Faking Perfection

17|Both

𝟙𝟟|𝔹𝕠𝕥𝕙

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟

Isabelle Holden is a girl who has never lacked anything materialistic. I assume she's gotten anything she's ever asked for, and with the new Cartier bracelet on her wrist glistening from the sun beaming down in the car, I begin to feel nervous about taking her out for her birthday. I don't know if she's expecting something extravagant and over-the-top, but I can't give her that. My family comes from money, there's no denying that, but my Uncle is firm about my spending habits. I don't have access to my trust fund. Not until I'm 21. And that's probably for good reason considering that I'd buy the entire Cartier store for this woman if I got to see more of that gold radiating off of her olive skin.

The urge to grab her thigh beside me in the car is strong, but technically we're in a fake relationship now. That doesn't mean I can touch her whenever I please, does it? I mean, she kissed me right outside her house, and that kiss...God, that kiss. I've never felt anything like it. Kissing other girls wasn't like kissing Izzy. Kissing her was...addicting. And great. Now I'm hard.

Again.

I flex my hand on the steering wheel and glance over at her. She catches me staring and smiles, twirling the edge of that little red dress between her fingers. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"I'm almost afraid to," I admit. "I don't want you to be disappointed."

"You think I'd be disappointed?"

Eyeing that Cartier bracelet again, I sigh in defeat. "I'm taking you out to dinner at that fancy Italian restaurant downtown, and then I thought we could go walk along the beach. It's lame, but..."

She closes the distance between us in the car and presses a swift kiss on my cheek. "It's more than anyone has ever done for me. It's my first date."

I gulp loudly and consider asking her why, but I don't need to. Despite how much confidence she exudes, underneath it all is a lot of insecurities I'm slowly unveiling. For whatever reason, she doesn't think she's worth more than a quick fuck. She's been putting on this facade of hers for so long that she's lost who she is, and I want to be the person to put her back together again. Bringing up her insecurities tonight isn't going to do that, so I keep my mouth shut and bring my hand over to squeeze her thigh. "Well, I'm glad I'm the one bringing you, then. I hope you like it."

She scoffs. "Mason, we could eat at a taco stand and I'd like it."

"Don't tempt me. I love tacos."

She arches a brow. "So do I. I've always wanted to try the food truck that's at Venice Beach."

Again, every assumption I've made about her continues to be wrong. Maybe Izzy doesn't need Cartier after all. Maybe she's just wanting someone to share and spend her time with, regardless of where it is. She isn't this stuck-up conceited rich girl I originally thought she was. Not at all.

"Tacos it is," I concede, and I put my signal on to make a U-turn.

***

Half an hour later, we're sitting on a bench next to the food truck stuffing our faces with all different kinds of tacos. The sun is just starting to set behind us, and Izzy's blonde curls are blowing in all different directions from the wind. She's got sauce on the side of her lip as she continues to shove her face, and the sight makes me smile. I love that she doesn't care what anyone thinks. She's hungry, and I love to watch her eat.

I love anything this woman does.

"So much better than Italian food," she hums with pleasure. "So, are you, like...destined to take over the company when you're older?"