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He lied to me. Yesterday he came to my office and lied to my face about where he’d been. I know because Cindy called asking where he was, because his father was at his office. What are the chances that he used his father as an alibi at the same time the man was looking for him? Almost zero, but it happened, and I found out he lied.

And this makes me uncomfortable. How many times has he lied to me? How many secrets is he hiding? Many. I know that the circumstances that brought us together didn’t spring from love, but I thought there was complicity. I thought he trusted me.

Was he with a woman? The grip of jealousy tightens my stomach, even if I have no right to feel it. We agreed to not have any other significant others while we’re together, we’re having sex, but you can’t control who you fall in love with. What if he met someone? What if he found the love of his life? All the certainty I’ve been building during these last months crumbled yesterday in the face of that easy lie.

This morning I have to try on my wedding dress for the first time, for Pete’s sake. Even if he does decide to go through with this plan until it’s safe for me to disappear, if he’s now found someone else, it doesn’t feel right.

I stand up, change into something appropriate for my appointment this morning, and walk to the kitchen. The ghost staff—as I’ve come to call them, since they’re so quiet I rarely see or hear them around the house—has already set up breakfast so I dig into it, brewing over what I’m feeling.

This relationship is fake and I shouldn’t feel jealousy, but after I wrapped my mind around the possibility that it could work in the long term, having it jeopardized makes me uneasy.

“Here you are. I woke up alone and thought you ditched me.” Raphael tightens his arms around my waist and kisses my neck.

Comforting feelings warm my chest. He’s affectionate and treats me like I’m his partner. He feels at home with me, and my head is exploding with all these mixed feelings. But I don’t dare ask him where he was. I’m not one to make a fuss about where my partner is, I refuse to check his phone out of jealousy or point fingers in accusation. If he lied to me, he had his reasons and I have to deal with that. And in reality, he’s never disrespected me and I have no reason to think he’s doing something behind my back.

That doesn’t mean it hurts less.

“I need to be ready for my wedding dress fitting this morning,” I say, turning around and kissing him and enjoying his soft lips on mine.

He tilts his head and studies me. “How are you feeling about that?”

I shrug. “Weird, I guess. I never thought this moment would come, and now it’s not exactly real, so I have no idea how I feel. I’m happy, a bit excited, but weirded out about feeling butterflies for something that isn’t necessarily love. Does that make any sense?”

He chuckles. “I think so. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“By the way, Cindy sent me pictures of the centerpieces for the tables, and we have to choose one. Apparently, the florist plans months in advance, and we’re already late. You don’t have to do it, if you trust me, I’ll just pick one,” I suggest, not sure how much he wants to be involved in this.

He frowns. “No, I want to take a look with you. I’m not letting you do everything. I mean, how hard can it be to pick flowers?”

I’m touched by his determination to be involved. Which is why my heart skipped a beat yesterday when he lied. He seems genuinely happy with me, but at the same time, he doesn’t trust me with everything. I know things not even his friends are aware of, yet he hides other parts of his life from me.

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Show me.” He kisses my forehead.

We grab our breakfast from the kitchen counter and move to the living room table where I’ve laid out the wedding brochures Cindy sent me yesterday.

“Holy shit,” he whispers at the sheer amount of material scattered on the table.

“Are you sure you still want to help?” I chuckle.

“Of course, I’m sure. I’m just surprised. It’s a freaking centerpiece, for Pete’s sake!” He barks out a disbelieving laugh.

And when he sits down and pulls me into his lap, I’m pleasantly surprised by the intimacy of this moment. Not in my wildest dreams did I imagine a man helping me plan our wedding, let alone enjoying it.

“So, how about we go through the pictures and make three piles: yes, maybe, and hell no—over my dead body,” I suggest.

“Yeah, I like that plan.” He tightens his grip on my waist and nods.

I grab the packet of brochures and place it in front of us. His eyes widen comically.

“How many photos are we talking about?”

“About a hundred and fifty,” I snicker.

“What?” His head snaps in my direction.

“I had the same reaction. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”