I sink back against the chaise with a groan. Because of course, this random guest bathroom has a pink velvet chaise and an acre of marble.

Think. Focus. Do not pant over Dash, no matter how smoking hot he’s looking in that tux.

I sigh. I wore my worst red lipstick, the one that has amazing color but smudges like crazy, just as a reminder not to do anything that might mess it up. But watching Dash work the room, I wanted to grab a napkin and wipe the whole lot off.

Or even better, have him lick it off…

So much for ground rules and boundaries. Clearly, I’m struggling to remember the line between fantasy and fiction, here. But that can happen to anyone, even famous actors. I remember reading an article about it once, where certain actors got so into their roles that they even behaved like their characters off the set, too.

Method acting? I think that’s what it’s called.

The point is that it’s understandable to slip a little too far into the role. To feel all these, feelings. I just have to try not to let it happen again.

And I definitely need to keep my mouth shut and do damage control, before Dash’s trust fund—and my makeup line—is just a distant dream.

I take a deep breath, brace myself for battle, and head back out into the party.

I find Dash out on the back terrace, looking over the dark lawn.

“I am so, so sorry!” I blurt, before he can get a word out. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I know, me and my big mouth. Again! I’ll find Zelda and apologize, I’m talking, serious groveling. A-grade. I will hurl myself at her feet, if that’s what it takes—”

“Easy there,” Dash laughs. “No feet-hurling necessary, I’ve already talked to her.”

“And she’s not mad?” I ask hopefully.

“Not at all. In fact…” Dash pauses. “She’s reinstating the trust.”

I gape. “Wait, what?”

“Says she won’t interfere in my life anymore,” he continues. “Which means she’ll manage to interfere about twenty percent less, but still, that’s a win, right?”

“Are you kidding? That’s the whole ball game!” I exclaim. Then the news sinks in. Mission accomplished… Which means there’s no reason to keep up this fake girlfriend charade beyond the gala.

Which was the plan, I know. But still, the thought stings a little.

Dash looks around. “How about we get out of here and celebrate, just the two of us?”

“Yes!” I blurt immediately. “I mean, sure. I think I’ve had my fill of society small talk.”

“What about snacks?” Dash asks, teasing.

“Well no, I’ll never get enough of them.”

He swipes a bottle of champagne and two glasses, and I grab a plate of desserts, then we head down the terrace steps and across the lawn. The weather is cloudy and humid, like there’s a storm on the horizon, but I’m just relieved to get away from the stifling company inside.