Page 26 of Kicking it with my Fake Fiancé
“I guess it means I have a boyfriend.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out on my face. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me too.”
We stayed up half the night holding each other and talking about the future, about what it was going to be like when Matty came to America. I told him more about my friends, about how I was the last of them to get married, about how so many of us had started with fake relationships that turned real, and it seemed ours was headed the same way. Matty smiled and laughed at all the appropriate moments, and when I came to the last part about the fake relationships turning real, he kissed my bare arm and murmured how much he hoped that would be true for us, too.
The next morning, we woke early for the train trip to Oslo Airport, where I’d catch a flight back to the States. Neither of us was quite as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as we had been to wake the other days, and I found that we each were dragging things out little by little, starting with a steamy shower, until we were nearly running behind schedule. We scrambled to fill the suitcase I’d bought as a backup—mine never had been found—and made sure I didn’t forget anything.
We met with Brock and Steve at the pickup and drop-off entrance, where Steve briefed us on what he wanted to get on film—a heartfelt goodbye, bonus points for passionate kissing, double bonus points for tears. We promised we’d do our best, my gut twisting sickeningly when I thought of having to say goodbye.
Once we’d been briefed, Steve practically shoved us toward the security line, in front of which we’d say goodbye to each other.
I took both of Matty’s hands in mine, holding them firmly. “God, I’m going to miss you.” It was the most honest thing I could think of to say. “I can’t wait until you come to the States. For good.”
Matty ducked his head and nodded shyly. “I know. Me too. Hopefully my visa will come through soon, right?”
“Hopefully,” I echoed. I leaned in and we kissed tenderly, lips and tongues moving slowly, Matty’s hand in my hair, my hand gripping his back. As we kissed, moisture fell onto my cheeks. When I pulled back, Matty’s blue eyes were filled with tears.
“I really am going to miss you too,” he whispered. “More than you know.”
“I love you.” It felt weird and foreign coming out of my mouth, even though we’d said it many times before in a platonic way, but I had no choice. I couldn’tnotsay it for the cameras, but considering how we were in a newly developing relationship, it almost felt too soon to say in that context.
“I love you too.” Matty’s smile looked tense and he took a shaky breath. “You’d better hurry before you miss your flight.”
I kissed him once more. “Soon, okay?”
“Soon.”
“Cut,” Steve called, and we both looked at him. “That was good. Jared, don’t miss that flight home or production really will have my ass.”
I nodded and squeezed Matty’s hands. “Bye.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and nodded. “Bye.”
And with that, I was gone. We let each other’s hands go, I stepped into the security line, and I waved before Steve cornered Matty, had Brock point the camera at him, and I watched as Matty answered interview questions I couldn’t hear.
On the flights home, I wallowed in my own sorrow, missing Matty more and more with every mile put between us. I had a gnawing feeling that I might never see him again, even if I knew it wasn’t likely to be true. Truth be told, we were still waiting on the government to approve his visa. It could come at any time or it could be denied at any time. I didn’t want to think about what we’d do if it was denied. I opened my notebook and worked on a new song.
Chapter Fourteen
Matty
Whenmyphonerangon Tuesday afternoon the week after Jared left, I nearly let it go to voicemail. I’d been in a mood all day, missing Jared and growing impatient with the visa process, even though it could still take months. Instead of ignoring the call, though, I answered, hoping it was an American editor willing to take me onto their staff or even someone willing to take a few of my articles freelance.
“Hallo?”
“Hi, may I speak to Matthias Solberg?” asked a cheerful woman with an American accent.
“Speaking. How can I help you?” I frowned at the phone, trying to place the voice or the number without success.
“I’m Charlie Blythe, a producer withDestination Love. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
“Sure,” I said warily. “Is there something wrong?” I slowly sank onto the couch and stared out to the mountains beyond the fjord across the street.
“No, not at all. We just received notice that your visa has been approved. Congratulations! You’re getting married.”
My jaw dropped, brow furrowing as I processed what she’d said. “You’re sure?”
