The Art Of Looking Inlove

 If anyone had told me that pretending to date my childhood best friend would require the organizational skills of a military commander, I would have laughed in their face.

 Unfortunately, I was no longer laughing.

 I was sitting at my dining table on a Saturday morning, staring at a sheet of paper Damien had placed in front of me.

 At the top, he'd written:

 OUR OFFICIAL LOVE STORY.

 I looked at the paper.

 Then at him.

 Then back at the paper.

 "Why does our relationship need an official love story?"

 Damien took a sip of his coffee. "Because people ask questions."

 "And?"

 "And we need answers."

 I leaned back in my chair.

 "We could tell them we met when we were children, became best friends, and then decided to fake-date because your ex-girlfriend refuses to accept that you broke up."

 He stared at me.

 I stared back.

 "That's a terrible cover story," he said.

 "It's the truth!"

 "Exactly. We can't tell people the truth."

 I pressed my fingers against my temples.

 "Lord, give me strength."

 He grinned and pushed the paper closer.

 "Read it."

 I picked it up reluctantly.

 According to Damien's carefully prepared document, our romantic journey had begun when we'd spent more time together after his breakup. He'd supposedly realized that his feelings for me had changed, confessed his love, and asked me on a date.

 I'd been surprised but eventually agreed to give him a chance.

 Apparently, our first official date had taken place at a restaurant downtown.

 I lowered the paper.

 "You wrote a whole romantic history for us."

 "Believability is important."

 "You wrote that you fell in love with me after watching me laugh at a movie."

 "You're always laughing at something."

 "Because you say stupid things."

 "See? Chemistry."

 I threw the paper at him.

 He caught it, laughing.

 "You're welcome."

 "For what?"

 "For giving you a boyfriend."

 I pointed toward the door.

 "Out."

 He laughed harder.

 ---

 By noon, we'd established three things.

 One, Damien was taking this arrangement far too seriously.

 Two, I was beginning to regret agreeing to it.

 And three, if I heard the words believable relationship timeline one more time, I was going to throw his notebook out of the window.

 "Okay," Damien announced, standing in the middle of my living room. "We need to practice."

 I looked up from my phone.

 "Practice what? Lying?"

 "Being a couple."

 "We've known each other since we were eight. If we suddenly start acting like a romantic movie, everyone will know something is wrong."

 "Which is why we need to practice acting natural."

 I stared at him.

 He stared back.

 Then he held out his hand.

 "Come here."

 "No."

 "Ava."

 "Damien."

 "Give me your hand."

 "Why?"

 "Because couples hold hands."

 I looked at his outstretched hand as if it were a suspicious object.

 Then I sighed and placed mine in his.

 He laced our fingers together.

 I immediately looked down.

 Something about the gesture felt strange—not romantic, exactly. Just unfamiliar.

 We'd held hands before. When we were children, he'd dragged me across playgrounds. When I twisted my ankle at seventeen, he'd helped me walk home.

 But this was different.

 We were supposed to be pretending that the same gesture meant something else.

 It was ridiculous.

 "See?" he said. "Not difficult."

 "Your palm is sweaty."

 He released my hand immediately.

 "That is a lie."

 "Would you like me to provide evidence?"

 "You're impossible."

 "And you're sweating like you've just run a marathon."

 He wiped his palm against his trousers.

 I burst out laughing.

 He grabbed a cushion and tossed it at me.

 "You're ruining the exercise."

 "What exercise? Your hand is having an emotional breakdown."

 He shook his head, but he was smiling.

 Then he stepped closer.

 "Fine. Let's try something else."

 I immediately became suspicious.

 "What?"

 He slipped an arm around my shoulders.

 I froze.

 He froze.

 We both looked at his arm.

 Then at each other.

 "Comfortable?" he asked.

 "Not particularly."

 "Why?"

 "Because you're standing like a malfunctioning coat rack."

 He burst out laughing and dropped his arm.

 I laughed too, relieved.

 This was fine.

 We were fine.

 There was absolutely nothing romantic about any of this.

 "Maybe we should just tell people we're dating and let them figure out the rest," I suggested.

 Damien considered it.

 "That might work."

 "Wonderful. Can I go back to my life now?"

 "No."

 I groaned.

 He grinned.

 "One more thing."

 I closed my eyes.

 "Of course there is."

 He stood in front of me and cleared his throat.

 "Call me something romantic."

 I opened my eyes.

 "Excuse me?"

 "Like a nickname. Couples have nicknames."

 "Yes. And yours is about to become Walking Headache."

 He laughed.

 "Come on. Call me something sweet."

 I considered him carefully.

 "Dear inconvenience?"

 "Ava."

 "Beloved problem?"

 He pressed his lips together, clearly fighting a smile.

 "You're enjoying this."

 "Immensely."

 He folded his arms.

 "Fine. I'll call you something."

 I narrowed my eyes.

 "Don't you dare."

 "Sweetheart."

 I recoiled.

 "Absolutely not."

 "Baby?"

 I picked up the nearest cushion.

 He raised both hands.

 "Okay! Okay!"

 I pointed the cushion at him.

 "If you call me baby in public, I'm stepping on your foot so hard you'll need a new shoe."

 He nodded solemnly.

 "Understood."

 "Good."

 "Sweetheart it is, then."

 I threw the cushion.

 He ducked, laughing as it hit the wall behind him.

 I was going to regret this arrangement.

 I could feel it in my bones.

 ---

 Our first public test came two days later.

 Damien insisted we go to a café near his office because, according to him, there was a high chance of running into someone who knew Zara.

 I suspected he simply wanted an excuse to buy expensive coffee.

 Either way, I went.

