I’m just trying to push her buttons, to see how far she’ll let this go before she calls “uncle” and admits she’s not who she’s pretending to be.
But I don’t anticipate the thrill of awareness that surges through me as her body brushes against mine. I don’t count on the way my pulse spikes as her arms go around my neck, making it so easy I can’t resist.
One second, I’m on the verge of calling her out as a fraud, the next, I’m crushing my lips to hers and kissing her like I’ve been dying to kiss her my entire life and not just since seven o’clock this morning. Our mouths collide, and electricity crackles through the air, lighting up the darkness behind my eyes.
My lips part, and her tongue meets mine with a perfect sexy sweetness that makes my pulse race faster. Her arms tighten around me with a moan, but she lets me take the lead, a hint of shyness in the way she threads her fingers into my hair.
It’s the shyness that makes me wonder…
Makes me doubt…
Is this really Sabrina? Or am I a fucking madman who’s pulled this entire twin-switch plot out of his ass and is making out with his actual fiancée?
Either way, kissing this woman is a bad idea. But if she’s Elizabeth, then kissing her is the absolute worst thing I could do. This is going to give her all sorts of wrong ideas and muddy the hell out of my “Please Dump Me and Get out of Here” message.
I have to do something to wreck the moment before it’s too late!
Wrenching my mouth from hers, I scramble to think of something to say—something awful, but not so awful that it will hurt her feelings or stain my conscience. But my lust-addled brain refuses to function. I’m off my game, too drunk with wanting her to think clearly about anything but how much I’d like to get her out of all her pesky clothes.
Short on ideas and swiftly losing the element of surprise, I do the first thing that pops into my head. I roll my eyes back in my head and go full fainting-goat, knees buckling as I careen toward the ground.
Lizzy calls my name and does her best to catch me, but I’m too heavy. Her hands slide ineffectually off my waist, and a moment later, I’m sprawled on my side in the pebbles, feigning unconsciousness and wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
I have never felt like a bigger idiot—or like less of a man—than I do right now.
Really, brain? A fucking fainting spell? That’s all you’ve got? Could you make me look like more of an asshole?
But hopefully, my random spasm will work to my advantage. I can’t imagine any woman, no matter how nice or marriage-minded she might be, wanting to make out on with a man who pulls a reverse Sleeping Beauty every time they kiss.
Unfortunately, when Lizzy says, “Andrew? Are you all right? Andrew, can you hear me?” she sounds more terrified than disgusted, and I’m instantly flooded with guilt.
I don’t want to scare her, just scare her away, which means this faint is a flop. Now I have to do something to fix the “fix” before she goes running for help and brings the entire castle back with her.
But once again, my brain coughs out nothing but garbage. Garbage idea one, garbage idea two, and garbage idea three until I’m running out of time and have no choice but to pick one of the least garbagy options and run with it.
Sucking in a breath, I bolt into a seated position and shout, “Red robin!” at the top of my lungs.
“Oh my God,” Lizzy cries out as I startle her out of a squat and onto her backside in the pebbles beside me. She presses a hand to her chest as she breathes, “Are you okay?”
“Gallbladder. Biscuit. Baby napkin!” I shout, hoping she can’t see me wince in the dim light.
Baby napkin? What the hell is a baby napkin?
I have no idea, but then I’ve never put much thought into what it would be like to fake a case of Tourette’s Syndrome. I’m unprepared, as unprepared as I am to deal with my attraction to my fiancée and the entire Maybe Sabrina/Maybe Elizabeth situation.
God willing, I can get through the next ten minutes without causing further damage and spend the rest of the night reframing my plan of attack.
“Okay. All right… Everything’s all right…” She trails off, bringing a hand to my back, which she rubs in slow, comforting circles that make me feel like an even scummier scumbag.
No matter what I throw at her, she’s just so damn…nice.
No, better than nice. She’s kind. She’s not putting on a show for anyone’s benefit. She’s choosing to minimize suffering whenever possible, which is a lot more than I can say about most of the people I know. Not to mention my own sorry self.
Unable to bear her understanding another second, I shake my head and turn to her, determined to play this off and get out of here as quickly as possible. “Sorry. Did I pass out?”
She blinks faster but seems relieved. “Yes. Are you sick? Did you hit your head? Should we—”
“Oh no, I’m fine.” I force a tight laugh. “It’s just something that happens every once and a while. Usually when I’m tired. Nothing to worry about.” I stand, brushing the pebble dust off my jeans before I offer her my hand. “But I should probably get to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“It has.” She rises without touching my hand, clearly unconvinced that I’m fit for duty. “But are you sure we shouldn’t talk to someone when we get back? Maybe your mother? Or a physician? Greta mentioned there’s always a doctor on call in the infirmary.”
“No, I’m fine. It’s all fine.” I take her hand, tucking it into the crook of my arm as I lead the way back through the maze. “I’ve been doing it for years. The doctors say it’s nothing to worry about as long as it doesn’t happen while I’m operating heavy machinery. But that’s why I have a driver. Guess I’m lucky I can afford one of those, huh?” I finish with a strained laugh.
Fuck me, could this get any worse?
“Yes, you are,” she murmurs, putting on a brave face.
But I can tell she’s still concerned. And troubled. And wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into, being engaged to marry a man with some sort of rare Goat-Fainting-and-Baby-Napkin-Shouting condition.
I can feel her pity oozing around us as we leave the maze and make our way back to the castle under a sky full of stars that would be romantic if we were any other couple. But we aren’t. We’re two people who were forced together by our families, who are better off apart—no matter who she is.
I’m no longer certain she’s Sabrina, but I’m positive that we don’t belong anywhere near an altar saying our “I dos.”
Still, I hate the pity in her eyes. I hate it almost as much as I hate saying goodbye at her door with a cringe-worthy wave instead of a kiss.
“Good night, Lizzy,” I say, flapping my hand like an idiot. “Sleep well.”
“You, too. See you tomorrow,” she says, worry lingering in her eyes as she closes the door between us.
Cursing beneath my breath, I turn and walk away.
Well, that was a nightmare. I try to convince myself it will all work out for the best, but after my shower, I lie in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, wondering why this allegedly logical, necessary thing I’m doing is making me feel like such absolute shit.