Chapter 3:

Emma:

My friends and I are gathered in the three-Michelin star restaurant that I co-own with my twin brother, Ethan. It’s a generational restaurant that started with my great-great-great grandmother and now it’s passed down to Ethan and I because my elder brother, Andrew, has no intention of running the restaurant. 

To make it fair, my grandmother, Old Mistress Roberts, has decided to pass down the restaurant to whoever of us gets married first. Judging with Ethan’s playboy tendencies and the fact that I have completely sworn off love in my life, the restaurant might end up going to our younger sister, Sadie.

“Wait, start from the beginning.” Arya says, munching on a muffin. My other girlfriend, Emily, tips closer while Nicole has the calmest of expressions on our face. She is the no-nonsense lady in our group, to be honest, she scares us all.

I tell them everything from the beginning, how Clara’s father won’t invest in my upcoming game unless I am settled down with someone and how I blurted Jeremy’s name, barged into his office and asked him to be my fake boyfriend and how I told Kathy to make the post. By the time I am done, Arya and Emily’s mouths are open, Nicole doesn’t seem surprised.

“That’s just about it.” I say nervously, staring at them. “What do you guys think?”

“Jeremy? Seriously? He hurt you.” Arya is the first to speak, her tone pitched angrily. 

“I know.” I sigh, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me. “It’s just a year, we are even going to sign a contract. I swear, I am not going to end up getting crushed again.” I sneak a glance at Nicole, trying to see if her expression falters. Jeremy is her cousin and I know they’re close, so I am sure this is all messed up in her part.

“We’re just trying to look out for you.” Emily says fondly and my chest tightens, she is also Jeremy’s cousin, the Hart family is enormous. We have been best-friends since we were little, always looking out for one another and while I can see the concern in their eyes, I can also see the mild disapproval in Nicole’s eyes, when she saw what Jeremy did to me years ago, she drove over to his place and only goodness knows what she did to him. 

She doesn’t want me to date her cousin again, even though it’s all fake. They’re worried I am going to hurt all over again, that I am going to push them as far away as possible like years ago but what they don’t understand is that I am not the same Emma Roberts anymore.

I won’t let Jeremy hurt me, if anything; I should be the one hurting him.

--

A news outlet reached out to my assistant, Kathy, to ask if it is possible to do a couple photo shoots just for the media. Yesterday, Kathy posted the caption and now they want a photo shoot. I don’t know why the internet goes crazy for celebrity gossip.

I am dressed in a cream blouse and slack pants, pulling up in front of the photo shoot house, the camera man is already ready, the lush garden in the backyard is already set.

“Are you nervous?” Kathy asks as I step out of the car. “You look pale.”

I do admit that I am nervous of seeing Jeremy again after my little bash at him yesterday but I don’t let it show in my face, I just want to get this over with so I can go home. I am supposed to move into Jeremy’s villa next tomorrow, so the reporters won’t get suspicious. Goodness, all of these feel real all over again.

“I’m fine.” I say in a flat tone as we walk to the backyard where the photo crew are already waiting. I spot Jeremy talking to his assistant, he’s wearing a navy suit this time and my stomach churns, he knows my favourite colour is blue, is he doing this on purpose?

Either still, I don’t care, I shouldn’t care.

“Miss. Roberts. Over here please.” One of the camera crew waves over to me with a bright smile and I shoot Kathy a tensed look before going to join her. “Hi, I am going to be taking your photos, so I want to know if there’s a particular angle you might like or don’t like.”

I breathe in, all I need are photos for my social media to prove I am really dating Jeremy Hart, I don’t care about the angle or the lighting but of course, I don’t say that. “It’s fine either way.”

“Oh really? Alright.” She flushes with a smile. “I really love your games, Miss. Roberts, my nephew and I, he’s nine, we used to stay up all night playing multiplayer.”

It warms my heart to know that people are out there, enjoying the games that my company created. I like how games can bring us together. Games were the only thing that brought Jeremy and I closer and then it tore us apart without mercy.

“Shall we start?” she asks and I nod. She yells to the remaining crew and asks everyone to take their position. I draw in a breath as Jeremy turns and our eyes meet, I feel uneasy as I walk towards him. I smell of strawberries- that’s because I sprayed a strawberry-scented perfume down my neck, wrists and even my hair because I want him to notice.

I know mostly everything about Jeremy and one of them includes his strong hatred for strawberries. I remember once when I made a strawberry cake, he looked at it like it was poison, clutched his chest while saying painfully. “I hate strawberries; it makes me sick to my stomach.”

What am I even doing? Drenching myself in a strawberry-scented perfume? Maybe I want him to flinch, to lose control, to let him feel the pain he made me feel every day.

I tip my chin and start walking towards him. “Shall we?” I smile forcefully, my tone anything but cheerful. His eyes narrow and I know that the scent has hit him, his jaw tightens. His fingers clutch his chest like he’s trying to keep it in place.

“Jeremy?” I say lightly, pretending I don’t see it. “Shall we?”

He doesn’t answer me, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Everyone is staring intensely including both of our assistants. For a horrifying second, I fear he’s going to collapse.

Guilt racks through me hard. Stepping closer, I murmur gently. “Hey.”

He straightens abruptly, like he doesn’t want everyone to see him like this. “Get that smell away from me.” He brushes past me and walks straight out the backyard. I swallow hard, the perfume choking me. I didn’t mean for all of this, he told me once how he used to avoid the smell of strawberries, whether perfume or lotions, strawberry desserts. He called it an allergy.

I turn to see everyone looking at me, and I feel exposed. I walk out of the backyard and I find him outside, leaning against his black car and from where I am standing, I see his hands trembling slightly.

His tie is loosened, hair slightly out of place, he looks so vulnerable, and suddenly I feel like the villain.

“Jeremy...” I start.

He lifts his head immediately, his eyes sharp. “Don’t.”

I take a step anyway. “I didn’t mean-”

“Stay where you are,” he didn’t yell but the way his voice commands such great attention makes me stay rooted in my steps.

“I swear, I didn’t think it would—”

He laughs, short and bitter. “You knew exactly what it would do. You saw it happen before.” I did see it happen before when I baked him that cake and goodness, I feel so awful. How twisted is my hate for him that I thought of this disastrous nonsense?

“I am sorry.” I say.

He doesn’t respond. “We can reschedule.” That’s the only thing he says before getting into his car, and driving off, leaving me there as I blink back the furious tears that are threatening to fall.