Page 61 of Pretend for Me

We ate corn dogs and churros and Dole Whip, and we even had a private lunch with the entire Disney cast.

When we went through the shops and Dev saw me eyeing the Beauty and the Beast tea set—seriously, I looked at it for three-point-five seconds—he promptly purchased twelve. When I asked him why, he said he wanted a full set ofChipteacups so our guests wouldn’t feel left out.

Because what kind of hosts would we be if not ones to serve the tea we never made in Disney-themed tea cups?

But amidst the whirlwind of today, there was one thing about my fiancé that stuck out more than ever. It’s not that I’d never noticed it before; I mean, it’s practically his entirepersonality, alongside his broodiness and quiet moments. And that’s his capacity to care. His capacity to doanythingfor the people he cares for.

Whether it was rechecking Deena’s safety harness on each ride, reminding Rome to stay hydrated with water instead of soda, or continuously finding ways to make sure I felt special on my birthday, the man wasn’t happy unless everyone else was.

And now that the day has come to an end, we find ourselves on a private balcony, overlooking the castle with the bustling crowd nothing but a murmur below us. It’s as if we’re in our own little snow globe. Except, instead of the snow, there’s a whole lot of electricity buzzing around us.

Deena and Rome are plastered to the railing, with Elsa and Buzz Lightyear standing on either side of them. Neither are paying attention to me or Dev, standing a little too close, feeling a little too warm. Thankfully, we’re also shielded by the veil of darkness, save for the occasional dance of lights around us.

I turn around to face him, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. His usually guarded eyes reflect a kaleidoscope of colors, and I’m not sure they’re only from the bursting sky.

My hands find his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart underneath. Slowly, as if I’m scared he’ll spook—the way he did after the last time we were this close—I let them travel upward, tracing the column of his throat. I feel him swallow before the weight of his palms meet my hips. I shudder against him despite feeling the warmth from his skin seeping through my gown.

Trailing my hands up to cup his jaw, I brush my fingertips over his scruff, saying more with them than I can with words in this surreal moment.

My head is a jumble of thoughts, each one in a race withthe other, while my heart feels like it’s beating steadily for the very first time in my entire life.

How is it possible for this man to make me feel like I’m flying high and sinking deep all at the same time, while also making me feel so . . . grounded? So tethered?

“Did you have fun today?” I ask him, feeling a mix of anxiety and exhilaration.

His brows bunch together. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to ask you that. Did you have fun on your birthday?”

“I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in my entire life,” I answer sincerely.

He smiles, and I take the moment to catalog the way his beautiful lips stretch, moving my thumb to brush that adorable dimple I’m so obsessed with.

“Your turn,” I insist, feeling like a bundle of nerves.

I’d promised Claire I would pull her son out of his busy life and force him to have fun. But now, as I stand waiting for his answer, I can’t help feeling worried that perhaps I didn’t fulfill my promise.

Dev’s eyes soften before he lifts his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in my entire life, either.”

A relieved smile takes over my entire face. “Really?”

“Really.”

And suddenly, I feel like crying.

For reasons beyond me—and for absolutely no reason at all and for all the reasons in the world—I’m going to cry on my damn birthday, like a cliché.

Blinking rapidly, I wrap my arms around his solid frame, laying my head on his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For today. For everything.”

Dev takes my face in his hands before looking at me with a look I can’t quite decipher. I’ve seen a glimpse of it before but never as clearly. “Happy birthday, Peter.”

I pout at the use of the nickname, making him chuckle.

He lowers his mouth, bringing it inches from mine. “Happy birthday, my beautiful Piper.”

And that’s when I break rule number one, lifting up on my toes and molding my lips to his in a move that can only be considered . . .

My surrender.

A white flag.

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