Kimberly
Steam lingered in the air as I stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping my silk robe tightly around me. The cool air of the room hit my damp skin, sending a slight shiver down my spine. The fabric clung to me in places, but I barely noticed. I was too preoccupied with the thought of another tense evening of pretending.
Pretending to love Kendrick. Pretending we were a perfectly matched couple. Pretending I belonged in his world.
It was a game we’d played since his parents arrived — a well-rehearsed performance meant to convince them that our “relationship” was real, that we were more than just two strangers forced together by circumstance and power plays neither of us controlled.
I expected to see him adjusting his cufflinks by the window or standing by the door, his expression c
