A Date with Disaster

 There were many things I had imagined doing with my Saturday.

 Sleeping until noon.

 Ordering food I couldn't afford.

 Watching three episodes of a series I'd already watched twice.

 Perhaps even cleaning my apartment, if I experienced a sudden and deeply concerning personality change.

 What I had not imagined was standing in front of my mirror at nine in the morning while Damien Cole criticized my outfit over a video call.

 "Change the dress."

 I stared at my phone.

 "Good morning to you too, Satan."

 He grinned from the screen.

 "I'm serious, Ava."

 "So am I. Why are you calling me this early?"

 "Because we have a date."

 I looked at my reflection.

 Then at the phone.

 Then back at my reflection.

 "A date?"

 "Our first official date as a couple."

 I closed my eyes.

 "Damien, we've been on approximately seven dates already."

 "Those were casual outings."

 "We ate pancakes together!"

 "Couples eat pancakes."

 "We went shopping!"

 "Couples shop."

 "We went to a bookstore!"

 "Couples read."

 I opened my eyes.

 "Do you hear yourself?"

 He laughed.

 "Just be ready by eleven. I'm picking you up."

 "Where are we going?"

 "Somewhere nice."

 "That tells me absolutely nothing."

 "That's the point."

 I groaned.

 He blew me a kiss through the screen.

 I ended the call.

 Immediately.

 Then I stared at my phone for several seconds.

 "One day," I muttered, "I'm going to throw that man into a lake."

 Unfortunately, I couldn't throw him into a lake if I needed him to drive me to our fake date.

 Life was unfair.

 ---

 At eleven fifteen, Damien arrived wearing a dark blue shirt, black trousers, and the sort of smile that made people forgive him for things he absolutely deserved to be punished for.

 I opened the door.

 He looked me up and down.

 Then he nodded approvingly.

 "Beautiful."

 I narrowed my eyes.

 "Are you trying to get something from me?"

 "Can't a man compliment his girlfriend?"

 "Not when he's you."

 He laughed and held out his hand.

 I stared at it.

 He stared at me.

 "Seriously?" I asked.

 "Seriously."

 I sighed and took it.

 "You're lucky I love you."

 The words came out automatically.

 We both froze.

 Then I pointed at him.

 "AS A FRIEND."

 He burst out laughing.

 "I didn't say anything!"

 "Your face did!"

 He was still laughing when we reached the car.

 I climbed into the passenger seat, buckled my seat belt, and decided that the sooner this date started, the sooner it could end.

 I had no idea that by the time it was over, I'd be wishing for the relative peace of being interrogated by Zara.

 ---

 The restaurant was beautiful.

 I hated it immediately.

 Not because there was anything wrong with it, but because everything about the place screamed romance.

 Soft lighting. White tablecloths. Fresh flowers. Candles.

 Even the waiter looked like he had been hired specifically to make people fall in love.

 I stared at Damien across the table.

 "You did this on purpose."

 He unfolded his napkin.

 "Did what?"

 "Chose a restaurant that looks like it was designed for marriage proposals."

 He grinned.

 "Maybe I have something to ask you."

 I picked up a breadstick.

 "If you propose, I'll throw this at your forehead."

 He laughed.

 "Relax. It's just dinner."

 "Then why does this place look like it charges extra for eye contact?"

 He laughed so loudly that a woman at the next table turned to look at us.

 I smiled apologetically at her.

 Damien, meanwhile, looked delighted.

 "This is going well."

 "For whom?"

 "For us."

 "There is no us."

 He raised an eyebrow.

 "Tell that to the waiter."

 As if summoned by the universe, the waiter approached our table.

 "Good evening. Will you be celebrating anything special tonight?"

 I opened my mouth.

 Damien answered first.

 "Our anniversary."

 I kicked him under the table.

 He barely reacted.

 The waiter smiled.

 "Wonderful! Congratulations to you both."

 "Thank you," Damien replied.

 I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.

 The waiter walked away.

 I leaned across the table.

 "Our anniversary?"

 Damien shrugged.

 "We needed a believable answer."

 "We've been fake dating for less than a week!"

 "Details."

 "I hate you."

 He smiled.

 "No, you don't."

 I opened my mouth to argue.

 Then closed it.

 Because unfortunately, he was right.

 I didn't hate him.

 I just wanted to throw him into traffic.

 Metaphorically.

 Obviously.

 ---

 Halfway through dinner, Damien's phone buzzed.

 He glanced at the screen, and his expression changed.

 I put down my fork.

 "What happened?"

 "Nothing."

 "Damien."

 He turned the phone facedown.

 "Zara."

 I sighed.

 "Of course."

 "She wants to know where I am."

 I stared at him.

 "Why?"

 "Because apparently, she thinks she has a right to know."

