Page 76 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
What are we even doing for the next month?Will he stick around?Or disappear to another continent just to avoid whatever happens this weekend—if anything happens.
Winnifred Wolfcraft, don’t let anything happen.You hear me?I know what happens when you blur the line between pretending and reality.You end up holding the pieces alone while the other person walks away like it was just a game.
A second knock interrupts my spiral.
“Room service,” someone calls out.
I glance at the table—already stacked with enough food to cater a small wedding.
Soren clears his throat like he’s trying to act normal.Like his mouth wasn’t hovering inches from mine sixty seconds ago.“They might’ve forgotten something,” he says.“The wine?”
He walks to the door like a man who isn’t seconds from kissing someone he’s not supposed to want.The hotel attendant standing outside is all pressed lines and pleasant efficiency.He holds a silver tray with chocolate truffles and a folded card that probably says thanks for your soul—payment due upon checkout.
“Good evening,” the guy says.“Complimentary holiday turndown service.Chocolates for the pillows and your autumn spice cheesecake has arrived as requested.”
Yum, cheesecake.Yes.That’s exactly what I need right now.Whoever Soren’s assistant is, she deserves a raise.Or a holiday bonus.Or a spa weekend and full editorial control of my future wedding album.
If this were real, this would be a dream Thanksgiving—minus the travel delays and snow trying to end us.
Listen, I know Aiden meant well when she invited me to meet her friends.Some cozy little town.Craft cider, board games, cranberry sangria—it sounded like something out of a seasonal ad campaign.She wanted me to have a nice holiday away from my family but still with my pretend boyfriend.
But isn’t this nicer?Just the two of us.No matching sweaters, no strangers with too many questions, no fake smiles to cover how lonely I feel when the camera’s off.
Granted, we’ll still need fake couple photos, or Mom’s going to blacklist me from the Howler again.And yes, I’ll probably have to pay the photographer for the shoot he’s not doing because someone decided to kiss me against an elevator wall instead of coordinating a photo op.
Worth it?To be determined.
Will I need to fake a ski lodge moment in Colorado?Probably.
Will I absolutely need to find a photographer before Mom assumes I’ve Photoshopped myself into someone else’s relationship again?Without a doubt.
But right now?I’m staring at a man who just turned down the metaphorical lights, turned up the heat, and brought me cheesecake with a side of maybe-you’re-more-than-pretend.
And I don’t know whether to thank him or kiss him for real.Okay, I’ll wait until we’re alone, but then I can’t say what’s going to happen.
“Thanks,” Soren says, signing what I assume is the bill and taking the tray with the effortless confidence of a man who absolutely knows what he’s doing.
The attendant nods, gives me a warm smile, and slips out without commenting on the overwhelming romantic tension fogging up the suite.I’m grateful.The last thing I need is a witness to my rapid descent into feelings I have no business catching.
Soren sets the tray on the table and turns to me with a sheepish smile.“Thought you’d want something sweet.”
“You already got me cider and cheese and—” I gesture vaguely at the entire suite.“All this.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing.Like transforming a hotel room into a cozy autumnal safe haven is normal behavior for a fake boyfriend.“I like seeing you smile.”
I open my mouth.Close it again.My emotional bandwidth is currently maxed out.No more romantic gestures.I can’t fall for him tonight.I have things to do.Like protect my heart and not betray my family—look how things ended for Romeo and Juliet.Or myself.Or ...myselfagain.
Soren pulls out one of the dining chairs and gestures with an exaggerated flourish.“Milady.”
I raise an eyebrow.“Are you trying to court me like it’s Regency-era Boston?”
He grins.“Would it work if I said yes?”
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
He presses a hand to his chest.“You wound me, Wolfcraft.That’s the first time you’ve admitted I’m cute.”
“No, it’s not,” I mutter, sitting anyway.
