The Realest Fake Kiss

CHAPTER SIX: THE REALEST FAKE KISS

AIDEN

I swallowed hard, trying to quiet the uneven rhythm of my heartbeat as I leaned a little closer to her. “Of course, babe,” I whispered, forcing my voice to stay steady, trying to make it sound natural—normal. “Have you forgotten when you said yes to me?” The words slipped out low, teasing, the way a real boyfriend might coax a smile out of his girl.

But inside, my nerves were crawling. My mother stood just a few feet away, and if there was anything she was better at than breathing, it was detecting lies. She could sniff out a secret like a hawk. And right now, I needed her to believe every drop of this performance.

She—this girl—looked completely thrown. Her eyes were wide, too wide, like a deer caught in headlights, and for a second I thought she’d forget to breathe. She didn’t move at first, then blinked slowly, still unsure of what the hell she had just been dragged into. I almost winced. This was risky. So damn risky.

Just play along, please… I begged silently, my gaze locking on hers, praying she’d understand the urgency without me having to explain anything.

I breathed under my breath—more to myself than to her because if this went wrong, if Mum sensed even an inch of awkwardness, the entire lie would collapse in seconds.

Then she did something I didn’t expect. She smiled. Not fully, not confidently—but enough. A small, shaky, nervous smile, the kind that said she didn’t know what she was doing but she would try. And in that moment, I could’ve hugged her from sheer relief.

“Yes, babe, you know I play too much,” she murmured softly, leaning in as if she’d done this a hundred times. Her lips brushed mine, feather-light, warm, and unexpectedly soft. For a second, I forgot what this moment even was—forgot that this was fake, that we were merely trying to survive my mother’s interrogation.

I kissed her back carefully and gentle, enough to be believable. Not enough to let anything real slip through. My heart pounded anyway.

“How did you two meet? Tell me all about your love story,” Mum said suddenly, slicing through the moment like a blade.

I froze. Completely. Love story? Already? She had stepped into the house barely a minute ago, and she wanted romance details? My mother was relentless. She didn’t ease into conversations—she attacked them headfirst.

“Mum,” I groaned lightly, trying to keep my tone playful. “Stop it. You just got here. You shouldn’t be asking about this now.”

I had no story prepared, nothing rehearsed. One wrong sentence, one mismatched detail, and she’d tear the whole lie apart like tissue paper.

She ignored me entirely.

“And where is Vera?” she asked, her eyes sweeping the room instead of waiting for my answer.

“She’s in the kitchen. She should be out soon,” I replied quickly, grateful for the small distraction—anything to stop the love-story interrogation.

Right on cue, Vera walked out from the kitchen, her back straight, her manner composed like she’d been born to serve royalty.

“Oh! Ma’am, welcome,” she greeted warmly.

“What do I get you? I want what Aiden is eating. I skipped breakfast, and you know I don’t fancy those plane meals…” Mum said, waving her hand dramatically.

“Okay, ma’am,” Vera replied, already turning to prepare whatever was needed. Loyal as always.

But Mum wasn’t finished. Not even close.

“So tell me,” she said, leaning forward again, eyes bright with curiosity, “how did you meet my son, and how did you get him to fall in love with you? Trust me, I’ve tried everything possible to make him fall in love for the longest time.”

I stiffened. That line—everything possible—made something uncomfortable twist inside me. God only knew what she meant by that, or what she might try next.

My stomach tightened. She was digging too fast and too deep. I needed the conversation to slow, just long enough to breathe.

“Sorry, my love, I didn’t catch your name,” Mum added, eyebrows raised. That was when panic jolted through me.

Because—I didn’t know her name too.

Not even her first name.

And if I asked her now, if I stuttered, paused, hesitated—Mum would pick up on it immediately.

I turned to the girl beside me, hoping she’d understand the silent plea in my eyes.

She didn’t panic or fumble. She simply lifted her chin a little and answered with perfect timing and perfect calm.

“Annalise. My name is Annalise Carter.”