 I leaned back.

 "That woman needs a hobby, a vacation, and possibly a therapist."

 He smiled faintly.

 "You're not wrong."

 His phone buzzed again.

 He ignored it.

 For a moment, neither of us spoke.

 Then he looked at me.

 "I'm sorry."

 I blinked.

 "For what?"

 "For dragging you into this."

 His tone was different.

 No teasing. No jokes.

 Just a quiet sincerity that caught me off guard.

 I studied his face.

 "Damien, I agreed to help you."

 "I know. But I didn't expect Zara to start contacting you."

 I thought about the strange messages I'd received.

 The confrontation at the bookstore.

 The way Zara had looked at us.

 "I can handle a few uncomfortable conversations," I said. "But if this gets worse, we need to rethink the arrangement."

 He nodded.

 "Agreed."

 I reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

 It was an automatic gesture, something I'd done countless times when he was upset.

 But this time, I remembered where we were.

 The restaurant.

 The fake anniversary.

 The imaginary romance.

 I withdrew my hand.

 Damien looked down at the space between us, then back at me.

 Neither of us said anything.

 Then he smiled.

 "You're getting good at this."

 I rolled my eyes.

 "Don't ruin the moment."

 He laughed.

 And the tension disappeared.

 At least, for a little while.

 ---

 After dinner, Damien insisted on taking me for a walk.

 The evening air was cool, and the streets were busy with people heading home.

 We walked side by side, arguing about whether the restaurant's dessert had been worth the price.

 "It was delicious," Damien insisted.

 "It was overpriced chocolate cake."

 "It was premium chocolate cake."

 "It tasted like regular chocolate cake wearing designer clothes."

 He burst out laughing.

 I smiled despite myself.

 For a moment, everything felt easy.

 Then he stopped walking.

 I took two more steps before realizing he wasn't beside me.

 "What is it?"

 He was looking across the street.

 I followed his gaze.

 A black Mercedes sat parked near the curb.

 My stomach tightened.

 I recognized the car.

 I'd seen it outside Damien's apartment.

 I'd seen it outside the bookstore.

 And now it was here.

 "Is that—"

 "Zara," Damien said quietly.

 The car remained stationary.

 Its windows were dark.

 I couldn't see who was inside, but I had a terrible feeling I already knew.

 "Is she following us?" I whispered.

 Damien's jaw tightened.

 "I don't know."

 He took out his phone.

 I watched him type a message, then put the phone away.

 "What did you do?"

 "I contacted someone I trust. I want to make sure we have support if this continues."

 I nodded slowly.

 The car stayed where it was.

 Then, just as a bus passed between us and the curb, it pulled away.

 I watched until it disappeared into traffic.

 My earlier amusement had vanished.

 "Damien?"

 He turned toward me.

 "Yeah?"

 "This isn't normal."

 "I know."

 "She's not just trying to win you back, is she?"

 He didn't answer immediately.

 And that silence frightened me more than anything he'd said.

 Finally, he took my hand.

 "We're going home."

 I didn't argue.

 For once, I was grateful he wasn't trying to turn everything into a joke.

 ---

 He drove me back to my apartment.

 When we arrived, he walked me to the door and waited while I unlocked it.

 "Call me when you're inside," he said.

 I frowned.

 "I'm literally standing in front of my door."

 "I know."

 "You're being dramatic."

 "Probably."

 But he didn't smile.

 I stepped inside and turned back to him.

 "Damien?"

 "Yeah?"

 "Be careful, okay?"

 His expression softened.

 "Always."

 I wanted to believe him.

 I really did.

 He waited until I'd closed the door before walking away.

 I locked it behind me, then leaned against it and exhaled.

 The evening had started with ridiculous jokes about our fake anniversary.

 It had ended with a black Mercedes following us through the city.

 I walked to the living room and picked up my phone.

 A new message was waiting.

 Unknown Number: You looked happy tonight.

 My blood ran cold.

 Another message appeared.

 Unknown Number: Enjoy it while it lasts.

 I stared at the screen.

 Then I called Damien.

 He answered immediately.

 "Ava?"

 I swallowed.

 "Someone just sent me another message."

 His voice sharpened.

 "Read it to me."

 I did.

 Silence followed.

 Then he said, firmly, "Save everything. Don't respond. I'm coming back."

 "Damien, you don't have to—"

 "I'm coming, Ava."

 The call ended.

 I stood in the middle of my living room, staring at the phone in my hand.

 A minute earlier, I'd been wondering how long we could keep pretending to be in love.

 Now I was wondering whether pretending to be Damien Cole's girlfriend had made me a target.

 And somewhere across the city, someone already knew exactly where I'd been that night.

 For the first time since this arrangement began, I wasn't sure our biggest problem was going to be keeping our fake relationship believable.