She's a disgraced socialite; he's a rodeo star on the rise. When they're forced to fake a relationship, what happens when the sparks feel a little too real?
***
Sophia Huntington is a socialite. She likes rooftop cocktails, perusing copies of Vogue...
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Sophia ordered a matcha latte.
She'd been ordering odd-flavoured lattes for years now. Rose-infused tea lattes. Coffees with lavender. Blue spirulina cappuccinos. It had started as a hobby, and then Sophia had realized that colorful drinks performed better on Instagram, and — at some point — it had just become habit. Matcha lattes were her go-to drink now.
Besides, Sophia thought, settling into a leather armchair, Books and Nooks did an excellent version of a matcha latte. Not that she spent a lot of time here; Sophia was partial to cafes with marble and rose-gold and decorative plants. But Ophelia liked it here, liked the roaring fireplace and the smell of old books, so here they were.
Sophia glanced at her watch.
And — true to form — Ophelia was running late. Three, Sophia thought, sipping her matcha latte. Two. One—
Ophelia burst into the room.
"Sorry!" Her cheeks were flushed, her red hair escaping its braids. "I'm so sorry."
"You're only five minutes late."
"Not about that," Ophelia said, exasperated. "About this." She held up a tabloid, punching the front cover with a disturbing amount of force. "This is all my fault."
"Why?" Sophia sipped her latte. "You didn't make me wear last season's Simone Perele." She squinted at the photo. "Lovely bra, but horribly bent out of shape. I never should have put it in the wash."
Ophelia stared at her. "Is that a joke? Did you just make a joke?"
"I either joke about it," Sophia said lightly, "or I cry. And I look hideous when I cry. Trust me. I had to do it for a waterproof mascara commercial once."
Ophelia plopped into a chair. "I shouldn't have drunk that much. And I definitely shouldn't have taken some man's ketamine." She looked at Sophia entreatingly. "Are you angry with me? You're allowed to be mad. I would be furious."
Sophia sighed. "I'm not mad."
"You're not?"
"No."
And Sophia meant it. Ophelia was the type of person who would ask for coke at a rave and then get confused when someone handed her white powder instead of a soda. She should have known better than to leave her at a party full of strangers, Sophia thought. She should have stayed with her.
Speaking of which.
"Listen," Sophia said, "there's something you should know."
She filled Ophelia in, beginning with the morning pancakes and ending with Jenna's suggestion to leave for Bashaw. By the time Sophia finished, Ophelia's tea and almond croissant had arrived, although her cousin hadn't seemed to notice; she was staring at Sophia.
"You're leaving?"
"No. Maybe." Sophia took a sip. "I don't want to. Do you think I should?"
Ophelia fiddled with the ellipsis tattoo on her finger. A nervous habit. "I want whatever's best for you. Always. You know that."
by JKMacLaren
