Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(100)

“Layla!”

I turn to see Josh’s brother, Rob, stepping out from behind a drinks table, his expression concerned. “Hey. Are you okay?” I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. His face falls. “Oh. God. Um. Hang on.” He pats down his pockets, pulling out a travel pack of tissues. “Amy’s mum made me carry them,” he says sheepishly. “In case she cried. Are you okay? Want me to find Josh for you?”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, backing away. “I’m really sorry, I need to go.” I don’t want kindness right now. It’ll break me. “Sorry,” I choke out again, and practically run past him, dodging through the huge wooden doors and out into the hotel lobby. Tottering over to the lifts in my heels, I stab the call button, then lean against the wall, trying to calm myself down. As the blood rushing in my ears fades away, I can dimly pick out two hushed voices coming from the other side of the elevators.

“Amy,” a man says, and I jolt upright as I recognise Luke’s low tones. “Stop. I’m not arguing with a bride on her wedding day.”

“For God’s sake, I’m trying to help you,” Amy hisses. “Listen to me. I taught Layla for years. I know her. And I can see that she’s got you completely wrapped around her little finger. She’s been doing this ever since she was a teenager — flirting with every guy she can get her hands on, manipulating them all. She doesn’t even have the self-respect to stay away from her own teacher, for God’s sake.”

Bile rises in my throat. I don’t know if I’m about to puke or cry or scream.

I hear Luke take a breath, but I don’t stick around to hear him defend me. The lift dings, the metal doors sliding open, and I jump inside, jabbing the button for our floor. Tears blur my eyes, and I wipe them away fiercely.

I need to get to the hotel room. I need to pack, and go home, and forget this wedding ever happened.





SIXTY-THREE





LUKE





“... and really, why would a girl in her twenties want to be with her old professor?” Amy continues, ignoring my attempts to get away. “Unless she has some kind of kink, which is just weird. I mean, it’s not as if you make that much money.”

She’s been going on like this for almost twenty minutes now, systematically picking apart my relationship with Layla. My head is aching. I’m starting to think she’s right. Not that Layla is easy, or loose, or any of the other awful things she’s saying about her; but clearly, she’s correct when she says I look at the world through rose-coloured glasses.

I loved Amy for almost a decade. Not once during that time did I realise what a callous person she was. She’s happily slut-shaming a victimised teenage girl. How could I fall for a woman like this?

Obviously, I don’t see things clearly when I’m in a relationship. I was so in love with Amy that I didn’t have any clue what kind of person she really was.

“I mean, look at you. You’re clearly falling for her,” she keeps going. “Anyone can see it. And trust me; everyone besides you knows how this is going to end.”

The worst part is, she’s right. I am falling for Layla. How could I not? She’s lovely. She’s sharp, and smart, and driven — but underneath that hard shell, she’s also sensitive and thoughtful and kind. I’m falling for her.

Fear rises up inside me. I glance back at the open door to the wedding hall, looking out at the swirling mess of dancers inside. As I watch, Lavender comes back into view. She’s still on her phone, tapping furiously on the screen. Her mouth is turned down, her thin shoulders hunched like she’s trying to hide away. She’s unrecognisable as the bouncy, pink-cheeked toddler who skipped around our wedding in a pair of glittery fairy wings.

“How’s Lavender?” I interrupt Amy’s tirade. “She looks upset.”

She follows my gaze. “Lav? God, she’s being such a brat these days. She tried to bring her ‘girlfriend’ as a plus-one. I told her, look, I don’t care what you do in the bedroom, but I don’t want your experimental bisexual phase to be recorded forever in my wedding photos. We’re trying to set her up with one of the caterers’ sons, and she’s being so rude about it.” She frowns. “Stop looking at her, it’s weird. I doubt she remembers you.”

Right on cue, Lavender looks up at us, meeting my gaze again. She pulls a face, like ‘what do you want?’, and my stomach sinks. All at once, the realisation hits me.

I can’t do this again. I can’t go through another wedding, another divorce. I can’t lose a whole other life. I’m falling for Layla, and that’s dangerous. Why the Hell would things work out with her any better than they did with Amy? Apparently, I’m excellent at ignoring red flags, and there are plenty when it comes to Layla.

She’s my former student.

She came to me for help.

She’s never had a boyfriend before.

Oh; and our entire relationship has been completely fake.

Amy grabs my wrist again. “I just want to help you,” she says for the fifth time.

“Don’t touch me.” I shake her off. “Amy, the last thing I want to do today is criticise you. But I will not listen to you talk about any former student like this.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are so freaking whipped. For God’s sake, just—”