 We'd barely entered when Damien spotted two men sitting near the window.

 His shoulders stiffened.

 I followed his gaze.

 One of the men waved.

 "Damien!"

 Damien smiled.

 "Hey, guys."

 They stood, greeting him with the casual enthusiasm of people who had known each other for years.

 I recognized one of them from a birthday party I'd attended with Damien. His name was Marcus. The other was Daniel, a colleague of his.

 Marcus looked from Damien to me.

 Then back to Damien.

 His eyebrows rose.

 "Well, well, well."

 I already disliked that expression.

 "What?" Damien asked.

 Marcus grinned.

 "Are you finally going to introduce us to the woman you've been hiding?"

 I nearly choked on air.

 Damien recovered quickly.

 "Ava, this is Marcus and Daniel. Guys, this is Ava."

 "His girlfriend?" Daniel asked.

 Damien looked at me.

 I looked at him.

 For one horrifying second, neither of us spoke.

 Then Damien slipped an arm around my waist.

 My entire body went rigid.

 "This is my girlfriend," he said smoothly.

 Marcus's mouth fell open.

 Daniel stared at us.

 And I smiled so hard my cheeks began to hurt.

 "Hi," I said brightly. "It's nice to meet you."

 Marcus looked delighted.

 "Finally! I was beginning to think Damien would marry his job."

 "His job probably has better manners," I replied.

 Daniel laughed.

 Damien looked down at me.

 I gave him my sweetest smile.

 He pinched my side.

 I almost elbowed him in the ribs.

 This relationship was going wonderfully.

 "So," Marcus said, pulling out a chair, "how long has this been going on?"

 Damien answered before I could.

 "A few weeks."

 I stepped on his foot.

 He didn't even flinch.

 I stared at him in disbelief.

 Marcus noticed none of it.

 "Really? And you didn't tell us?"

 "Things have been busy," Damien said.

 "Busy doing what?" Daniel asked. "Being in love?"

 I nearly swallowed my tongue.

 Damien smiled.

 "Something like that."

 I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

 Instead, I sat down and concentrated on not strangling my best friend in public.

 The conversation moved to work, football, and a particularly terrible restaurant Daniel had visited recently.

 I relaxed little by little.

 Then Marcus asked the question I hadn't prepared for.

 "So, Ava, what made you fall for this idiot?"

 I stared at him.

 Across the table, Damien's eyes met mine.

 For once, he didn't look amused.

 He looked as though he genuinely wanted to hear my answer.

 I cleared my throat.

 "Well, he's persistent."

 Marcus laughed.

 "That he is."

 "And occasionally useful."

 "Occasionally?" Damien protested.

 "Don't interrupt my romantic speech."

 He pressed his lips together.

 I turned back to Marcus.

 "He makes me laugh. He's loyal. And despite his many unfortunate qualities, he's a good person."

 For a brief moment, the table became quiet.

 Then Damien smiled.

 It was a small smile, softer than the ones he usually gave me when he was preparing to annoy me.

 "That's nice," Daniel said.

 Marcus nodded approvingly.

 "Well, you two make a good couple."

 I smiled.

 "Thank you."

 I hoped they couldn't hear my internal screaming.

 Because the worst part was that my answer hadn't been entirely invented.

 Damien really was loyal.

 He really did make me laugh.

 And he really was a good person.

 That was why this arrangement was so dangerous.

 Not because I was going to fall in love with him.

 I wasn't.

 But because the more convincing we became, the easier it would be to forget that we were acting.

 ---

 By the time we left the café, I was ready to declare our first public appearance a success.

 We'd convinced two of Damien's colleagues.

 Nobody had questioned our story.

 And I hadn't accidentally called him an idiot in a way that exposed our entire arrangement.

 Progress.

 Then Damien's phone buzzed.

 He glanced at the screen.

 His smile disappeared.

 "What is it?" I asked.

 He turned the phone toward me.

 A message from Zara.

 Zara: I heard about you and Ava.

 My stomach tightened.

 Another message appeared.

 Zara: I hope you know what you're doing.

 Damien exhaled slowly.

 I looked at him.

 "How does she already know?"

 "Someone must have told her."

 "Marcus?"

 "Maybe. Or Daniel."

 I folded my arms.

 "Well, that's reassuring. We've been fake dating for approximately five minutes, and the news is already spreading."

 Damien slipped his phone into his pocket.

 "We knew this would happen."

 "Yes, but I thought we'd have at least a week before your ex started monitoring my existence."

 He looked at me, his expression turning serious.

 "You don't have to do this, Ava. If it's too much, we can stop."

 The offer caught me off guard.

 For all his ridiculous planning, he was giving me a genuine choice.

 I studied his face.

 Then I sighed.

 "No. I agreed to help you, and I'm not backing out just because Zara sent a dramatic text."

 His shoulders relaxed.

 "Thank you."

 "But you owe me dinner."

 He grinned.

 "Done."

 "And dessert."

 "Fine."

 "And you're paying for my coffee next time."

 "I paid today!"

 "Then consider it an investment in your fake girlfriend's emotional well-being."

 He laughed and slung an arm around my shoulders.

 I immediately pushed it off.

 "Unnecessary touching!"

 "Right. Sorry."

 We both laughed as we walked toward the parking lot.

 I had no idea that Zara had already begun paying attention to me.

 I didn't know that our little performance had made her more suspicious instead of less.

 And I certainly didn't know that one day, her obsession with Damien would drag me into something far more dangerous than pretending to be his girlfriend.

 For now, I was just Ava Bennett.

 Twenty-three years old.

 Independent.

 Reasonably intelligent.

 And apparently foolish enough to agree to fake-date my childhood best friend.

 What could possibly go wrong?