The Woman Who Wouldn't Let Go

 By Wednesday, I had developed a new hobby.

 Avoiding Zara Mitchell.

 It wasn't particularly difficult. I didn't know the woman personally, and I had absolutely no desire to change that. Unfortunately, being Damien Cole's fake girlfriend apparently meant I had been promoted to a position I never applied for: the woman Zara Mitchell wanted answers from.

 And she wasn't taking no for an answer.

 My phone buzzed while I was eating breakfast.

 Damien: Morning, girlfriend. Important question.

 Me: If it involves holding hands, kissing, or another relationship meeting, the answer is no.

 Damien: Wow. You haven't even heard the question.

 Me: I've known you for fifteen years. I know the question.

 Damien: Do you want pancakes?

 I paused.

 Me: Why didn't you start with that?

 Damien: Because I enjoy watching you suffer.

 Me: Your pancakes better be good.

 Damien: They're excellent.

 Me: You burned toast last month.

 Damien: That toaster was defective.

 I laughed into my glass of juice.

 This was the problem with Damien. He could annoy me to the point of considering a restraining order, then make me laugh before I could properly maintain my anger.

 It was an irritating talent.

 Twenty minutes later, he arrived at my apartment carrying a paper bag and two takeaway cups.

 I opened the door.

 "You're late."

 He checked his watch.

 "I'm three minutes early."

 "Late people always have excuses."

 He handed me a cup.

 "Good morning to you too."

 I took a sip.

 My favorite coffee.

 I narrowed my eyes.

 "Why are you being nice?"

 He looked offended.

 "Can't I do something nice for my girlfriend?"

 "No. Not when you're usually a public nuisance."

 He laughed and walked inside.

 "You're welcome, by the way."

 I followed him into the kitchen.

 "Thank you."

 He stopped and turned around.

 "What was that?"

 "Don't make me repeat myself."

 "Was that gratitude? From Ava Bennett?"

 I reached for the paper bag.

 "Give me my pancakes before I change my mind."

 He laughed.

 And for a few minutes, everything felt normal.

 No fake relationship.

 No suspicious ex-girlfriend.

 No ridiculous rules.

 Just Damien and me, eating breakfast and arguing over who had stolen the last pancake.

 Then his phone rang.

 He glanced at the screen, and the amusement vanished from his face.

 I knew that expression.

 "Zara?" I asked.

 He nodded.

 "Are you going to answer?"

 "No."

 The phone stopped ringing.

 A moment later, it rang again.

 Damien sighed.

 "Unbelievable."

 He declined the call and placed the phone facedown on the counter.

 I watched him carefully.

 "Has she been calling you this much since the breakup?"

 "More than before."

 "That's concerning."

 "I know."

 He rubbed the back of his neck.

 "She sent me a message last night saying she wanted to meet. I told her I had nothing to discuss with her."

 "And?"

 "She said she wasn't asking."

 I lowered my pancake.

 "Excuse me?"

 "Her exact words."

 I stared at him.

 "That woman needs a hobby."

 "Preferably one that doesn't involve me."

 "Or my phone number."

 He looked at me.

 "She hasn't called you again, has she?"

 "No. Why?"

 He hesitated.

 "Nothing. Just checking."

 I studied him for a moment.

 "Damien, if Zara is making you uncomfortable, you should talk to someone you trust. This isn't something you have to manage by yourself."

 His expression softened.

 "I know, Ave."

 "Good. Because I'm not qualified to be a relationship counsellor. I barely understand my own life."

 He chuckled.

 "Your life is pretty simple."

 I gasped.

 "Pretty simple?"

 "You're welcome."

 I threw a napkin at him.

 He caught it, laughing.

 And just like that, the conversation moved on.

 But I noticed he checked his phone twice before he left.

 Neither time did he smile.

 ---

 That afternoon, Damien convinced me to accompany him to a bookstore.

 Apparently, being in a fake relationship meant we needed to spend time together in public.

 Apparently, buying groceries together and having breakfast at my apartment weren't enough.

 Apparently, Damien had decided that our arrangement was his personal full-time job.

 "You know," I said as we walked between the shelves, "normal people don't schedule their friendships."

 "We're not scheduling our friendship. We're maintaining our cover."

 "That's a very complicated way of saying you're dragging me around town."

 He smiled.

 "You're enjoying yourself."

 "I was enjoying myself before you arrived."

 "You're welcome."

 I rolled my eyes and stopped in front of a shelf of romance novels.

 He came to stand beside me.

 "Looking for inspiration?"

 I turned slowly.

 "Say one more word, and I'll make sure you become the villain in every book I write."

 He picked up a novel and examined the cover.

 "What's wrong with being a villain? They're usually the most interesting characters."

 "Then congratulations. You're already qualified."

 He laughed.

 I returned to the books, determined to ignore him.

 A few minutes later, he reached past me for a book on the upper shelf.

 His arm brushed mine.

