Miss Belief: A Fake Relationship Romance (The Miss Series Book 3)

My gaze was riveted on Teagan, who sat on the hotel couch taking the biggest bite known to man of her club sandwich. She then let out a groan that could provide the soundtrack for an erotic movie.

“God, this is delicious.”

As I sat in a chair across from her, I snapped myself out of my newest fascination, watching her eat, and took a bite of my own hamburger. “It is good.”

She approached food as she did everything else. Unapologetically. She didn’t whine about the calories in the fries or pick at the sandwich. She took a big ol’ bite and enjoyed the flavors, knowing she’d hit the gym extra hard the next time without any regrets. It was not only refreshing, but also sexy as hell.

“So what’s on the agenda tonight?” she asked in between bites.

“Cocktails for a welcome reception at five. After that, I guess we’ll figure out what to do on our own for dinner.” Oddly, I didn’t dread having to see Vanessa or my mother as much as I’d thought I would. It must be the effect of the woman sitting across from me, currently shoving fries into her mouth.

She wiped at some mayo on her chin. “Gives us a couple hours. I may take a dip in the bathtub that’s the size of my entire bathroom.”

“Knock yourself out. I’m going to unpack. You want me to unpack you too?”

“You’re unpacking your suitcase?”

“Let me guess. You’re one of those people who prefers to pick your stuff out of the suitcase.”

“Well, yeah. Although normally I only travel home to see my sister, so it’s nothing fancier than T-shirts and jeans. I’ll hang my stuff later.”

As soon as I heard the water shut off from the tub, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Imagining her getting into the bath was sheer, utter torment. If we were a real couple, I’d take her a glass of wine, or maybe she’d prefer a martini.

Teagan came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, looking fresh and rosy from her bath. She was dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt and appeared completely unaware of just how attractive she was. Some women spent hours putting on makeup, yet she was naturally gorgeous without.

“My turn for a shower.” I’d need a cold one at this rate.

Turned out the cold shower was only a temporary fix. Because ninety minutes later she came out of the bedroom looking absolutely gorgeous in her little black cocktail dress with her hair down, her makeup on, and a smile firmly in place.

Faking it had just gotten a lot more real.

We were on our way to the cocktail party when we both spotted a tent off the terrace with a line leading up to it.

“What do you think it is?” Teagan whispered.

“Not sure, but let’s check it out.” It was clear there were other wedding guests in the line since they were dressed similarly to us.

After a quick question, we found out the line was for a psychic reading inside the tent.

“You game?” I asked her, curious about something I’d never explored.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, a psychic could be fun.”

“Mm.” She didn’t look convinced.

“You aren’t freaked out by it, are you?”

“To be honest, the supernatural, unexplained things like psychics, mediums, and magicians—it all gives me the creeps. I’m more of a lay-it-out-for-me kind of girl. I’m not big on surprises or smoke and mirrors.”

“Same, but live a little.” I wasn’t the type who believed in this kind of thing either, but if I was stepping out of my comfort zone and moving on from Vanessa, perhaps the psychic tent was a sign I should try something else that was new.

“Okay. Let’s see what crazy predictions she may have.”

Finally, it was our turn, and we stepped inside the tent. Sitting at a table inside was a small woman with brown, weathered skin. She was anywhere between seventy and a hundred years old. A colorful headdress matched her embroidered, loose-fitting blouse.

“Come in and take a seat,” she said with an islander accent.

The tent was filled with bright-colored tapestries and blankets that hung from floor to ceiling, giving the small space the desired ambiance for a psychic reading.

Teagan whispered, “What do you want to bet the bride and your ex slipped her a twenty to tell me I’m doomed?”

I grinned and was about to reassure her when the woman spoke.

“I do not take bribes. This is serious work. My name is Imelda, and I’ve been a psychic for over fifty years.”

Teagan sucked in a breath. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

I started to chuckle, but Imelda’s glare shut me up.

“She hates us both,” I murmured under my breath as we both took seats.

Now that I was closer, I could see the table was covered with a printed cloth and adorned with lighted candles, books, and beads. Whether all of this was functional or aesthetic, I wasn’t sure, but it definitely set the mood. The same could be said of the vanilla spiced incense permeating the room.

“Give me your hands.”

I could sense Teagan’s hesitation, so I took our hands, still clasped, and put them on the table.

Imelda put her old, weathered hands on top of ours and closed her eyes.

I winked at my date who appeared as though she was ready to bolt.

“I see a sexual spark between the two of you. A definite chemistry.”

“She can’t keep her hands off of me.”

My quip was meant to be funny, but it earned me a stern glare from Imelda.

Teagan’s lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

Imelda’s gravelly voice spoke again. “I see a much brighter spark with her than with you.”

Teagan smirked. “He does tend to lie there a lot while I do all the work.”

The vision of her on top of me made me suck in a breath. Guaranteed she wouldn’t be the one doing all the work.

Imelda narrowed her eyes, looking at us both. “You two haven’t had intercourse yet, have you?”

Her scrutiny had me squirming in my seat. “What makes you say that?”

“Because of all the unsatisfied sexual energy between the two of you.”

Gulp. I didn’t dare glance at Teagan.

Imelda leaned forward. “Don’t take things too slow. This is your window. I see a long and happy future for the two of you.”

Double gulp.

She then let go of my hand and concentrated on Teagan, whose eyes went wide.

“My dear, you are loyal, but the numbers of those you trust are small. You crave options in your life, don’t you?”

Teagan cleared her voice. “Yes.”

I was fascinated with her reading, but even more so with Teagan’s confirmation.

“You will be tested over the next few days in ways you won’t expect.”

Teagan nodded.

Imelda then motioned for my hand again. Taking it into hers, she breathed deeply. “You need to let go of the toxic people in your past.”

I would imagine most people who came into her tent could relate to this advice, but her next words really got my attention for some reason.

“Your past may try to trap you. Don’t let it.”

Well, that was cryptic.

She suddenly took hold of both of our hands, meeting my eyes. “You will have to make the first move with this one. She won’t ever tell you, but she’s shy.”

Whoa. That one was way off base.

Suddenly, she let go of both our hands. “Have a good night, my friends.”

In other words, she had others to get to. I slipped her a twenty-dollar bill. “Thank you for the reading.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Teagan and I didn’t speak until we were outside, away from Imelda and the long line of people now forming to see her.

“So, that was interesting.”

She expelled a long breath. “Yeah. She must throw spaghetti against the wall in hopes something sticks.”

“Right, like the thing about you being shy. Obviously, that’s not true.” I could totally see Teagan making the first move when it came to a man. There wasn’t a timid bone in her body.

“Yep. Me, shy? Can you imagine?”

Yet she didn’t sound convincing, which made me pause. Could it be possible she actually was shy when it came to making the first move with a man?

“I have to admit, the fact she knew I like options was creepy.”

“And it’s something I hadn’t guessed. Why do you enjoy options?” Getting to know Teagan was like discovering a small thread you could pull on in order to unravel a string of more information.

“When I was little, I didn’t get to choose what I ate for meals, what clothes I wore, or even whether or not I wanted to go into foster care. So I suppose having options, even if they’re small ones, gives me comfort. I know I get to make a decision instead of having no choice.”

What she said made sense. Her unpredictable childhood with a drug addict mother must have given her very few choices.

“Sorry, it’s stupid.”

My voice was thick with an emotion I didn’t want to name. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” I recalled the way her face had lit up at the number of movies available and the various menu options on the flight. No wonder she’d been so happy.