Page 83 of Things We Fake
“Oh, big time. I once overheard my Uncle Vito talking aboutbusiness deals, and I was convinced he was in the mafia. Told Paul we were definitely related to the Corleones. Naturally, we decided to start our own crime syndicate.”
Cam nearly choked on his drink. “You what?”
“We called ourselves The Morellis—very original—and our first order of business was smuggling my mom’s homemade biscotti to our classmates. We ran a solid operation for about a week before my mom caught us stuffing cookie bags into our backpacks and shut us down.”
Cam was grinning now, shaking his head. “See, that’s the Susanne I would’ve liked to know. Thebarefoot rebel. The underground cookie kingpin. I never would’ve guessed.”
I sat back in my chair with a smirk. “I told you I’m not that predictable. What about you?” I cocked my head, watching him. “I can’t quite picture you as a kid. Were you quiet, or a Dennis the Menace type?”
He considered for a moment, eyes wandering lazily over the bar crowd. “Both. I was a quiet kid until I was about seven or eight. Before that, I was obsessed with Legos. My parents could forget I existed, and I wouldn’t make a sound. They actually did forget me once when Becky was born.”
“No way.”
“Oh yeah. They left me at a hardware store. I was in the paint section, arranging the color swatches in a gradient. My dad had to speed back so fast he got pulled over. The cop apparently asked him ten times how the hell he forgot his own kid.”
I chuckled. “Oh my God. I wish I had you as a student. I never get the quiet ones.”
His gaze was playful. “Really? What would you have done with me, Miss Morelli?”
I took a sip of my drink, considering. “First, I would’ve made sure you weren’t abandoned in the hardware store.”
He saluted me with his glass. “Strong start.”
“Second, I would’ve definitely put you to work organizing my classroom. Color-coded bookshelves, perfectly aligned crayon boxes… You would’ve thrived.”
Cam narrowed his eyes. “You think a child with OCPD is cute, don’t you?”
“Adorable. Did you always love sorting things?”
“Always. And it had to be done right.”
I bit back a laugh. “Of course.”
“No, seriously. Lego sets, books, my dad’s toolbox—everything had to be in its proper place. If someone moved a piece out of order, it physically bothered me.” His expression broke into a light smirk. “Becky figured that out early and would switch two puzzle pieces just to mess with me.”
I gasped. “That’s evil.”
“Sheisevil. Once, she moved my Star Wars VHS tapes out of numerical order just to see how long it would take me to notice.”
“How long?”
“Thirty seconds. Maybe less.”
I shook my head, laughing. “God, I wish I had met kid-Cam.”
“Don’t romanticize it. I was insufferable.”
“I bet you were just a misunderstood little nerd.”
“Misunderstood control freak, more like.” He pointed at me. “But enough about me. What happened to turn rebel little Sue into a woman who fakes an engagement to please her mother?”
My smile faltered. Cam’s question hung in the air, light on the surface, but loaded beneath. I took another sip of whiskey, the burn hitting a little harder this time.
“Life happened,” I said eventually, offering a shrug that felt more defensive than casual. “Somewhere between high school and heartbreak, I realized rebellion only gets you so far when your mom’s wielding Catholic guilt like a deadly weapon.”
Cam didn’t push, he just waited. His expression was open, curious, but not nosy. It unnerved me how patient he was. Men weren’t usually patient with me.
“I guess I got tired of disappointing people,” I added. “Especially her. When I said I wasn’t ready to settle down, she heardI’ve failed at life. So, instead of letting her assume I was destined to be the weird wine cellar spinster, I told a teeny-tiny, life-altering lie. And voilà—fake fiancé. Family peace restored.”
