Page 7

Chapter 7

Emilie

First dates are hard. Fake first dates might be harder.

Tonight Zack and I are going out, and I’m counting on the press to do its thing. Since we’re supposed to have been together for a bit already, I need evidence of our relationship timeline. For my family to think this is real, which is non-negotiable, I have to kick that timeline into gear.

That means going with Zack to a new restaurant opening for The Trivium Food Company. It’s a small-plate centric spot in Tribeca, taking common American style foods and putting a modern or bougie spin on it.

Out of all the things Zack has on his calendar, this one is an easy yes. I already follow the owner on social media and have been drooling over the food pics.

Even before last season’s championship, Zack seemed to get invites to things like this all the time. Whether it’s live-streaming some part of the event—paired with unhinged commentary—or posting on his socials with the type of caption that makes you raise your eyebrows, he never fails to deliver. With Zack, you never know what you’re going to get, but you can almost bet it will be a good time.

What do you wear to a fake date? I stand in my walk-in closet, hands on my hips, sweat starting to break out across my forehead. Why does it feel like I just worked out when all I’ve done is pull clothes on, only to take them off three minutes later?

Zack is also zero help.

Me

What are you wearing?

Zack

my new pink shorts

be serious

how do you know I'm not being serious?

That’s the thing, I don’t. It wouldn’t be all that surprising for him show up in something casually trendy and cool. However, I do know that Zack loves to shop for clothes. I can’t imagine he doesn’t have something he’s been itching to pull out.

there’s no dress code

doesn’t help it’s 100 degrees outside

it’s only 93

ONLY 93 is saying it’s only like being three steps into the depths of hell

do you need a snack? Seem kind of hangry

no, I need to start getting ready

I’m wearing shorts, but they’re Tom Ford.

and a button up shirt. Casual

but figure it out because I'll be at your apartment in 40 minutes

I look at the clock and can’t believe it’s already that late. Trying to pick out clothes puts me in the twilight zone, where time makes zero sense.

Luckily, since it’s miserably hot, my hair is going back in a low bun. There’s no way I’m trying to manage and tame these lion-mane-like curls for this humidity. Plus, I don't want to see pictures of Zack, in all his Tom Ford glory, standing next to Mufasa from The Lion King.

I want to look hot. I want Eliza to see these pictures and gasp, “Wow, she was telling the truth.” I need to look like I belong with someone like Zack.

After washing my face, the cold water has me catching my breath and waking me up before I sit at my vanity to put my makeup on. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve always loved makeup. My mom, too busy with whatever high-brow club she was trying to be part of, never made the time to show me what to do—everything I knew about makeup I learned from stolen copies of Seventeen and Cosmopolitan.

I remember the first tube of red lipstick I bought. How I snuck it into the house, like it was something I wasn’t supposed to have, and showed it to Eliza. We spent the next ten minutes putting it on each other. Cautiously I put the color on her lips, careful not to go outside her lip line. I took my time and when all was said and done, I was proud of how good I did—her fair skin untouched with any of the crimson.

Eliza wasn’t nearly as careful, and she made a mess of her attempt. Just as I was looking in the mirror to see if I should wash my face and start fresh, my mom opened the door to Eliza’s room.

“Oh, Eliza. Red is your color. Good job, honey.” She beams at her youngest daughter. Eliza’s eyes sparkled in gratitude as she purses her lips.

As I turn to face my mom, she pivots her attention to me. Her eyes go from my own to my lips and back to Eliza. Her lips sit in a tight line as her forehead scrunches in distaste .

“Emilie, you look like a mess. Wash that off and have your sister show you how to do it. ” She turned and shut the door. Tears crowded my eyes. Heat flooded my cheeks. She left before I had a chance to say, “Eliza, did this! She’s the messy one. I’m the one who did a good job.”

My trip down memory lane ends when I glance at the almost-final look staring back at me. The makeup is natural but highlights my features: long lashes, high cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips. I hold my new go-to red lipstick and apply it, just as carefully as I did that first time with my little sister. I blot my lips, even though much of the color doesn’t come off—we love a no-smudge moment.

I decide on a light blue linen dress. With a halter top tie and a collar, it’s unique enough to not fade into the background—the dusty blue a beautiful contrast to my fair skin and bold, red hair. For jewelry, I choose my diamond studs—a thank you gift from Willow—and a gold tennis bracelet.

Two last decisions to make: a bag and shoes. I shift my weight from foot to foot as I stand in front of shelves full of my options. My phone tells me I’m running out of time—Zack will be here any minute. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and shimmy my shoulders in an attempt to shake off the indecision.

When my eyes pop open, I go with my gut—the first pair of shoes and bag that catches my attention—and probably what I would’ve picked five minutes ago: strappy gold heels and my classic white Chanel.

My hands touch the soft leather of the purse, and my cheeks immediately pull into a smile. I don’t have many things I’m emotionally invested in, but this bag is rare—in a special way. This is the first thing I bought when I met with my financial adviser, another gift from Willow, and they basically told me it was time to stop hoarding and start investing.

You’re in great financial shape. Let your money work for you. You have no debt.

My parents could no longer hold financial stability over me, like a lifeboat I may or may not need. All my hard work, the late nights and lack of sleep through college, all in the name of paying my own way, came to fruition when the adviser raised his eyebrows, surprised at what I had in my bank account.

Go and treat yourself. It appears you never do that from what I see here. So, I went and bought a bag that I dreamed of for years: a cream quilted Chanel with gold hardware. It immediately lifts my mood and gives me “you’ve got this” energy.

Which is exactly what I need when I think of tonight.

A knock at the door—which must be Zack since you can’t get past the doorman without being on a schedule—wakes up the butterflies, which have been fluttering around ever since we agreed on this as our first outing during our new arrangement .

I open the door with my free hand, the other still holding my gold heels.

“Woah,” Zack admires, pausing outside the door. “That blue… I need something in that color.” His eyes rake over my entire body.

Heat creeps into my cheeks. I wave him in, turning away to hide the blush, and realize putting on my heels is the perfect ploy. I slip my feet in, still needing to secure the straps. Shuffling over to the barstool, one of my go-to spots—I love being in or around a kitchen— I finish putting the heels on.

Immediately, I regret my decision. I can’t quite pull my leg up to secure the straps without showing Zack all my lady business. Which, fake dating or not, no one wants an unannounced full-frontal shot.

Zack stands, hands in his charcoal gray shorts—sporting a delectable inseam—and a patterned button up. I can’t help but roll my eyes because this is the type of shirt that would be all wrong on someone, but on Zack, it’s a perfect fit. Naturally .

Zack runs his hands through his thick hair, floppy and blonde, and walks a couple steps closer.

“Need some help with those?”