I lace up, grab my phone, and head out the door. I need to move. I need to sweat.

I’ve been restless and on edge ever since leaving Quinn’s earlier that day. I sat through the rest of my meetings in a daze, barely listening to my team drone on about our latest client’s investment options. I don’t care about investments right now. All I care about is Quinn.

I step out of the elevator and walk through the lobby, nodding to the doorman as he swings open the door. I glance up and down the sidewalk. It doesn’t matter which direction I choose; I don’t have an end goal in mind.

I choose left, queue up my playlist, and start running.

As the blocks tick by, my thoughts return to the one subject I’m running to avoid: Quinn. I know by leaving abruptly I hurt her when she was vulnerable. To be honest, I was embarrassed—not for her, but for how selfish I’ve been all my life. After she finished telling me about her childhood, I remembered how I bitched and moaned about going to boarding school and never seeing my parents. How did that compare to coming home to your mother sprawled across the bathroom floor?

I pick up my pace, forcing my legs to move faster and harder.

Ten weeks. That’s how long it took me to find out something so significant, so personal, about my girlfriend—fake girlfriend. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of that small but life-altering fact?

My muscles cry out in pain as I slam my feet onto the concrete. I round the corner, wait for a light, then head for the trail that snakes along the river.

This thing with Quinn is the longest I’ve stuck it out with a woman—other than Tessa—and yet it doesn’t feel long at all. Quinn doesn’t play mind games or treat me like some accessory to be paraded around. Quinn isn’t obsessive or needy or clingy. Hell, I had to track her down today just to find out she was sick.

I think of her red eyes, raw nose, and bedraggled appearance. If she’d only let me know, I would have helped her.

But she doesn’t need or want my help, does she? Except for today, when she bared her darkest secret. She was hoping for acceptance and comfort, and what did I do? I fucking left.

I get a side stitch but I don’t stop. I lean into it, welcoming the pain as retribution for leaving Quinn when she had needed me most.

I left because I was weak. I left because I couldn’t handle seeing Quinn almost in tears, or the way her voice warbled when she spoke about her mom, or how good she felt in my arms. All I could do was sit there and listen, helpless to do anything.

I wanted to take away her pain. I wanted to make all her worries and problems disappear. I wanted to hold her and tell her she’d never be alone again, that I’d never leave her like her father and mother had.

But I couldn’t because it would be a lie. In ten weeks, my father’s campaign would be over, for better or worse, and Quinn and I would go our separate ways.

I grind to a stop as the cramp worsens. I stand there in the setting sun, panting and clutching my side, as I think about never seeing Quinn again. It feels wrong, gut-wrenching, like there’d be a gaping hole in my life where she once stood.

Stop.

These are dangerous thoughts. I’m not falling for her. I don’t get involved with women past the bedroom, least of all with someone who’s posing as my girlfriend. The multitude of complications from actually dating Quinn—of caring for one woman—gives me heart palpitations.

I take out my phone and dial Zach. This run did nothing to clear my head, so maybe a few rounds of drinks will.

“Stratton,” Zach says, picking up. “Been a while.”

“Hey, man. Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

“I bet. Your family is all over the news these days. Seems to be going well for your dad, though.”

My cramp loosens up a bit, and I start walking. “He better win after the hours I’ve put in smiling for the cameras.”

“Shit, man. Sounds like my nightmare.”

“Anyway,” I say, “I’m done at work, and the Yankees are away tonight. Wanna watch the game at Cleo’s?”

“Ball and chain busy tonight?”

I don’t like his tone. “She’s sick, and don’t call her that.”

Zach laughs. “I see your girl’s attitude’s rubbing off on you.”

“Her name is Quinn,” I snap.

“Dude, calm down. Meant nothing by it.”

I take a deep breath. “Whatever. It’s been a long day.”

“I can tell. When do you want to meet?” he asks.

I frown. I suddenly don’t feel like meeting up with him. “You know what? I think I’m going to stay in tonight.”

A pause. “Okay,” Zach says, coldness edging into his voice. “I’ll guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yeah.” I click off and shove my phone in my pocket. I pick up my pace, and soon I’m sprinting down the trail toward my apartment.

Zach’s comments about Quinn got under my skin, and I won’t tolerate his lack of respect for my girlfriend. Well…Quinn isn’t my real girlfriend, she’s just a puppet in my father’s campaign (like me), but I don’t let people talk shit about the people I care about.

I stop running, but this time not from a cramp. Do I care about Quinn? I care enough for Quinn to defend her against my best friend and to bring her chicken noodle soup in the middle of a work day. I care enough to feel bad for hurting her today.

Dammit.

I think I’m falling for my fake girlfriend.

* * *

“Why did you pack so much?” I ask, helping Tom shove the last of Quinn’s three suitcases into the trunk of the Town Car. “We’re only there for three days.”

“I didn’t know what to expect!” Quinn argues. She’s been standing on the curb for the past five minutes, watching me do all the heavy lifting.

“There’s a dinner, a fundraiser, and a cookout,” I say. “Did you pack one suitcase per day?”

Quinn frowns at me. “Gowns are bulky, Stratton. I don’t want them to wrinkle.”

Tom snaps the trunk shut and gives me a nod. I turn to Quinn. “Okay, pile in. We’re already late.”

“What is the agenda for this weekend, anyway?” Quinn asks after we pull away from the curb.

I turn up the air conditioning. New York City in late summer is a furnace. “Guests are arriving today, so there’ll probably be some welcome dinner tonight. Tomorrow’s the big fundraiser at the country club, and then Monday my family hosts a beach picnic.”

Quinn takes a deep breath. “Jesus, I feel like I’ve stepped into the pages of a Jane Austen novel.”

