I take a moment to survey our surroundings. The crowd’s thinning, but the folks who remain are getting loud and boisterous. Not my idea of a good time. Still, I don’t want to cut our conversation short. We haven’t even talked about Ella, and I’m itching to ask about her. I begin to speak, then snap my mouth shut. Is it too soon?

Dean notices my hesitation and opens the door for me. “I’ll take ‘topics that may be difficult to broach but that you desperately want to discuss anyway’ for a thousand dollars, Solange.”

“Oh, thank God,” I say, exhaling in purposefully overblown relief. “Okay, let’s see. Here’s your clue: You were all set to marry this person just two weeks ago, until a nosy interloper stopped the wedding.”

He pretends to press a clicker in his hands. “Who is Ella Smith?”

“Correct. Well done. So, uh, tell me about her. Because I’ll confess, I’m perplexed by how well you seem to be handling the breakup.”

He faces me and nibbles on his bottom lip as he considers my question. It’s one of his habits, and I hate it. If he had crusty lips, I’d tell him to have at it, but no, Dean’s lips are plump and look pillow soft. The plump-lipped bastard.

“What?” I prod.

After several pensive beats, he says, “I’m going to be honest here, and I hope you won’t judge me too much.”

“Go on.”

He rakes a hand through his hair and lowers his chin. “Ella and I were only together for six months, and we didn’t love each other. Our intended marriage was meant to be a means to an end. For the both of us.”

This time I open and close my mouth like a ventriloquist’s puppet as I gather my thoughts. Now it all makes sense: Dean’s low-key reaction to canceling his own wedding, his eagerness to recruit me for his fake dating caper, the ease with which he turned his attention to securing a promotion. “You didn’t love her? At all?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I liked Ella. That was enough for me. And for her.”

With much effort, I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. People who treat their partners as props to satisfy their own needs are the worst. If I were looking for a compelling reason to resist my attraction to this man—and I am—he’s just given me one. Fixing my features into a placid expression, I pull out some cash for my drink, then rise from my stool. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dean