All Chapters of The Vows We Fake : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

"You always did like that one, didn’t you?" He remembered?!? Zane noticed the effect his statement had on me but he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, cool as ever. “Sorry. Did I hit a nerve? Or am I misremembering?” The chef laughed nervously, as if we were joking. Laughing was too much for me, so I calmed myself down and forced a tight smile. “Don’t worry,” Zane murmured under his breath, just low enough for only me to hear. “We’ll find something you can stomach.” I didn’t reply him. The silence drew out. “They brought in the new pastry chef from Tuscany,” Karina offered, breaking the silence. “Said he’s a genius with lavender crème brûlée.” “Lavender,” I murmured, more to myself than her. That had been my idea, once. The softest details, the little things that Zane used to say made him feel like he could breathe. This was torture. Reliving the past dessert by dessert, and having Zane dismiss them all? Why did I suggest this menu anyway? “Lavender crèm

I didn’t sleep. The voice on the phone had chased the sleep away. I replayed it a hundred times in my head, wondering who it belonged to. Wondering how they knew I was digging. More importantly, what they were trying to hide. I heard that voice five years ago, just before I leaked the information about Zane’s father’s company to the press. It was a phone call from a blocked number. With a single warning. I didn’t know that voice then, but I never forgot it. And it's come back to haunt me now. At sunrise, I sat at the window with black coffee and dark circles under my eyes, scrolling yet again through what few traces were left of my past with Zane. Each click felt like scratching at an open wound that refused to heal. The photos from the gala still sat open in a tab. In them, I looked... happy. Real. Zane’s arm wrapped casually around my waist, his head tilted toward mine. There was no mistaking the intimacy. So why did the caption pretend I didn’t exist? A knock at my door star

I was at the breakfast before 9 am. No one had to remind me this time. It was quite a small gathering. I had expected the couple's family to show up, but the only person who I knew was Zane’s little sister, Amelia, who gave me a hearty wave as I walked in. The last time I saw her, she was a three year old with a mop of brown curls on her head. Now, she was a mature pre-teen who sat elegantly, her spine straight. I wondered if she remembered me. His mother was reportedly vacationing in France. His dad died a few years after the scandal. And his estranged cousin, Julian, couldn’t make it. My heart felt for him. I knew how loneliness felt. For Sera’s family’s absence, however, I had no sympathies for her. Her family had always been dysfunctional. Her dad was the typical absent CEO, mother was an avid businesswoman who came home twice in a year, and Sera was the only child groomed to take over the family business. Back then in uni, I tried my best to be a true friend to her. And she’s

I was stunned into silence. My chest heaved with every breath. In the course of his speech, Zane had advanced towards me, and he was merely inches away from my face. The tension was loud, palpable. But instead, I asked, “Do you want to remember?” He didn’t answer right away. He seemed stunned by his own confession. He dragged a tired hand down his face. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “What if what I forgot was worse than what I have now?” And there it was: his fear. Tangible and real. Of the truth behind his memory loss. And with the information I knew and the ones I suspected but was yet to be confirmed, his fear was valid. And I felt fear creep up also. Zane was close, too close. We were breathing in the other’s air. I could taste the scent of his lips, the minty breath of his mouth. I was aware of his body, not yet pressed onto mine, but shivers racked through my spine. And somehow, Zane was drawing even closer to me. His hand was reaching out. It was coming up. Up. Almost

The next morning, I arrived at the venue earlier than usual. Staff bustled around in the ballroom that smelled like fresh paint and money. Mr. Wade greeted me with his usual curt nod, clipboard in hand, always disapproving. “Ms. Ibe,” he said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “Sera wants to change the table layout. Again.” “Of course she does,” I muttered, grabbing the new floor plan. “She has the vision of a dictator and the patience of a toddler.” Wade frowned. “You’ll watch your tone, if you want to keep this job.” I smiled sweetly. “And you’ll watch your attitude, if you want to keep that hairline.” He blinked, stunned for a moment, before storming off. I held down the laughter in my throat. I couldn’t help the small smile on my lips which faded when I heard familiar footsteps approaching. Zane. He was dressed sharply, as always. Always on formal clothes that fit him to perfection. But there was a crease between his brows like he hadn’t slept, or worse, had a