an apologetic smile and I almost forget every piece of information Carter told me. It’s easy in Beck’s presence, with the remorse dripping from his body. If it wasn’t for the ache still in my chest, it all may have already been forgotten.

Beck hands me the coffee. “I got you your favorite.”

I press the straw to my lips, taking a long sip. It’s exactly right. I hate how he’s memorized it, despite the fact it’s always been me who picked up our coffees. The fact he still remembers my order isn’t lost on me.