The Spanish Love Deception

Chapter 3

Rosie’s face filled with shock one more time. My gaze remained on her, and I could picture how the

dark brown in my eyes was turning to red with my growing exasperation.

My answer? What the hell was he even trying to accomplish? Was this a new, inventive way of playing

with my head? My sanity?

“I have no idea what he’s talking about. I heard nothing,” I lied. “You can tell him that too.”

Rosie tucked a curl behind her ear, her eyes jumping very briefly to Aaron and then returning to me. “I

think he’s referring to the moment he offered to be your date to your sister’s wedding,” she explained

with a soft voice. “You know, right after you told me that things had changed and that you now needed

to find someone—or anyone, I think you said—to go to Spain with you and attend that wedding

because, otherwise, you’d die a slow, painful death and—”

“I think I got it,” I rushed out, feeling my face burn again from the realization that Aaron had heard all of

that. “Thanks, Rosie. You can stop with the recap.” Or I’d be dying that slow, painful death right about

now.

“I think you used the word desperate,” Aaron chipped in.

My ears burned, probably flashing about five shades of radioactive red. “I did not,” I breathed out. “I did

not use that word.”

“You … sort of did, sweetie,” my best friend—no, former best friend as of right now—confirmed.

Eyes narrowed, I mouthed, What the hell, traitor?

But both of them were right.

“Fine. So, I said that. Doesn’t mean I’m that desperate.”

“That’s what truly helpless people would say. But whatever makes you sleep better at night, Catalina.”

Cursing under my breath for the umpteenth time that morning, I closed my eyes briefly. “This is none of

your business, Blackford, but I’m not helpless, okay? And I sleep at night just fine. No, actually, I’ve

never slept better.”

What was one more lie to the pile I was hoisting around, huh?

Contrary to what I had just denied, I was truly, helplessly desperate to find someone to be my date to

that wedding. But that didn’t mean I’d—

“Sure.”

Ironically, out of all the damn words Aaron Blackford had said to the back of my head that morning, that

one word was what made me break my stance to pretend I remained unaffected.

That sure, sounding all condescending and bored and dismissive and just so Aaron.

Sure.

My blood bubbled.

It was so impulsive, such a knee-jerk reaction to that four-letter word—which, uttered by anybody else,

would have meant nothing—that I didn’t even realize my body was turning until it was too late.

Because of his unearthly height, I was welcomed by a broad chest covered in a pressed white button-

down that made me itch to fist the fabric and wrinkle it with my hands because who pranced through

life so sleek and spotless all the damn time? Aaron Blackford—that was who. Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

My gaze trailed up rounded shoulders and a strong neck, reaching the straight line of his jaw. His lips

pressed flatly, just like I had known they would. My eyes traveled further up then, reaching his blue

ones—blue that reminded me of the depths of the ocean, where everything was cold and deadly—and

finding them on me.

One of his brows rose.

“Sure?” I hissed.

“Yes.” That head, topped with raven hair, gave one single nod, his gaze not leaving mine. “I don’t want

to waste more time arguing about something you are too stubborn to admit, so yes. Sure.”

This infuriating blue-eyed man who probably spent more time ironing his clothes than interacting with

other human beings was not going to make me lose my temper this early in the morning.

Fighting to keep my body under control, I inhaled a long, deep breath. I tucked a lock of chestnut hair

behind my ear. “If this is such a waste of time, I genuinely don’t know what you are still doing here.

Please don’t stay on my or Rosie’s account.”

A noncommittal noise left Miss Traitor’s mouth.

“I would have,” Aaron admitted in a level tone. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

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