Relief washed through me, deep and warm. I exhaled quietly, noticing for the first time that I had been half-holding my breath. Annalise. Okay. We could work with that. She had saved us both.

For now.

I shifted in my seat, pretending to relax. My fingers brushed hers, and I let my hand rest gently over hers—a small gesture, but one Mum would be watching closely. Every detail mattered. The lean of my shoulder toward hers. The controlled breath. The look I gave her—everything had to align.

Just play along, Anna… just a little longer.

Mum’s eyes flicked between us, sharp and knowing, but amused too—like she was watching a live episode of her favorite drama. She had always been too observant for comfort. She saw things most people missed. And she loved digging until she reached the truth.

“Have you two been… together long?” she asked, her voice gentle now, coated with curiosity rather than pressure. But that was the trick with her—she could sound soft while interrogating you like a detective.

At first, I thought—why is she asking that?

Did she notice something?

The question sliced through me before I could stop it, and for a split second my heart stopped cold. My chest tightened, a sharp, painful squeeze, the kind that comes when fear hits you too fast.

My mother never asked anything without a reason. She never wasted breath on random curiosity. If she asked a question, it was because she had already observed something… or suspected something.

A thousand possibilities shot through my mind—Did she see the hesitation in my smile? The way Annalise’s fingers trembled when she touched me? The slight awkwardness we were trying so hard to hide?

My pulse thudded against my ribs, heavy, uneven.

But I forced a breath in, forced my face to stay neutral, forced my voice not to crack.

Then I responded anyway.

I swallowed and forced a smile—steady, warm, believable. “Not too long, Mum, but… enough to know we like each other.” My response was safe, vague and not too detailed.

I had to make sure it had nothing that could trap me later.

Under the table, Annalise suddenly squeezed my hand. A small, grounding squeeze. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She was holding herself together incredibly well. Calm when she had no reason to be. Composed when she had been blindsided only minutes ago.

I squeezed her hand back. Quiet thanks. Silent reassurance.

We’ve got this.

Just hold on.

For the first time since Mum walked in, her expression softened. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and the sharpness in her gaze eased.

“Well… good. That’s good to hear,” she murmured, almost sounding like she meant it. She nodded slowly, more to herself than to us.

But then she looked right back at Annalise, eyes narrowing in interest.

“And what about you, Annalise? How does one get a man like my son to… well, fall for them?”

My jaw tightened. She’s really not going to stop.

I braced myself for disaster. Annalise didn’t know me. She didn’t know what kind of answer Mum expected. She didn’t know how easily one wrong word could ruin everything.

But she surprised me again.

“I just… treated him like a person,” she said softly, her voice steady, her expression calm in a way that made my chest tighten. “Listened to him rant about failed designs, held him together when he was falling apart… no one expects the great designer Aiden to have weaknesses or moments where he doesn’t know what to do.” She took a breath, her eyes flicking to me briefly—too briefly—before returning to my mother. “I just stayed when he needed me to. Gave him space. Laughed at the right moments. And I was honest… even when it was hard.”

For a moment, the room went still.

And I… I almost forgot to breathe.

She spoke as though she truly knew me—like she had seen pieces of me no one else cared to look at. The vulnerability she described was too close, too sharp, too real. It sounded true even to me.

And that was the terrifying part.

Mum blinked—slowly—caught off guard by the maturity in the answer.

And for the first time, I could breathe. Really breathe.

My shoulders dropped slightly.

The tension in my chest loosened.

We were safe.At least… for now.

But the one question I couldn’t stop asking myself was how she knew exactly what to say… as though she knew the real Aiden Blackwood—the one behind the designs, the confidence, the carefully controlled image I’d built for the world.

She shouldn’t have known any of that.

She had no reason to guess so accurately.

Yet every word from her mouth had landed with unsettling precision, like she had been watching me longer than I realized… and she understood me in a way no one did.

The thought made something unfamiliar stir inside my chest—curiosity tangled with caution, with a flicker of something I didn’t want to name.