I turn to look at her, wishing we were elsewhere, anywhere but here at my mother’s charity fashion show. This event has been planned for weeks to be the kick-off for the charade within the charade. It was Celia’s choice, not mine. I would have preferred a private introduction for Alayna and Sophia Pierce. Not this extravaganza of people. Celia wanted it for exactly that reason—it gave her the excuse to be present. She wants to see the game in action; I get that. It was always the best part. But her nearness reminds me what this really is. Reminds me that my relationship with Alayna is an experiment. No, that’s not correct. My relationship with Alayna is not what happens here—it’s what happens in private. That is our reality. This is only a show. And both of us know that. But it’s hard to remember that when she’s running her hand across my shoulder like this. I should tell her to stop, even though I don’t blame her. I have the hardest time concentrating on anything that isn’t her when she’s near.
