Tease (Cloverleigh Farms #8)(61)

“Sorry for all terrible men,” I told her.

“Apology accepted. Anyway, I think your fears are based on something you’re guessing at rather than something you know for sure. Just like a witch.” She brought two fingers together above her head, forming a pointy hat. “Not real. Feels real, but isn’t.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t make my nerves any better. The thoughts are still there. And they cause physical reactions I can’t hide.”

She sighed and cuddled closer. “Would you consider trying therapy again? This is going to make me sad that you have a dream to teach but won’t do it because of the witch.”

I paused. “My sister wants me to try acceptance and commitment therapy. There’s a woman in her practice who does it.”

“Can you get in to see her before you leave?”

“It won’t work.”

“How do you know?” She sat up. “This is something new, right? An approach you’ve never tried?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said stubbornly. “It won’t work.”

She looked at me for a moment. “You can read minds and predict the future. Maybe you’re the witch!”

I yanked the pillow from behind my head and swung it at her, and she toppled over dramatically. Rolling on top of her, I pinned her arms to the mattress. “Enough. I’m set in my ways and not going to change. Take me or leave me.”

“I never want you to change, Hutton. I’ll always take you. I just wish you could see yourself like I do.”

I kissed her, glad that she saw me in a positive light, that she thought I was capable of doing things I knew I wasn’t. It meant that I was doing a good job playing this role—this version of me that deserved her—and she couldn’t see the man behind the curtain.

I had her convinced.





The following day, we slept late and ordered room service for breakfast, which we ate in bed while we looked at photos of us from last night online. I wasn’t at all surprised that pictures of us had been snapped without our even realizing it, but Felicity seemed shocked that she was now a figure of public fascination.

Many of the photos were blurry, zoomed-in shots of the ring on her finger. The internet speculated wildly about where it was from, how many carats the diamond was, and what it might have cost.

“Hutton.” Felicity looked at me with alarm. “Tell me some of these guesses are way too high.”

I shook my head. “I’m not even looking at that bullshit.”

The comments, as always, were a mix of effusive praise and shitty garbage.

OMG so cute together!

Seriously? Her??!

Couple GOALS!

He could do so much better.

Omg so pretty DM to collab pls

WTF Zlatka was way hotter

“Wow. People just say what they think, don’t they?” Felicity scrolled down through hundreds of comments on one pic. “How do you deal with this all the time?”

I took her phone from her hand and tossed it aside. “Fuck the internet. What would you like to do today?”

“I’d love to sightsee a little bit, but will people be following us everywhere trying to get pictures?” She touched her hair. “I feel weird about that. I’m not Zlatka, and people expect a supermodel, or at least someone with symmetrical hair and—”

“Hey.” I pulled her close to me and leaned back against the headboard. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that you are not Zlatka. You are superior to her in every way. You are beautiful inside and out, and you are real.”

“Thanks.” But her voice was hesitant. “I guess I’m stupid. I didn’t foresee this problem. But why would a billionaire choose a girl like me?”

Rage burned in my chest—at the idea she thought she wasn’t good enough for anyone, at the assholes out there who couldn’t just mind their own business, at myself for dragging her into this. “Listen to me. You are way too good for every billionaire I’ve ever met, and that includes me. Fuck those people.”

“I’ve never worried about, like, leaving my house before. It’s kind of a shitty feeling.”

I kissed the top of her head and held her tighter. “Being in the public eye is really fucking hard. Especially when you didn’t ask for it.”

“How do you handle it?”

“I don’t leave the house much. But I’m sorry I dragged you into this fucked-up orbit. I should have known better.” I paused. “Want to head home?”

She didn’t answer right away, and for a moment I was scared she’d say yes. But then she sat up and looked at me. “No. You’re right—fuck those people. They can’t steal our joy. Our fake engagement joy.”

I laughed. “Damn right.”

“We’re only here one more day,” she said, her voice getting more fierce. “I want to do things. If we hide out, the jerks win.”

“You tell me what you want to do, and I’ll do it. Even if there’s a crowd.”

“Nothing too fancy. How about the zoo?”

“Done.”

“But cancel the driver, okay? Let’s just walk. I don’t want to call any attention to us.”

“Good idea.”

We dressed like regular tourists in jeans and sneakers and T-shirts, and wore matching navy baseball caps (which I sent a concierge out to purchase) pulled low over our faces.