Chapter 21

21

ELLA

When I return to the main living area, Jack meets my gaze for a long and unsteadying moment.

I grip the edge of the kitchen counter because his piercing blue eyes and dark lashes in this dimly lit room could knock a girl over.

He asks. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

This time, I can’t claim that my eyes are watery because of my contacts. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the fact that all fairytales have a last page printed with the words, The End .

“Just tired.”

I’m also mad at myself for being so silly and stupid … again. The kisses we’ve shared have felt very real, so why then did he want me to be his fake girlfriend and now he’s leaving?

It’s probably silly of me, but I thought we had a moment. A connection. When I’m with Jack, I don’t feel so lonely.

He must have someone else. I’m just a business deal. A transaction. I’m not special or chosen. It’s just a convenient arrangement for his career. I shouldn’t be surprised because it turns out he’s the billionaire’s son and this is just a variation on one of his flings.

This makes me feel cheap and used.

Jack shows me to the guest room. I don’t cross the threshold. Standing in the doorway, I’m close enough to him that I can smell his manly, soapy scent. He gazes down at me, crowding my space and my mind. His warmth sinks into me, bringing a blush to my cheeks. Forget truth serum, it’s like I drank a love potion, making me feel drunk … on Jack.

I shouldn’t be attracted to this man, yet I am.

We shouldn’t kiss, yet we do.

This doesn’t need to be fake, but it is.

“Maybe it would be better if I went to a hotel,” I say because the battle between my self-respect and self-preservation continues.

“Is the room too small? I have a couple of other spare rooms you could choose from.”

“Weird flex, but okay.” I squint and cock my head because this is another example of how we’re from such different worlds. “I mean the room is fine. Great.”

He shrugs. “It’s no Jewel Suite, but?—”

My reply is dry. “Ha ha. I’ve slept in the machine room by the boiler during a cold snap at the resort, so no, a room with walls and a bed is more than good.”

“You shouldn’t sleep in machine rooms.”

“Actually, they make for wonderful accommodations, complete with amenities like engine lubricant, greasy rags, and rodent droppings,” I say with sarcastic laughter in my voice.

“I mean, I hate that you were in that situation.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. I only learned that I could use my key—” I cut myself off because, technically, I’m talking about breaking into his father’s hotel rooms.

Jack’s eyebrows lift, but his lips wear an amused smirk .

Adding an appreciative smile, I gesture to the spare bedroom and say, “Thank you.”

“The housekeeper stocks the bathroom with extra toothbrushes and stuff , but if you need anything, please let me know.”

“Have sleepovers often?”

“Just Carlos when Marisol breaks his heart again.”

“Oh. That stinks.” Glancing at my hands, I feel like I’m lingering, not wanting tonight to end, but why delay the inevitable?

Jack says, “Thank you for everything earlier. You were a showstopper.”

I squawk a laugh. Then, as if all the tension inside me channels into how absurd this situation is, it turns into a fit with me clutching my stomach.

“Why is that funny?” Jack asks.

Shaking my head as I catch my breath, I say, “I’ve recently learned not to expect much from life. But I’m glad my hair looked good.”

This time, I receive a quizzical head-cocked look. Jack slides his fingers through the loose strands of my hair that hang over my shoulder. His fingers linger there for a long moment and he releases a sigh.

“Ella, you should expect more. You deserve more.”

My nose tingles and tears threaten to make a jailbreak. Hiding behind the curtain of my hair, I lift onto my toes, kiss him on the cheek, and say goodnight.

Jack was right when he sensed that I was overwhelmed. There has been a lot to process in the last twelve hours. Now that I’m alone in the spare bedroom at his condo, it’s all catching up with me.

I’ve heard of people experiencing something called “Island Fever,” where they feel a kind of claustrophobia when they reach land’s end and there’s nothing but water in every direction. Last I checked, other than Jesus, we can’t walk across water.

But we can fly off of an island. After being there for so long, the departure was abrupt. Without time to really prepare myself, never mind being able to see what was coming, I’m sliding and spinning like the puck across the ice earlier.

The way my breath sticks in the middle of my chest makes me feel like I’m having the opposite of Island Fever but on the mainland. I look out the window for a fire escape and contemplate asking Jack if there’s rooftop access. I just need a minute to breathe.

Ironically, I miss the wide open space of the place that kept me prisoner. I think that’s another type of syndrome altogether, but the point is, I’m not sure what to think about all of this.

It’s happened so fast and I’m tired.

I crawl into bed and close my eyes, but the trip here, the hockey game, the party afterward, meeting his father, and then my mixed feelings about Jack play in my mind like a movie.

How can this be real life?

When I thread together all of the time he and I have spent together, it spans years, yet we hardly know each other, so why should I feel so disappointed that he’s moving to Nebraska?

Change also came at him fast and he made a decision. I’m happy for him and the new life he’ll have. Plus, he’s been generous and this little interruption to my regularly scheduled programming at the resort will give me a financial boost. I can’t very well carry on sneaking into villas, rooms, and the cabana storage building to sleep. Something had to give.

But now what?

The billionaire’s son paid me to be here. The fake girlfriend gig wasn’t included in the original price, but we’ll call it even since he’s also paying for my room and board tonight .

When I found myself stranded on Jewel Island with next to nothing to my name, I tried to come up with ways to get home and pay Dad’s enormous healthcare bills.

At first, I was only going to work at the resort long enough to make enough money to get home, but it was better than any of my old jobs at entry level, so I stuck around. Now that I’m back on the mainland, I don’t know what to do or where to go. It’s not like I have a place to stay or the means to remain here. It’s still a long way from Pennsylvania. I’ve done the math. If I remain at Jewel Island, I can get ahead and find a room to stay in around the port area. Probably. Tension gathers at the base of my skull, the forerunner to a headache.

My heart sinks because, like any rational human, I rather enjoy having a home and a job where I don’t have to use every cent to pay bills. And I’m a fan of having a guy in my life who is generous and thoughtful, who listens with interest and thinks of me, makes me feel special, cherished even. It doesn’t hurt that he’s gorgeous with his strong brow, blue eyes, and full lips.

Kissing Jack is a great bonus.

Being his fake girlfriend for a night wasn’t so bad, either. It turns out there was a different sort of catch to our arrangement. One neither of us want to name, neither one of us saw coming. Would I feel differently if I had?

It was thoughtful of him to get me the phone so we could keep in touch. I power it on, not because I have any intention of signing onto social media to see photos the puck bunnies were posting—who knew there was a thriving high school-esque hockey world popularity contest? It could be a soap opera. Tune in tomorrow for The Days of Hockey Lives .

Yeah, I must be hyper-tired because my mind repeatedly peels off in different directions with wild ideas, including one about being Jack’s real girlfriend.

Not going to happen .

I’m an unknown quantity or whatever it was he said after the game.

The phone is glossy and has that distinct brand-new electronic device smell. Except there’s one smudge, which must’ve been from when Jack programmed in his number. He’s already left his fingerprints all over my life … all over me.

I can’t say I mind.

However, I cannot let myself be fooled like I was with Slater. Then again, Jack wasn’t lying or boasting. He really does have a big yacht … and a billionaire father. He’s also really leaving for Nebraska.

Why does this whole thing make me feel sad?

Because I’m not Cinderella or Ella Bella. I’m just Ella.

And I smell popcorn.