Page 50 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
“We’re having brunch with my mother, remember?”I snap, glaring at him.“I can’t fail her again.She’s terrifying.”
“No, we’re having brunch with my family.”He doesn’t even blink but adds, “Your mother is terrifying, sure.But my mom just booked a side of salmon and texted the church to check baptism availability.”
Another ding.
Grandma Rita: Do we need to move the wedding up?
I stop short.“I think she means your wedding.”
Soren tilts his head at me.“Honestly?I’m impressed.This is faster than when Daisy got caught in the wine cellar with her calculus tutor.”
“I’m going to pass out,” I mutter, hand over my chest.“I’m having a full-blown mental collapse in heels.”
We reach the car, and I’m seconds from crawling inside and refusing to come out like ever.
“You need to fix this,” I say, stabbing a finger in his direction.“Your cousin launched a PR scandal, and now your whole family thinks we’re one pee stick and a gift registry away from pastel onesies and monogrammed bibs.”
He blinks, then smiles.Smiles.
“Soren.I swear to God?—”
“If we survive brunch without a surprise nursery reveal or shotgun wedding announcement, I’ll call it a win.”
I groan.“We’re going to be those people.The fake couple with the imaginary baby and?—”
“—the very real sexual tension,” he finishes, voice low and way too satisfied for someone whose family just emotionally bulldozed me.
I slide into the car as he opens the door for me.“Fix.It.”
“I’ll try,” he says, far too relaxed.“But you’re coming to brunch.So if we go down, we go down together.”
He’s wrong, we’re going to my parents.I’m not doing this again with the Thorns ...do I even want to do it with my family?
“We’ll discuss that later.Get me out of here,” I mutter something so blasphemous it might get me excommunicated and wish I had a full bottle of wine in my purse—pregnancy rumors be damned.
ChapterTwenty
Winnifred
I wakeup with mascara smeared across my pillowcase and shame somewhere in my bloodstream.Or maybe not shame.That would imply I regret what happened—and I don’t.
Not really.
It’s more like a confusing cocktail of embarrassment, existential whiplash, and emotional heartburn.This isn’t a hangover from tequila shots or questionable decisions in Vegas.It’s the aftermath of fake dating a man you’re now thirty-three percent sure you might be in love with—accidentally.
Because you accidentally kissed him in front of his entire family, half the town, and possibly a drone capturing footage for an engagement recap video.And accidentally suggested you might be pregnant.Which you are not.Let me repeat that for the people in the back: I.Am.Not.Pregnant.
It’s impossible.The last time I had sex was ...honestly, I can’t even remember.Chad and I never got to that point in our relationship.I was waiting for something real.That moment where it just clicks—where you don’t think, you just feel.Where your body takes over because your soul’s already agreed on something deeper.
And maybe Soren—and everyone else—are right.Maybe I am a delusional dreamer who wants things to be romantic, borderline storybook.But why is that such a terrible thing?Why is it naïve to want your own version of a fairy tale?It’s not like I’m asking for a castle and a tiara.I just want to be happy.I want someone who understands me, who loves me without needing to be told how, and who knows what I need—even when I don’t.
“Is that too much to ask, universe?”I wait for a couple of beats for anyone to respond, and there’s nothing.“Manifest this and not whatever it was that happened this weekend.”
That was probably karma just being a bitch toward me.What did I do to her?
Now I have to deal with the Thorn Family Group Chat that’s spiraling into a baby name bracket tournament like they’re hosting a gender-neutral-infant-Hunger -Games.
And it would be almost funny if it were just his family.
