Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

He puts his hand on the small of my back and follows me. I realize that I’d completely forgotten about the evening’s fake relationship component up until this moment.

Right now, I don’t need to pretend.

“Hi, Stevie,” she says.

She does not return my smile.

“Hey, Milly. You look gorgeous.” She’s wearing a raspberry-pink gown with puff sleeves and a slim Gucci belt. She’s topped it off with oversized statement earrings, a swipe of dark lipstick, and hair in old-Hollywood glam waves. “Lady, you could be on the cover of Vogue.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes flick over my dress. “You too.”

“I appreciate that. Working at a brewery—”

“Owning a brewery,” Hank corrects.

“Right. Owning a brewery means I spend most days in jeans. But any chance I get to doll myself up like this, I go all out.”

“I will never forget that dress you wore in Vegas.” Hank’s hand moves to my ass.

I turn my head to smile at him. In these heels, we’re exactly the same height, our eyes level. “That’s a fun one.”

“It was fun to take off.”

“I’m gonna stop y’all there.” Milly loops her arm through mine. “Hank, I’m stealing your girlfriend for a bit. Think you can survive fifteen minutes without her?”

“Honestly?” Hank looks at me. Hazel eyes full and serious. “I don’t know.”

My heart skips a beat, the threads of real and fake tangling inside my head. The sexual desire he feels for me is real.

But this look—this is another kind of desire, the kind we promised we’d only fake.

Only Hank doesn’t appear to be faking it.

If he is, he’s a really, really good actor.

Scariest of all, the longing spreading inside my chest feels real too. When was the last time someone looked at me this way?

“Too bad. We’ll be back in fifteen.” Milly nods across the room at Beau. “I think he wanted to talk to you anyway.”

She whisks me into the crowd, tilting her head close to mine.

“So,” she says.

“So.”

“You and Hank seem to be hot and heavy.”

Laughing, I reply, “Our connection was pretty immediate and pretty intense, yeah.”

“But y’all haven’t known each other long.”

A feeling of unease moves up my spine. “A couple of months. Seems quick, I know, but we really did hit it off from day one. I’m not one to mess around—not at this point in my life—and neither is Hank. It’s one of the things I appreciate most about him.”

I cringe inwardly. That last bit is true. But telling Milly Beauregard I’m not messing around when that’s exactly what I’m doing feels . . . not great, in a way I wasn’t expecting.

I wonder where the hell this surge of conscientiousness came from. I willingly signed up to do the pretend relationship thing, didn’t I? Knowing full well it would entail telling one gigantic lie and lots of smaller ones too. The ruse was supposed to be fun.

It doesn’t feel fun at the moment.

I only wish Hank’s family wasn’t so damn great. None of them would pull a stunt like this. Does that make me a scumbag?

Milly slows her stride, stopping in front of the French doors. A waiter opens one, closes it; I shiver at the sudden gust of cold air.

“Look,” she says, turning to face me. “I don’t mean to be an asshole, but I love my brother, and I think I speak for my family when I say I don’t want him to get hurt. He dove in headfirst with Emma, and now I see him kinda-sorta doing the same with you. The way he looks at you . . . I mean, you know, obviously. He’s smitten. So you understand why I’m a little concerned. We all are.”

My heart thumps. I grab a glass of water from the nearby sideboard and take a gulp. I want to thank her for her honesty. Milly’s not a bullshitter, and I’ve learned to appreciate that over the years.

But I’m not being honest, and bringing up her honesty while lying to her face seems like the most bullshitty move of all.

“I get it,” I say. “And that’s a totally fair concern to have. Hank is a great guy, Milly—really, really great—and I’d never hurt him, not intentionally. He told me what went down with Samuel and Emma, obviously. He also told me he learned a lot from it. I think”—another gulp of water—“I think he has a better idea of what he wants now.”

Milly nods, sipping her champagne. “And you, Stevie? Do you know what you want?”

“Yes,” I say. And I wait for the certainty of that truth to steel my spine, the way it always does.

I wait some more. Milly looks at me expectantly.

“I want Hank to be happy.” I pick my words carefully. “I mean that, Milly.”

“Right. We all want that. But what do you want? Like, what’s your dream scenario here? Forever? A family? Because I know my brother, and I know that’s what he’s dreaming about.”