I snort. “Just wait until you see the Château Stratton.”

“What?” Quinn asks, her eyes going wide.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. “You’ll see. Wouldn’t want to spoil it.”

“Great,” Quinn mutters. “So, what do we do in between all these events? Sit at the pool?”

“Among others things. We could go sailing,” I suggest, looking at her.

“I’ve never been on a boat in my life.”

“Horseback riding?”

“I grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Croquet?”

“Whoa, that’s something people really do?”

I ignore that. “We also have a basketball and tennis court.”

“Yes!” Quinn yells. “I love tennis. Count me in.”

“Glad we found something for you, East. Dalton and Faith play, too. Perhaps we can play doubles.”

“If you can keep up, Stratton,” Quinn says.

I don’t think she knows who she’s messing with. I’m pretty good on the court. “Challenge accepted.”

Quinn’s laughter peters out into a gloomy silence.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m nervous,” she admits, her gaze drifting out the window. “Three days with your family…?”

“You’ve been to a dozen events with them.”

“Yeah, but that was for a few hours with a hundred other people. Your parents have barely spoken to me since that first dinner.”

“I suppose this weekend will right that wrong.” I sigh at her skeptical look. “Quinn, they love you.”

“Really?” she asks, turning to me. “You’re not just saying that so I don’t throw up?”

“Christ, please don’t,” I say, leaning away from her. “But seriously, you won them over in record time.”

I remember that first night at my parents’ house. I had never been so impressed by her ability to talk to anyone. Hell, she brought tears to my father’s eyes. There’s a first for everything.

“It’s not just them,” she says. “Everyone else that’s coming is critical to your father’s campaign. I feel so unprepared, like I need a briefing. What if I say the wrong thing to the wrong person? You know I’ve done that before,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I laugh. “Look at it this way: if you insult the son of this weekend’s host, you’ll be insulting me or Dalton. You’ve already insulted me, and Dalton, you already know. Quinny…”

My words fall off as I reach over and trace the outline of her chin with my fingertips. She stares back at me with wide eyes. I pull back, realizing I’ve crossed her line.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. She continues to gaze at me with those beautiful eyes. “I was just going to say be yourself. No need to act, they’ll like the real you.”

Just like I do.

“Okay, Stratton. If you’re sure,” she says, but I can tell she’s not convinced.

“You’re smart, funny, charming, and know how to work a room,” I say. Quinn flushes from the compliments. “And if you do get nervous, I’ll be by your side. We’ll get through this weekend together, East.”

Quinn gives me a grateful smile and then gasps. “Archer! I almost forgot the Cliftons are coming.”

I hadn’t. “It’s nothing,” I lie.

“But you’ve been comforting me while I should be comforting you.”

I shrug. “I’ll be fine.” Quinn throws me a look. “I will,” I repeat. “I can handle Tessa and whatever guy she throws in my face.”

“You think she’ll bring someone?”

“I’m sure of it. That has Tessa written all over it.”

Quinn grimaces. “Your ex sounds delightful.”

“That’s not the word I’d use.” I look at Quinn. “She might go after you, though.”

“How so?”

“It could go two ways: nice to your face but not when you leave the room, or just a she-devil all around. Everything she does is an act.”

“Kinda like us…” Quinn says, shifting in her seat.

I clench my jaw. “No, Quinn, nothing like us. Tessa is petty and cruel.”

Quinn scoffs. “Don’t worry, I can handle a prissy bitch like Tessa. I’ll protect you from her.”

“How?” I smirk. “By sticking out your tongue?”

“If I have to,” Quinn says, giving me a cheeky smile. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll wipe the tennis court with her perfect ass.”

I cock an eyebrow. “So you were checking out her ass that night as well?”

“Um, who wouldn’t?” Quinn says. “It was a beautiful thing.”

This girl is full of surprises. “Not as nice as yours, East.”

Quinn’s jaw drops.

I smile to myself. “I think I’m going to finish up this speech for the fundraiser. Cool?”

“Um, yeah…” she murmurs.

I lean back in the seat and take out my iPad. I can be full of surprises, too.

* * *

An hour later, the car turns onto a private drive. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Pebble Way Lane, the road that leads to my family home. Quinn is glued to the window, her fingers tugging and pulling at her sundress.

I reach over and take her hand. “You’re going to be fine. Just be yourself.”

“Right,” she says nervously, turning back to the window as the car rounds the bend.

In front of us lay Château Stratton. It’s architecturally celebrated for its Gothic Revival style, but there are too many turrets, wings, and stained glass windows for my modern tastes.

“Holy cow,” Quinn breathes. “It’s a castle.”

“That’s actually what Dalton and I used to pretend when we were kids.”

“I can’t believe you got to grow up in that. It’s stunning.”

I shrug. “It was alright. Got lonely, though.”

“Is it supposed to look like Versailles?”

“My great-grandfather modeled it after the châteaux in France, so maybe. My mother loves it.”

“I love it,” Quinn says. “Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad after all.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of a pair of massive double doors. A few other cars are clustered around us, unloading guests and their bags. I glance around, telling myself I’m looking for familiar faces when I’m really only looking for one. I don’t see her. At least this weekend has a chance of starting off on the right foot.

I spot my mother flitting around as she receives guests and directs them to their rooms. I know it’s a matter of seconds before she spots my car.

Quinn’s hand finds mine from across the seat. I turn and meet her eyes.

“Are you ready?” she whispers.

I nod. “Are you?”

Quinn smiles. “Yes.”

Her conviction pushes away the last of my dread. I might actually have fun this weekend with my fake girlfriend…

If I could remember to not fall in love with her.