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I stare at him, the tight knot in my stomach slowly starting to loosen. “You’d really do that?”
He tilts his head slightly, the sincerity in his gaze making my heart skip a beat. “It’ll be just like a meeting, Amara. I’ve done hundreds of them. I think I can handle one with your grandma.”
A laugh escapes me, but my heart is still racing, too loud in my chest. “We’re going to have to pretend in front of her, too.”
Nicholas leans forward, brushing his lips over the corner of my mouth. “Fine by me,” he murmurs. “I could use another excuse to kiss you.”
I laugh again, breathless, my fingers curling instinctively against his chest as I pull him closer. “You don’t have enough of those already?”
“Not nearly enough,” he replies, his voice dropping lower, as his hand trails down my arm. “It’ll never be enough.”
Another buzz from my phone brings me back to reality, and I glance down at it reluctantly.
“Answer her,” Nicholas tells me, lifting my chin gently so I’m looking at him again. “Tell her we’ll be there on Saturday.”
I search his face, looking for any hesitation, any sign that he’s second-guessing this. “You’re sure about this?”
He meets my gaze, unwavering and confident, like he’s already planned this out. “I’m sure.”
And just like that, the panic that had been clawing at my insides disappears. I breathe out slowly, the tension easing from my shoulders.
“Okay,” I whisper, my lips brushing his as I say it.
He smiles against my mouth, his hands sliding around my waist, pulling me closer. “Saturday,” he repeats. “We’ll be there.”
His smile makes my stomach flutter, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget where the lines are drawn between what’s real and what’s part of the act.
But I can’t let myself forget.
Chapter twenty-nine
Amara
My palms are sweating. My whole body is sweating.
The magazine I’m clutching crinkles in protest as I grip it tighter. Modern designs stare back at me from the glossy pages as I flip the page, studying a minimalist living room with a charcoal-gray sectional and a statement coffee table made of dark-stained oak. Too cold. Too impersonal.
I’ve been slowly transforming Nicholas’s apartment, adding little touches to make it feel less like a showroom and more like a real home. A throw blanket here, warmer lighting there, maybe a plant or two to breathe some life into the space. He hasn’t said much about it. I’m starting to think he probably doesn’t even notice… or care.
My stomach twists with nerves as I flip the page once more. The last time I went home was Christmas. Now, I’m heading back with my fiancé.
My fake fiancé.
Lying to my family has never been easy, and this? This lie might be my worst one yet. They gave up so much so I could chase my dreams, and now…
A flicker of movement pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. I glance up, meeting a pair of dark, intense eyes fixed squarely on me, one hand covering his mouth as he studies me.
“What?” I ask, dropping the magazine to my lap.
His lips twitch, and then a small smile curves them. “You’re beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and for one stupid second, my nerves give way to something warmer, softer. He has this way of looking at me like I’m the only person in the world. It’s infuriating. It’s distracting.It’s also not real.
He arches a brow. “Are you nervous?”
A dry laugh escapes me as I shake my head and toss the crumpled magazine onto the seat beside me. “Are you kidding? I can already picture my grandma and sister lining up to interrogate me. ‘Why did you and Liam break up? Why didn’t you tell us you were engaged? And, oh, my personal favorite… Why did the media call you his assistant when you told us you were a designer?’”
His brows lift. “You told them you were a designer?”