 I stepped aside.

 "Personal space, Cole."

 "Sorry."

 He sounded amused.

 I looked at him.

 "You're having far too much fun with this."

 "Maybe."

 "You're a terrible person."

 "And yet, you agreed to date me."

 "Fake-date you."

 "Details."

 I was preparing a suitable insult when someone called his name.

 "Damien?"

 We both turned.

 A woman stood a few feet away, holding a shopping basket. She was dressed elegantly, with perfectly styled hair and a smile that disappeared the moment she looked at me.

 I recognized her immediately from the photographs Damien had shown me.

 Zara.

 Of course.

 Because apparently, the universe had decided that my peaceful afternoon needed to become a disaster.

 Damien's expression hardened.

 "Zara."

 She looked from him to me.

 Then her gaze dropped to the hand he was holding.

 I followed her eyes.

 I hadn't even realized we'd been holding hands.

 Damien had reached for mine while we were walking, apparently deciding that the bookstore was an appropriate location for a public display of affection.

 I wanted to step away.

 Instead, I tightened my grip on his hand.

 If Zara wanted a performance, she was about to get one.

 "Hello," I said pleasantly.

 Zara's smile returned, but it didn't reach her eyes.

 "Ava. What a surprise."

 "Isn't it?"

 She glanced at Damien.

 "I didn't realize you two were this serious."

 Damien's thumb brushed absently over my knuckles.

 "We're happy, Zara."

 I nearly swallowed my tongue.

 Happy?

 We'd spent the morning arguing over pancakes.

 But I smiled anyway.

 "Very happy," I added.

 Zara looked at our joined hands again.

 Something flickered across her face.

 Jealousy, perhaps.

 Or suspicion.

 Possibly both.

 "Well," she said, "I hope it works out."

 "Thank you," I replied. "That's very kind."

 Her eyes narrowed slightly.

 Then she looked directly at Damien.

 "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

 "No."

 The answer came so quickly that even I was surprised.

 Zara blinked.

 "Damien, please. Just a minute."

 "I've already told you I don't want to discuss our relationship."

 "Our relationship?"

 He exhaled.

 "Our former relationship."

 She flinched.

 It was brief, but I noticed.

 For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.

 Almost.

 Then she turned to me.

 "You must be very pleased with yourself."

 I released Damien's hand.

 "Excuse me?"

 "You've always been around him. Always."

 My amusement disappeared.

 "Zara, I don't know what you're implying, but I'm not interested in arguing with you."

 "Of course you aren't."

 Damien stepped between us.

 "Enough."

 His voice was firm.

 "Don't speak to Ava like that."

 Zara stared at him.

 For a moment, she looked genuinely stunned.

 Then her expression changed.

 The hurt disappeared, replaced by something colder.

 "So that's how it's going to be?"

 "Yes," Damien replied. "I'm moving on. You need to respect that."

 She looked at him for several seconds.

 Then she smiled.

 It was the kind of smile that made the back of my neck prickle.

 "Fine."

 She turned and walked away.

 Neither of us spoke until she disappeared around the corner.

 Then I slowly turned toward Damien.

 "Your ex is terrifying."

 He dragged a hand through his hair.

 "She's not usually like this."

 "Well, I would hate to see her on a bad day."

 He didn't laugh.

 Instead, he looked toward the exit.

 Something about his expression made my stomach tighten.

 "Damien?"

 He turned back to me.

 "Yeah?"

 "Do you think she's going to stop?"

 He was quiet for a moment.

 Then he reached for my hand again.

 "I don't know."

 For once, I had no joke to make.

 Because I didn't know either.

 ---

 That evening, I was getting ready for bed when my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

 I frowned.

 Unknown: You seem to be enjoying your new relationship.

 I stared at the screen.

 A second message arrived.

 Unknown: Just remember that not everything is what it seems.

 My stomach tightened.

 I typed a reply.

 Me: Who is this?

 The message was marked as read.

 No answer came.

 I called Damien.

 He picked up almost immediately.

 "Hey, Ave. What's wrong?"

 I hesitated.

 "I think Zara has my number."

 Silence.

 "What?"

 I read him the messages.

 By the time I finished, his voice had lost its usual lightness.

 "Don't reply to her again. Save the messages, and let me know if she contacts you further."

 "Damien, this is getting ridiculous."

 "I know."

 "She's acting like I've stolen something from her."

 He was quiet.

 Then he said, "You haven't stolen anything, Ava."

 I stared at the wall.

 "I know."

 But the words didn't make me feel better.

 Because somewhere beneath my irritation, a small, uncomfortable thought had begun to take shape.

 Zara wasn't simply upset that Damien had moved on.

 She was watching us.

 Questioning us.

 Looking for something.

 And I had a terrible feeling that she wasn't going to stop until she found it.

 What frightened me most was that I still believed the worst thing she could discover was the truth about our fake relationship.

 I had no idea how wrong I was.