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“Did you know,” I said quietly, as if I was about to share their son’s deepest, darkest secret, “that he broke up with his last girlfriend because she wouldn’t let him eat chocolate?”

“What?” his mom said, looking scandalized. “Who was this?”

“I can’t remember her name, it wasn’t serious,” I said, taking the wine. “But she was worried that his sweet tooth was going to make him squishy so she forbade him from eating chocolate. I just remember him saying he’d choose Buncha Crunches over love any day.”

“Declan,” she said in a funny tone, like she was both amused and disappointed.

“Typical Dex,” I said, raising the glass to my mouth. “Right?”

“What’s typical Dex?” I heard from behind me just before two very big hands settled on my shoulders. “The way I’m charming and thoughtful?”

I ignored the shiver of awareness that slid down my spine as foreign hands rested on my body. “The way you’re able to silently creep up behind someone like a stalker.”

“Oh, honey,” he said, and dear God he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

It wasn’t creepy—it was a chaste peck—but I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“So I don’t think Dex ever told me,” his mom said. “How did you two meet?”

“Come on, Ma,” Declan said, and every muscle in my body was tense, defensively expecting another surprise peck attack. “We met—”

“Not from you,” his mother said, holding up a hand and silencing her son. “I want Abi’s version.”

I had no idea what he wanted me to say, since we hadn’t gotten to the part where we worked out the details of our lie. I had no idea what his daily life looked like—where he went, what he did with his time—so I was clueless about what to even guess at.

We met at his nudist club’s bowling party.

We go to the same fight club.

Our dogs are dating.

I really, really wanted to use one of those, but as his parents stood there, staring and waiting as if this was the most important of all information, I restrained myself.

A little.

“Well get ready—it’s quite a story,” I said, grinning at Declan and tilting my head as he came around to stand at my side. “I was at the gym on a treadmill, and so was Dex; I always noticed him because he runs really fast.”

I looked at his parents, and they were nodding and listening like toddlers with a bedtime story so I knew I’d gotten it right, that Declan Powell was a gym guy.

“So I was jogging on the treadmill directly in front of him, really self-conscious. I was trying to be cool and look good while I ran because he’s so handsome, right?”

His dad chuckled, and his mom was practically bursting with enthusiasm as I praised her son.

It was a little disgusting, how much they both obviously thought he hung the moon.

I turned my gaze back to him, and Declan did not look amused.

Which made me more amused.

“So I’m all in the zone when I hear, like, slipping. Like the sound of someone losing their footing. I turned around— I was smart enough to pause my treadmill first—just in time to see Dexxie fall and then get shot right off the back of his treadmill.”

“Abi—” he interrupted.

“Thankfully he was in the last row, so he hit the wall instead of another person, right? I mean, he’s a big boy—he could’ve really taken someone out.”

His parents were laughing, the loud, head-thrown-back kind of laughter that couldn’t be faked.

“So I jumped off my machine and ran over, asking him if he was okay as he lay there, all sprawled out like a big, clumsy puppy. His backside actually put a hole in the drywall, which must’ve hurt, but he was tough about it and climbed to his feet all on his own.”

“Abi.” He said it as a command.

“And after he hobbled over to one of the benches and stopped whimpering, he finally confessed that he’d been too busy watching me to pay attention to his own run.”

“I wasn’t hobbling or whimpering,” he said in a voice that was close to a growl.

“Oh, okay, sweetie,” I said, pursing my lips and smiling. “Regardless, he was very sweet and romantic and took me out for an amazing dinner afterward.”

“Which was an event in and of itself,” he said, his serious face suddenly brightening. “Because my little Abi here loves steak so much that she kind of forgets to chew sometimes.”

I waited for the rest as his smile climbed a little higher.

That man has bad intentions .

He said, “I had to give her the Heimlich twice because she couldn’t stop herself from just gobbling it down like a wild animal.”

“Twice?” his mom said, looking shocked.

“Twice,” he repeated, nodding his head. “After the first incident, she just lowered her head and got right back to it.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say—”

“Abi really loves food,” he said, looking pleased with himself, and I couldn’t help it.

I laughed.

That brought his gaze back to me, and for the first time, we shared a grin. His eyes were warm, his mouth relaxed, and that look launched a thousand butterflies.

