Page 67 of Well, That Was Unexpected

“After the event, can we talk?” he says, taking a step toward me. He’s so close that I can’t breathe without taking in the scent of him, a heady smell of freshly roasted coffee and crushed jasmine flowers.

I just about manage a nod. My entire body aches to step closer so that we are pressed up against each other, so that I can feel the reassuring warmth of him against me. I take a small step and now there’s only a single, lonely inch separating us. “Yeah, I would like that.”

He dips his head slowly, gently, and I raise mine to meet his. When our lips finally touch, it’s soft and sweet and utterly intoxicating. But the truth still holds me back, its presence a stumbling block in my mind. Tonight. After the event. I’ll tell him the truth, and it’ll be okay. We like each other. Really like each other. And I’ll explain to him that I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, and that Mama didn’t mean any harm, and he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll even find it funny.

He’s not going to find it funny. What was I thinking? There’s nothing funny about finding out that you were being swindled by your girlfriend’s mother.

Girlfriend.

I hate that the word makes my heart flip, that it makes me want to squeal and laugh. Part of me, anyway.

And also, I won’t remain his girlfriend, fake or not, for long. Not after I tell him the truth. Which I will, tonight. I can’t have it festering inside me for much longer.

Backstage, I pace around restlessly. I can’t believe I’m actually here at the launch of OneLiner. George’s family has really gone all out for the event; they’ve erected a giant stage right smack in the middle of the resort at the end of the infinity pool. There are colored spotlights everywhere and what looks like thousands of lanterns strung up above the pool, their light reflecting beautifully on the water, making it look like a pool full of stars. Huge cameras have been set up in front of the stage to live-stream the event to various TV channels and all over social media, and there are over a thousand guests seated in Tiffany chairs in front of the stage, fanning themselves and sipping signature cocktails.

“Hey,” George says, coming up the stairs. He’s a sight to behold. In his tux, with his hair mussed up just so, he’s devastatingly handsome. I have to remind myself to not stare. I force a smile.

“Hey, you look good.”

He flips imaginary long hair behind his shoulder. “Thank you, I know.”

I laugh, groaning.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice turning serious, and I stop laughing because now I’m melting into a puddle. Stop that,self.

“Um, so.” I have no idea how to accept compliments. “Are you ready for, um.” I gesture at everything around us—all of the crew rushing around backstage and calling out cues and givinginstructions.

He shrugs. “No? But I don’t think that matters. The show must go on, or whatever.” He gives me a rueful smile that makes him look so boyish and adorable. Gah, stop that, stop admiring his smiles and his stupidly good-looking face and his very broad shoulders and his hair and—

“Ladies and gentlemeeeeeen!” the MC’s voice booms across the stage and the audience, which has been murmuring and chatting up to this point, quiets down. “Welcome to the exciting launch of OneLiner!”

George half smiles, half grimaces, and we both turn to look at one of the screens backstage that allows us a view of the audience out there. With a start, I realize that we’re holding hands. When did that happen? How the hell did we become one of those couples to whom holding hands is so natural that I don’t even notice when he takes mine? Or maybe I was the one who sought his hand out. I give myself a little shake. Whatever, it’s just holding hands, sheesh. Stop freaking out, please, self.

“We are so honored to have all of you here tonight to celebrate the first ever app designed by our own George Tanuwijaya,” the MC says. “And after the presentation, you will get to meet the girl who has captured George’s heart!”

Even from backstage, we can hear the appreciative applause and hoots from the audience. George’s palm turns slightly moist and I squeeze his hand as reassuringly as I can, even though my own insides have turned to water.

“You’ll do great.”

He nods, looking like a terrified kid. But before he can reply,one of the backstage techs strides over and attaches a small mic to the lapel of George’s tux. Next to the tech is Fauzi, scrolling through his tablet and looking very harassed.

Fauzi glances up at us, seems to only just notice my presence, and says, “Oh, you’re back here. Perfect.”

“Uh. Perfect?” I say.

“Yeah, I was just looking for you. Rina requested your presence backstage because she has a surprise for you.”

“We do not like surprises,” Eighth Aunt says, appearing suddenly, surrounded by a battalion of personal assistants.

Fauzi bows his head slightly. “I—yes.”

“What’s the surprise?” Eighth Aunt says, her gaze piercing into Fauzi. He visibly wilts, and I don’t blame him in the slightest.

“I—uh—I’ll find out.”

“Good.” She turns to me and George as Fauzi rushes off, and brushes invisible lint off George’s shoulder. “George, are you ready? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I trust that you are, anyway.” She glances at me. “Sharlot, you look presentable.”

I get the feeling that it’s high praise, coming from Eighth Aunt. Something about her makes me feel like I should be dropping into a curtsy. Instead, I bow my head the way Fauzi did and say, “Thank you, Eighth Aunt.” I can’t believe this is the woman I had seen Mama kissing just yesterday. She’s so formidable now. Come to think of it, I can’t believe this is the woman George and I had run into at the café back in Jakarta. She’d been loud and friendly then, but tonight she’s donned her CEO mask and she looks like she could conquer the entire world if she wished.

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