Page 42 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
Listen, all I remember is that there was a mouth.Then, another mouth.And ...well, there were no rules in place before we let this happen.We should’ve thought about creating rules.Which, if they’d been in place, someone broke them.Probably him, or was I the one who initiated the kiss?
It doesn’t matter who started it.What matters is that there was a kiss, and now I feel like I’ve been dragged across some invisible emotional threshold where I want more of those kisses—even if they’re fake.Even if this entire thing is a fabrication built on strategic lies and curated eye contact.
The worst part is that I feel all ...fluttery.
Is that a word?Do normal people feel fluttery?Or is that just what happens when your body short-circuits from too much heat and not enough plausible deniability?
No, Win.It’s just the wine.Definitely the wine from earlier.You came from the vineyard, there was tasting that was clearly enough to sabotage your nervous system.This is normal.Totally normal.Totally manageable.
Not at all the early warning signs of a full-body and mental breakdown.
I close the bathroom door behind me with slow, forced composure—the sort you fake when you’re seconds from unraveling but still pretending everything’s fine for the sake of optics and mascara.
My heels click against the tile like they’re judging me.My palms are clammy, tingling with nerves and the residual citrus bite of champagne.My lips still taste like Soren and a collection of bad decisions disguised as romance.
I plant both hands on the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection like it owes me answers.
Cheeks?Flushed, obviously.I look like I’ve been caught making out behind the bleachers.
Lipstick?Ruined.I’ve got smudges and smears in a pattern that says kissed stupid by a man who knows what he’s doing.
My hair—which I pinned up with the precision of a woman trying to present as casually effortless—is now a soft disaster.A few traitorous strands have slipped down to curl around my jaw like they know I just lived out someone else’s fantasy.
I look like I’ve been kissed breathless and caught on camera.
Because I have kissed.
Not just kissed.
Fucking kissed.
That slow, deep, too-long, too-much kiss that said, ‘I know we’re lying, but I’m going to make this feel real anyway.’His hands on my waist.The slide of his mouth over mine.The way he angled me toward him, like he needed it—like he needed me.The pull.The heat.He kissed me like the crowd didn’t exist, and I was the only thing that did.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember who I am beneath the aftershocks.Inhale through my nose like I’ve seen people do in yoga classes I’ve never actually taken.
This was a show.A commitment to the bit.A commitment to the bit in front of an audience craving curated love stories with canapés.
Except ...I felt it all the way down to my soul.
Yeah, it wasn’t in the “wow, we’re good at this, and I’ll give you an A for effort” way.Nope.It was the “holy fuck, I forgot we aren’t pretending anymore” kind.
And what am I supposed to do with that?
My stomach twists like it’s auditioning for a Cirque du Soleil act.My brain is off somewhere making a PowerPoint calledEvery Way You Just Screwed Yourself.
I turn on the sink.Splash water on my face.Immediately remember my makeup.Now I look like a raccoon who’s had a long night and too many feelings.A smoky-eyed woodland creature with smudged eyeliner and a kiss she can’t stop thinking about.
Great.
I grab a towel, dab lightly, then reach into my clutch for the one thing that’s never failed me: my emergency beauty arsenal.Soren complained I packed too much, rolled his eyes at the sheer volume of products.But look who’s laughing now, Mr.I-Control-Everything-Except-My-Mouth.
I should sue him for breach of contract.That kiss did irreparable emotional damage—and all I’ve got is my cosmetics and dry shampoo.What exactly do they fix?
I’m all axis-shifted.If I’m not careful, this might tilt the fake relationship into real emotional territory I didn’t authorize.
I wasn’t supposed to want it.
I wasn’t supposed to feel it.
