Real Fake Love (Copper Valley Fireballs #2)(49)

Well.

That’s that, then.

I strip except for my granny panties and the sleeping bra that I special ordered after our night under the stars, and I gingerly climb onto the bed.

The springs squeak, and I suddenly feel about twelve years old again, at my first sleepaway camp where my campmates and I slept in cabins with the windows open for a breeze, on beds that were rescued from college dorms when they’d finally gotten too much use from the co-eds and were only good for charity cases. My skin tingles like it has the same sunburns again from playing in the lake for hours, and my fingers itch to play with clay in the art hut where I spent as much time as possible the entire week.

I sculpted art that looked like giant turds, and my mom displayed my collection proudly next to Elsa’s exquisite charcoal drawings of everyone in our family, right down to the squirrels that she named and knew on sight by personality and fur patterns. My dad claimed he took the sculptures I gave him to his office, though I never saw them displayed, and really, who can blame him?

I sigh and roll onto my side so I’m taking less room, but now I’m facing Luca, and I can clearly make out his profile in the moonlight streaming in from the open window. “Thank you for the lesson tonight,” I whisper, because what else am I supposed to call it?

He flops around on the bed until he’s facing me. “It wasn’t a lesson.”

Well.

What’s a girl supposed to say to that?

“Look, Henri, I don’t know how to teach you to not fall in love. All I know is how to compartmentalize my feelings so I don’t fall in love. I shouldn’t have done what I did. And you probably shouldn’t be here. I can deal with my Nonna and The Eye. But I’m not going to marry you, or propose, or even be a very good fake boyfriend, so I can’t see what you’re getting out of any of this, and I won’t blame you if you’re gone in the morning.”

Part of my heart lights itself on fire, and the rest watches while little minions from my soul come and beat the ashes with sledgehammers at the idea that I’d leave him in the middle of the night to run home to my mom’s pool house yet again while I search for one more new apartment in the same Chicago suburbs I’ve always circulated in, where I’ll meet one more average guy that I convince myself is my one true love because I’m more obsessed with the idea of happily ever after than I am with looking at the reality of how good—or bad—of a life partner either of us can be to each other. “That’s exactly what I’m getting out of this. The opportunity to not fall in love. To prove it can be done.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and I want to run my fingers through his thick hair again, but I know better.

Also— “But if you want me to leave, I can go. I’m not without means to take care of myself, and I don’t need to be a burden.”

I don’t add that I don’t want to stand in the way of him finding his true love, or that if he wants to un-Eye himself with some secret formula he knows, I won’t stop him.

Both options seem valid for him.

“You’re not a burden, Henri.”

“You don’t have to say that to be nice. I’m not blind, and I’m not sheltered.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated noise and drops his voice again. “You’ve been fun in a lot of ways, but I’m not cut out for this relationship shit, and I’m also not cut out to be an asshole who hurts people for the joy of it, and that’s where this is going.”

“I’m not falling in love with you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You texted me that you fell in love with a cartoon character.”

“Metaphor.”

Another grunt.

“I asked for this, Luca Rossi. So if you want me to leave because you don’t want me here anymore, say so. Otherwise, I’m going to stay, fulfill my end of the bargain through the end of your season, and be a grown-ass woman who can handle a little bit of pain in the name of growth. Okay?”

His eyes squint open, and he studies me in the semi-darkness for long enough that I should be squirming, but sheer willpower has me simply flexing my toes instead of giving in to the urge to let my whole body slink away.

“Okay,” he finally says.

And then he rolls over to face the window, and I roll over to face the wall, and that’s that.

We’ll continue acting like we’re dating and falling in love to appease his grandmother until I pretend-break Luca’s heart, and most likely, mine will get hurt in the meantime.

But we’re still not getting engaged.

Or married.

Nor will we fall in love for real.

Definitely won’t fall in love for real.

Everything is working exactly the way it’s supposed to.





20





Luca



It’s been five days since that thing that I’m trying not to think about that happened in my kitchen. It’s a damn good thing I’m a professional, or I’d be dropping balls left and right in center field and watching easy fastballs go right by me at the plate. Santiago, who’s our head coach, the manager, the skipper, whatever you want to call him, has me sitting out about every fourth game while he tries different line-ups, which means I’m watching tonight’s game from the dugout, waiting to be tapped later as a pinch hitter, or possibly to not go in at all.