Page 48 of Fake To Forever

“Thanks,” I say, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m standing here, with Christian, in this house, like we’re really building a life together. “I appreciate that.”

The weight of his words hits me harder than I expected, and I can’t breathe. There’s something about the way he says it—so genuine, so sure—that makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, this could be more than just a plan. More than just an arrangement.

Before I can dwell on that thought, Christian reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The simple, unexpected gesture sends a shiver down my spine.

“Haven,” he says, his voice low, “I want you to feel comfortable here. Whatever you need, whatever it takes, we’ll make this work.”

The intensity in his gaze makes my heart race, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same shift that I am—if this is starting to feel real for him too. I nod, not trusting my voice to say anything coherent.

Christian clears his throat and takes a step back. “How about you take a break? I think you’ve earned it.”

I nod, looking around at the pile of boxes Marie and I hauled into the house. I’m not too eager to start lugging them upstairs just yet.

“That sounds great. What did you have in mind?”

“I could order some food, maybe open a bottle of wine. We could use a little downtime,” he suggests, his eyes scanning mine, as if gauging my response.

“Food and wine sound perfect,” I reply, feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect of just hanging out with him, away from the complexities of our arrangement.

He pulls out his phone and orders from a nearby Italian place, his fingers moving confidently over the screen. Before he moves to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“Hope you like Cabernet,” he says as he uncorks the bottle.

“I love it,” I respond, watching him pour the deep red liquid into our glasses. There’s something disarmingly charming about Christian when he’s like this—relaxed, attentive, with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

He hands me a glass, our fingers brushing briefly, sending a jolt of warmth up my arm.

“To a successful moving day,” he toasts, lifting his glass.

“To new beginnings,” I reply. Our glasses clink, and I take a sip, the rich wine like velvet on my tongue.

We move to the living room and settle onto the couch. Christian seems more relaxed now, his body angled toward me, one arm resting along the back of the couch, almost but not quite touching me. The proximity sends a subtle thrill through me.

“How are you feeling about everything?” Christian asks, his voice low.

“It’s a lot,” I admit, meeting his eyes. “But being here with you, it’s more… comfortable than I thought it would be.”

He smiles, and there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart beat a little faster. “I’m glad to hear that. I want this to be a place you feel at home in, Haven.”

Home. The word coming from his lips is something I can’t imagine ever getting used to. But, it's a step in the right direction I guess. I mean, Mom approved of our engagement. The last thing to do is get my brother to accept it.

If that’s even possible.

The food arrives, and we continue to enjoy each other’s company while we eat. We talk about our favorite movies, and Christian shares funny stories of Oliver. I tell him about the time Garrett made a buffoon of himself in front of Marie, which only endeared him to her more. The space between us seems to shrink, our bodies drawing closer as we laugh and talk.

Christian refills our wine, and that warm, hazy feeling fills my body. This feels like a date. Is it? I’m almost afraid to ask because I don’t want to ruin anything between us. But when his fingertips trace the back of my hand, my eyes are drawn to him. He stares back intently, his gaze lingering on my lips as my pulse quickens.

“Haven,” he begins, his voice husky, “I?—”

When he doesn’t finish his sentence, I swallow, licking my bottom lip. “You what?”

Instead of answering me, he leans in, his hand reaching up to gently caress my cheek. I meet him halfway, our lips touching softly at first. Fleetingly. The kiss quickly deepens, fueled by the wine and the simmering tension between us. My heart soars as his hand slides into my hair, pulling me closer, kissing me until I’m breathless.

I gasp and his tongue sweeps into my mouth. He gently pushes me back so I’m lying on the couch and his body covers mine. When he slips his hands beneath my shirt and brushes his fingertips along the skin of my belly, I arch my back, wanting more. Needing more.

“Christian,” I whisper, sliding my hands up to grasp his shoulders. “Please…”

“What do you want?” he asks with a teasing lilt to his voice.

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