All Chapters of Revenge Dating My Ex's Brother: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The problem with agreeing to actually date my fake boyfriend was that nobody else knew anything had changed. Which meant when August called Thursday afternoon and said, "My parents want us at dinner tonight," I had questions."So we're fake dating at dinner.""Yes.""While actually dating."A pause."We're seeing where this goes.""That sounds suspiciously like dating.""Melody.""I'm trying to understand which boyfriend I'm bringing.""There is only one of me.""Debatable."He exhaled. "Seven.""Is Paul going to be there?"Another pause."Yes.""Wonderful.""I can tell them we can't make it."That surprised me. Six years ago, a Belcourt family dinner had been something I attended because declining Evelyn Belcourt felt approximately as possible as declining a court summons. Now August was offering to cancel because I might not want to see his brother."No. We'll go.""You're sure?""Yes.""Fine.""Which version of you should I expect?"He hung up. Rude.Evelyn greeted me like I'd been

The quiet settled around us like something intentional. August’s arm was warm across my shoulders, his hand steady at my waist, fingers barely moving against the fabric of my shirt. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. The city noise outside my windows felt far away.I turned my face into the side of his neck. He smelled like the soap he used and the faint trace of the Thai food we’d just eaten. I pressed my lips there, soft, testing. His breath caught.“Melody.”Just my name. Low. Warning and invitation at the same time.I kissed him again, higher, closer to the hinge of his jaw. His hand tightened at my waist. When I lifted my head, he was already looking at me, eyes darker than usual in the low light of the living room.I kissed him.It wasn’t careful. His mouth opened under mine, and the sound he made in the back of his throat went straight through me. I shifted, climbing half into his lap so I could get closer. His hands found my hips and held on.We kissed like that

The Whitmore Theatre had a lobby large enough to fit the entire Ainsley Theatre inside it.Possibly twice.Marcus stood beside me, staring up at the chandelier.“I think I just saw my annual salary hanging from the ceiling.”“Don't touch anything.”“I wasn't going to.”“You were looking at that vase.”“I was appreciating the vase.”“You were calculating whether it would fit in your bag.”“It wouldn't. I've already checked.”I laughed and followed him toward the auditorium, where Daniel Mercer was waiting with Rebecca Sloan.“Melody.” Daniel greeted me with a smile. “Glad you could make it.”“Are you kidding? I was here twenty minutes early. Marcus made me wait outside so I wouldn't look desperate.”“You were pressing your face against the glass,” Marcus said.“I was checking whether the doors were open.”Rebecca shook my hand. “Ready to see the place?”“Absolutely.”She opened the auditorium doors.And I stopped.I'd seen photographs of the Whitmore. I'd studied its seating chart and

The car moved through the quiet streets with the easy confidence of a city that never fully slept. August’s hand stayed in mine, his thumb brushing slowly across my knuckles the way it had since we’d left the restaurant. The residual warmth of the evening still clung to both of us. Sophie’s laughter, Henri’s careful questions, Isabelle’s polite interest in the play that was essentially a public autopsy of my former engagement to his brother.I stared out the window for a while, watching the lights smear past.“You’re quiet,” August said.“I’m cataloguing every possible way Friday night can go wrong.”“Don’t.”Silence settled again, but it was the comfortable kind. His fingers tightened briefly around mine when the car turned onto my street.When we pulled up in front of my building, he didn’t immediately let go.“Come up,” I said.It wasn’t a question. He studied my face for a second, then nodded once.The elevator felt smaller than usual. We stood close enough that I could feel the h

I found Marcus in the prop closet attempting to convince a junior stagehand that the missing hat was not, in fact, a crisis of national proportions.“I’m leaving,” I said.He looked up. “With August?”“Yes.”“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”“That leaves almost nothing.”“Exactly.” He grinned. “Text me if you’re not coming in tomorrow.”“I’m coming in tomorrow.”“Sure you are.”I collected my bag from the dressing room, checked that my phone and keys were inside, and walked back to the lobby.August was waiting exactly where I’d left him, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too composed for a man who had spent the last two hours watching me perform and the night before making me forget how to form a coherent sentence on my own couch.The second our eyes met, his composure cracked just enough for me to see the anticipation underneath.“Ready?” he asked.“Yes.”He held out his hand, and I took it.We stepped into the cool night air. His car was waiting at the curb, and he