Pretend We're Over (Pretend 2)

I glance up at Sebastian, who is oblivious to the thoughts in my head. I have to tread carefully, to get him to agree to my plan.

“About that…”

11

Sebastian

“What do you mean you don’t want me to use my lawyer?” I ask as we stand in line to board our plane.

She runs her hand through her hair, making it look even more wild and untamed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she had a quick fuck in the bathroom before boarding. But the look is just Millie—a little wild, a little messy, and probably an animal in the bedroom. Too bad I can’t remember.

We are headed to Hawaii for an all-paid, week-long vacation. I’m going to win our little bet. I’ll get my one night yet. One that this time, I’ll make sure I don’t forget.

Millie mumbles something under her breath that I don’t catch.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Sir, your ticket,” the flight person says. I hold out my phone, and she scans it, then scans Millie’s.

“Have a nice flight,” she says.

We walk down the ramp. Me pulling my carry on, Millie still sporting her backpack that somehow fits a weekend’s worth of clothes. I’m okay with her not having many clothes. It means she can spend more time naked around me.

“Window or aisle?” Millie asks when we get to our seats in first class. Boden really went all out for this honeymoon. I texted him in the limo, but he never responded to me. I don’t know where he is. I just hope he’s taking the breakup as well as Oaklee is.

“Aisle,” I say.

Millie smiles. “Good, I prefer the window.”

We both take our seats after I put my bag in the overhead compartment, and Millie squeezes her bag under the seat in front of us. We look like a happily married couple, which is why you should never believe appearances. They can be faked.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. King. Can I get you some champagne before we take off?” our flight attendant asks.

“No!” Millie and I both answer at the same time, equally emphatically that we don’t want any champagne.

“Hungover?” he asks us.

We both nod.

He chuckles. “How about some coffee then?”

“Yes, please,” I answer.

Millie nods as well.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks, Mr. and Mrs. King.” And then he leaves us.

“Do you know that you do this blinking and wincing thing every time someone calls us Mr. and Mrs. King?” Millie asks.

I turn my head toward her. “I don’t think I do.”

“You do.”

“Is that a problem? We aren’t really married.”

“Actually, we are.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, we’re married, but not by choice. And we won’t be for much longer. As I said, I spoke with my lawyer—“