Fake Fiance (Bombshell Brides) by Cassie Mint

Author:Cassie Mint [Mint, Cassie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Cherry Publishing
Published: 2022-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

Bea

Two weeks later

I’ve never been heartbroken before, so I don’t have any frame of reference, but I think this is bad. I’ve eaten more giant bowls of pasta in the last two weeks than in the six months prior. I can’t seem to wear anything except baggy sweatshirts and pajama pants, even when the weather is stifling hot, and I outright refuse to leave my apartment most days. All I want to do is watch the same old sit-com on repeat, staring dead-eyed at that coffee shop in New York.

Thank god I moved out of our parents’ home last year. I don’t think I could bear the weight of their silent disappointment on top of everything else.

“It’s not so bad.” Olympia chatters from my phone on the kitchen counter as I stir powdered hot chocolate in a mug.

Oh, yeah. The cheap, sugary stuff. The circumstances are dire.

“It’s not?” I sound bored, and to be honest, I am. My sister is sweet with her twice-daily pep talks, but I’ve now heard it all before, and the signal is not great from Gerond’s boat.

You’re a good person, really. This was all a mistake. You meant well, and the prince will see that eventually. Crackle, thump, splash.

She can keep saying all those things, but that doesn’t make them true. And in the meantime, I’m missing the episode with the Thanksgiving parade.

It’s not just the loss of Alden, though god knows that hurts. Considering I only knew him for a day, his absence is a constant dull pain. Like a toothache. But I’ve also detonated all my hopes of a career in diplomacy, and now I’m back to the drawing board.

My future yawns open before me, empty and cold.

“You need to get back out there, Bea. Stop hiding in your nest.”

My spoon clinks against the mug, tiny clumps of chocolate powder floating in my drink. “I’m not hiding.”

“Yes, you are. You’re a champion hider. But the press will find another scandal soon, and then you’ll be old news.”

God, I hope so. My irrelevance can’t come soon enough, because I’m tired of reporters pounding on my door at all hours. Some of them are so pushy, I’ve started keeping pepper spray by the door.

When those photos of us kissing on the driveway first leaked, the palace sent over a press pack. There were strict instructions for how to respond to questions, and a stern legal warning about damaging the prince’s reputation any further. As if I’d want to.

Nothing from Alden. There was a handwritten note from Danika, though, with the prince’s private phone number from his study. Talk to him, she wrote. His Majesty misses you.

I rang him that morning. Despite her note, the prince did not appreciate the call.

A chill ripples through me at the memory of his harsh tone.

“Come diving with me and Gerond today.”

I would literally rather drown. “No, thank you,” I say, smacking the spoon down on the counter. “I have another interview this afternoon. The palace set it up.”

I guess

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