“Good point. So, we’ve gotten together at least twice a month.”
“I have a bad feeling about this. I tell Bridgette everything. Why would I keep this from her?” Her youngest sister had lost her husband to a tragic car accident shortly after Louie was born, and she owned a flower shop that adjoined Willow’s bakery. Bridgette almost always knew where Willow was and why she was out of town. “And what about Talia? She’s always coming to the bakery to grade papers. She knows why I leave town and when I do, too.” Talia was her eldest, and most reserved, sibling. She worked as a professor at a nearby college, and although they weren’t as close as Willow and Bridgette, they were close enough to make his story not quite so believable.
A breeze swept off the water and blew a lock of hair in front of her eyes. Zane tucked it behind her ear, like a real boyfriend—fiancé—might, and said, “Because what we have is private. Remember the weekend you told your family you were going to DC for the baking convention?”
“You mean the weekend I actually drove to DC and attended the convention?” Where on earth was he going with this, and how did he remember she’d gone to a convention in DC? That was months ago.
His eyes warmed. “Wills, you don’t have to pretend with me. I remember that weekend like it was yesterday. We spent all afternoon holding hands and sneaking kisses along the streets of DC. We visited so many museums you said you felt like you should apply to be contestant on Jeopardy!” He laughed as if he were lost in the memory. “We ate lunch on the lawn by the Washington Monument and made wishes with nickels in the Reflecting Pool because we were out of pennies. I told you our wishes would come true five times over, and, baby . . .” He lowered his voice. “Don’t you remember how long we lay on the grass kissing? You said you wished we could lie there all day.”
“I . . .” She was too caught in the fantasy to respond.
“I know you remember when you insisted we climb onto Lincoln’s lap and take a selfie.” His gaze, and his tone, were so earnest she wanted to remember it. “I have the picture hanging on the wall in my bedroom. Of course you know that, because we’ve spent so many steamy nights there. It sounds silly, but I still get sad every time I think of how you cried at the National World War II Memorial.”
He pulled her closer, and she could almost remember the event that had never taken place.
“It’s one of the reasons I fell so hard for you. You have such a big heart, babe.” He cupped her face with his big, warm hand, moving his thumb lovingly over her cheek. “We forgot to eat, and we ended up having dinner at around nine that night at that little café. Remember? We ate by candlelight and shared an entrée because you said you were too happy to eat. But later that night, in the penthouse of the Marriott, we ordered dessert and . . .” He brushed his lips over hers, and she was too lost in him to react. “Well, what we did with the whipped cream was nothing short of sinful.”
She blinked several times, reveling in the romantic rendezvous he described. She smiled, picturing all the things he’d just shared.
Wait. What?
No. He was doing it again, playing her for a fool.
Ugh. She pushed from his arms. “What was that? A role you’ve played or something?”
His eyes coasted over the grass, like he was coming out of a fog. He raked his hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Uh. No, actually. Not a role.”
“Oh.” Now she felt a little lost, too. “I didn’t think you knew what romance was.”
He cleared his throat. “Right, I . . . um . . .”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Her mind kept circling back to each of the things he’d described. Had he experienced them with someone else? Was that why he was acting so strange? Jealousy clawed up her spine. Suddenly he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his embrace, snapping her mind firmly back to reality.
“What the hell?”
He pressed his mouth beside her ear, making her belly tumble despite her annoyance over the abrupt yank.
“Smile, sweet cheeks. We’ve got company.”
Willow’s eyes darted around the grounds, landing on a man with a camera pointed directly at them. “What the hell did you do?”
“Media, baby. That’s why we’re here.”
She struggled to get out of his grip, wondering how he could have gone from one persona to another in the blink of an eye. And then she remembered. He was an actor. This was how he lived his life, jumping from one role to the next. She didn’t even know who the real Zane Walker was anymore, and she’d already committed to helping him. She clearly needed to step up her game if she was going to remain sane.
“Willow, relax. All they want is a few pictures of the happy couple. We need the public to buy our engagement, remember?”
Where were they five minutes ago when we were both lost in your stupid fantasy?
She was sure she had smoke coming out of her ears. “Is that who you were texting earlier? Tipping off the press? You set this whole weekend up assuming I’d agree to it!”
He leaned back, flashing a fake but loving smile, and gazed into her eyes as he spoke, smooth as butter. Leave it to Zane to play it up for the cameras. “It’s not a bad thing that I know my fiancée better than she knows herself. Go with it, Wills. Think of the exposure for your bakery.”
Two could play at this game. She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body against him, knowing his weak points. Or rather, weak point. Flashing her own fake smile, she said, “How’s this?”
“Mm. That’s more like it.” His hand slid to her ass, and she dug her nails into the back of his neck. Gritting his teeth, he said, “All in the name of believability, babe.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, giving the press exactly what they wanted and telling Zane exactly what she thought. “Putting me in the spotlight without notice is low, Zane, and I don’t do low. Enjoy these few minutes, because after this you’re not getting anywhere near me. It’s one thing to be used, but pulling this shit?”