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I’ve only ever known what that felt like by pretending.
I felt afraid to be myself completely. Was whoever that was enough? I hadn’t been for my parents, so why would any version, real or fake, ever be enough for anyone?
But the night I met Fia, my whole perspective changed.
It’s like the version of her that I got was only for me, like whatever she was holding on to vanished when we were together. That’s when I knew, I had to be brave enough to find the whole version of myself if I wanted to be enough for someone like her. Tonight, she’s the one who seems to lack bravery; the version of her I remember from before is somewhere in hiding.
Fia’s features harden in front of me, her molars grinding the more I search her face. Swaying back and forth on her pointy heels, she gives me an almost mute huff.
“Whatever,” she whispers.
“What did you really come here for?”
Something weighted presses down on her shoulders. Defeat, maybe even a twinge of sadness, but with her attitude, I can’t quite read it.
“I told you, I was invited.”
“You did, but going places with people you don’t care for seems out of character for you.”
Sneering, her nose scrunches. “What are you, a character analyst?” Fia smarts off, and my dick twitches. A twinkle of something heady hits me straight on.
“Sounds like a worthy addition to my resume.” I shrug, rising from the couch so that I can meet her at eye level.
“Unbelievable,” she murmurs under her breath.
“I won’t ask you again to sit. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Fia looks at me like she’s ready for war. Her piercing emerald eyes judge me like royalty might a peasant, and I revel in it. With no less attitude, she wobbles slightly in her tall golden heels, her ass reluctantly hitting the sofa with an exaggerated grunt.
“I got an opportunity today, a really fucking cool one. I thought it deserved celebration.”
Her eyes are set on her lap, voice low like it pains her to be sharing anything at all with me, yet she’s still here.
“Who’s to say it doesn’t?”
Her head snaps to me. “I didn’t say it didn’t.”
“You said—”
“I know what the hell I said.”
I smile.
Fia groans at my reaction, her mask slipping the more I try to peel it off.
“We could celebrate together,” I suggest.
“No thanks,” she bites back.
“Celebrating with me can’t be any more painful than celebrating with people you don’t even like.”
“I don’t like you either.”
Her tangy attitude makes me want to inch closer, but I leave the big-ass gap between us, not wanting to crowd her space.
“Don’t make this about me. There will be time for you to shower me with praise.”
Her eyes roll, but then she inhales deeply and admits, “The opportunity I got could really change my career. It’s the whole reason I signed up to do this tour in the first place.” She finally allows herself to find comfort on the couch.
