Every great romantic fake-dating story hits a moment of no return. For some, it's the first kiss. For others, it's when someone blurts out "I love you" at a funeral. For me?
It's game night.
With Eli's entire family.
Let's rewind.
After our almost-kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel (yes, I'm still bitter), we'd agreed to keep things "casual." And by casual, I mean faking it so hard we might need an Oscar.
But now? Now I'm in Eli's childhood living room, sitting on a rug that smells like decades of family drama and accidentally agreed to play Truth or Dare: Family Edition.
There are twelve of us. TWELVE. All gathered in a circle like we're about to summon the spirits of dead family secrets.
Grandma is the ringleader.
She's ninety, sharp as a dagger, and terrifying.
She winks at me. I'm not sure if it's affection or a warning.
"Alright," she says, slamming a wine bottle on the table like a gavel. "Truth or dare, fake girlfriend."
Eli chokes beside me.
I smile sweetly. "Dare."
Mistake #1.
"I dare you to show us the ugliest piece of underwear you own."
Laughter explodes. Someone claps. Someone else starts filming.
I blink.
"Uh—sorry—did you say underwear?"
"You heard me," Grandma says, sipping her wine. "If you're really dating Eli, you've got to have an embarrassing pair. Like the ones with cartoon dogs or motivational quotes."
Eli turns crimson. "We don't have to do this—"
"Shut it, boy," Grandma snaps. "Let the girl talk."
I glance at him. At the entire family. At the glittering chandelier above us that's witnessed too much.
Then I stand.
March to my overnight bag in the hallway.
Return.
And drop a pair of bright pink, polka-dot granny panties in the center of the circle.
Gasps. Applause. Someone says, "Iconic."
I shrug. "They're my comfort pair. Don't judge."
Eli is frozen.
Dead.
Speechless.
And then—then he starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch.
It's the real kind of laugh. The kind that fills a room and makes your chest ache in the best way.
And maybe, just maybe, I fall for him a little more.
---
Later, after the games and Grandma's wine-soaked stories about love affairs in Paris (???), we sneak into the kitchen for leftover cheesecake.
"You didn't have to do that, you know," Eli says, licking a bit of frosting off his finger. "The underwear thing."
I grin. "You're welcome. That moment will be burned into your family's collective memory forever."
He leans back against the counter. "It's weird."
"What is?"
"You. Fitting in. So easily."
My stomach does a somersault.
Then he says, quieter, "That's not something Olivia ever did."
Boom.
There it is. The shadow of the ex.
I hate her and her perfect churro-holding hand.
"You want honesty?" I ask, hopping up onto the counter beside him. "I like them. Your family. Even your scary grandma."
Eli tilts his head. "Even Miles?"
"Especially Miles. He told me if I broke your heart, he'd sue me and make it look like an accident."
He snorts.
But then the moment turns. Like a soft shift in the wind.
He looks at me, and the air feels heavier.
"Do you think this could be real?"
My heart stutters.
"Do you?"
He doesn't answer.
Because suddenly—
BANG.
The kitchen door swings open.
Miles storms in, holding his phone.
"You need to see this."
He tosses it to Eli, who catches it one-handed.
I lean over to look.
It's a video.
Of us.
From the fair.
Taken from behind a cotton candy stand. Right when Eli reached for my hand.
The video is captioned:
"Local Billionaire's Son in FAKE Relationship for Inheritance?!"
And the comments are flooding in.
One of them says:
"Knew it. She's totally a gold digger. Look at her fake smile."
Another:
"This just confirms the rumors about the will. Gross."
I feel like the floor disappears.
Because that video?
It's everywhere.
Going viral.
"Someone recorded us," I whisper. "Someone's watching."
Eli's jaw clenches. His whole body stiffens. "This is Miles's ex-client," he mutters. "I know it. He's trying to destroy me before the will gets finalized."
I shake my head, panic prickling at my throat. "Eli, what are we going to do?"
He looks at me.
And for the first time, I see real fear in his eyes.
Not from the video.
But from the idea of losing this—us.
"I have to fix this," he says, stepping away. "Before it ruins everything."
"Wait—Eli—"
But he's already gone.
And I'm left standing in the kitchen, holding cheesecake, wearing dignity like a very badly fitted coat.