Page 16 of The #FakeBoyfriend Bet

"The stains never came out," Lena confirms, dabbing at her dress. "This is nothing."

"Still, I'm sorry about the mess," I say, accepting the towel and trying to salvage my pants.

"It's actually perfect," Jess says with a grin. "Now Lena and Brian have matching 'first family dinner disaster' stories. When Brian met our parents, he knocked over an entire bottle of red wine."

"All over their white carpet," Brian confirms cheerfully. "I offered to pay for professional cleaning."

"Rookie mistake," Robert says, surprising me with actual humor in his voice. "Never acknowledge the full extent of the damage. Carter family rule."

"I'll remember that," I say, relaxing slightly.

As Diana clears the soiled tablecloth and Lena helps me blot the worst of the stains, something shifts in the atmosphere. The formality cracks, replaced by genuine warmth that feels unscripted.

"So, Max," Robert says once we're settled again, his tone lighter than before, "tell us about this specialty cocktail that won our daughter over."

And just like that, I'm no longer the interloper being interrogated but a guest with a story to share. I launch into a slightly embellished tale of the night Lena came to the bar, describing the custom bourbon and ginger concoction I made her (which I never actually did, but could easily recreate now).

Lena plays along beautifully, adding details about how impressed she was with my intuition about what she'd like. Our fabricated meet-cute sounds almost plausible as we weave it together, her hand occasionally touching my arm for emphasis, her smile directed at me with convincing affection.

By dessert—a delicious tiramisu that lives up to Diana's praise—the conversation flows easily. I find myself genuinely enjoying the Carter family dynamics, especially seeing Lena in this context. She's different here—still polished, still careful, but with moments of the unguarded laughter I witnessed after the gravy incident.

When she excuses herself to the bathroom, Jess slides into her chair.

"So," she says quietly, "you're good for her."

I blink, caught off guard. "I…try to be?"

"No, I mean it. I haven't seen her laugh like that in years." Jess studies me with surprising intensity. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

Before I can respond, she returns to her seat, leaving me with an uncomfortable pressure in my chest. Guilt, I realize. Because I'm not actually "doing" anything. This isn't real. It can't be real, because in three weeks, it will end as planned.

Lena returns, her hand automatically finding mine as she sits. It feels natural now, this physical connection, where just days ago it felt awkward and staged.

"What did I miss?" she asks.

"Nothing important," I reply, squeezing her hand, trying to ignore how right it feels.

As the evening winds down and we prepare to leave, Robert pulls me aside while Lena is collecting her purse.

"Lena's been through a rough patch," he says without preamble. "That Cameron fellow did a number on her reputation. On her confidence, too, though she'd never admit it."

I'm not sure how to respond. "She's stronger than people give her credit for."

Robert nods, seeming pleased with my answer. "Yes, she is. But even strong people need someone in their corner." He fixes me with a direct gaze. "Are you in her corner, Max?"

The question hits harder than he could possibly know. Am I in her corner? Or am I just playing a role, all while making a bet that guarantees I won't develop real feelings for her?

"I am," I say, and it doesn't feel entirely like a lie.

Outside, waiting for our Uber, Lena leans against me in the cool evening air. "That went better than I expected."

"Even with the gravy incident?"

"Especially with the gravy incident." She looks up at me, her expression soft in the streetlight. "You were good in there. Really good."

"Just playing my part."

"No," she shakes her head, "you were being yourself. That's why they liked you."

---