Especially when I felt him squeeze my hand.

His mom’s smile dimmed just a little, and there was a wrinkle between her eyebrows when she said to me, “You should really be careful, dear.”

His dad just nodded, also with a furrowed brow and concerned smile. “Dex won’t always be there to dislodge your food.”

That is a sentence Charles probably never imagined he’d be saying.

“Oh, sure he will,” I said, shrugging. “One of these days he’ll promise to love, honor, and Heimlich me until death do we part.”

Instant change.

His parents immediately beamed like they’d just heard world peace had finally been achieved.

Looks like Mommy and Daddy are anxious to marry off little Dexxie.

“Or not,” he said, managing to sound teasing even though I knew the mere thought of it gave him indigestion. “Should we save the rest of the stories and head to the back?”

“Yeah, it’s probably time,” his dad said, turning away from us to start walking in the other direction. His wife fell into step beside him, her heels making staccatoed clicks on the wood floor of the warehouse-like space of the restaurant.

We went down a hall, and at the end of it was a doorway that appeared to lead into the cocktail party. I could hear strings, as in orchestral people were wielding their bows in that very room, and everything was all darkness, white linen, and candlelight.

His parents went in, but Declan stopped just short, taking me by the hand and pulling me over to the other side of the hallway.

“So before we go in,” he said, his eyes sweeping over my face. Damn, but the man smells good. Woodsy. His deep voice was low and quiet, like he was sharing a secret, when he lowered his head and said just beside my ear, “No more bullshit, okay?”

I couldn’t speak because his mouth was just too close to my neck.

And my ear.

“Now I know you don’t know anybody here,” he continued, assuming I’d agreed, “so I’ll stay by your side the whole time. Just let me lead the conversations, for the love of God, and this should be pretty easy for us to pull off. Okay?”

I nodded, still unable to speak as this ridiculously attractive stranger made me… unsettled .

While still holding my hand.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked, those seemingly all-seeing eyes trying to pierce my thoughts.

“What’s your middle name?” I asked.

His eyebrows screwed together. “That’s your question?”

I shrugged, needing to say something to remind my hormones that he was six and a half feet of jerk. “I might need to know.”

“You won’t.” He stepped back, looked at his watch, and said, “Are we ready?”

“As soon as you tell me your middle name.”

His fingers tightened around mine, and as he pulled me with him into the cocktail party, he muttered, “Connor.”

We entered the dark, elegant room, only it felt different now; we felt different. He was still holding my hand, but there was more of an intimacy to us, somehow. Maybe he was a step closer to me than before, or maybe his fingers were holding mine a little more tightly.

I wasn’t sure exactly what the “thing” was, but it felt like a switch had been flipped and he was now intentionally projecting our fake relationship.

The instant we walked in the room, we were noticed by everyone. I knew from googling that he came from a rich family and had an important title at Hathaway, Vice President of Something , but it felt like every eye in the room was on us.

And he didn’t wait or blend in like I would have, settling into the social situation before engaging.

No, Declan moved like he was used to being treated this way.

He immediately addressed the first person who looked like they were going to say hi, a guy in his thirties wearing a navy suit and red bow tie.

“Hey, Theo, how are they mixing the drinks tonight?” Declan asked, turning into what appeared to be a really nice guy.

“Not strong enough, if you ask me, but beggars and all that,” the man said, lifting his glass and not even hiding his curiosity as he glanced at me.

“This is Abi,” Declan said, his hand settling on my lower back. “I can’t remember—have you two met before?”

Nicely played , I thought, smiling at the man.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” Theo replied, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You, too,” I replied, taking his hand and gripping it as hard as I could. I wasn’t going to do anything to ruin the evening for Declan, but since I didn’t know any of these people and wouldn’t be seeing them again, I was going to make sure everyone I met remembered just how firm my grip was.

Gotta find a way to make this fun.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Theo,” I said, immediately regretting it because what if it was absolutely implausible that Declan would’ve mentioned this man to his girlfriend?

But he said, “Rightfully so. If he didn’t mention me after I’ve kicked his ass so many times on the golf course, I’d be wounded.”

“From what I hear, you wound him fairly often,” I said, and then I felt like a wild success when he threw his head back and laughed. I quickly glanced at Declan, and he was watching me like a proud father.