Page 62 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

He stopped in his tracks, shock written all over his face. “Are you serious?”

“Like I’d give you a reason to crow if I wasn’t.”

“You—I—Aria—”

“What?”

He stood for a moment as if he were malfunctioning, like his fuses had blown or something. Then, all at once, he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her up against his chest, spinning them both in circles.

Finally, after she shrieked and slapped at his shoulder and tried to pretend she wasn’t thoroughly enjoying herself, Nik put her down again. But he didn’t let her go. Instead, his hands cradled her face as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

“I love you so fucking much,” he grinned. “I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

“You’d better.”

And he did. God, he did. His mouth teased hers at first, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, making her gasp and rise up for more. When the heat pooling between her thighs became unbearable, when she clutched at his strong arms and felt her knees weaken, he finally gave her what she needed. His lips moved over hers, each kiss long and slow, as if he were trying to tell her something. To show her something. To give her a part of himself.

So she threaded her fingers through his hair, and kissed him right back, and gave him her heart.

A Soft and Mushy Epilogue

Decades Later

“Mum. Dad. I have fallen in love.”

Aria didn’t look up from her sketchbook. “That’s nice, darling.”

She expected her husband to be similarly underwhelmed; after all, their eldest daughter said the same thing every other month. Helen reminded Aria of the way she’d been in her younger years, if far less self-destructive. The child—woman, now—had an excess of love and no qualms about sharing it.

So, when Nik grabbed the TV remote and turned off the football, Aria was surprised, to say the least. She finally looked up to find her husband staring at their firstborn with a rather disconcerting expression.

Helen stared right back, her shoulders set as if awaiting some sort of military inspection. “I’m telling you because I will be needing giagiá’s ring,” she said, “and I know it’s in the safety deposit right now.”

Aria’s jaw dropped. “Honey… Grandma’s ring? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.” She looked over at Nik, but for once he didn’t join her in baffled eye contact. He was still staring at their daughter, giving Aria a perfect view of the stripes of silver at his temples and the lines bracketing his narrowed eyes.

“I’m not,” Helen said. “I mean, we’re not together. Yet. She’s a PhD student at the university. I, ah, saw her at a lab the other day.” Helen’s cheeks darkened. “Oh, come on, Ma, don’t look at me like that.”

With great difficulty, Aria toned down her blatant astonishment. “You want grandma’s ring for a girl you saw at a lab the other day?”

Before Helen could reply, Nik spoke suddenly. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

Aria’s head whipped around to her husband. “You’ll what?”

“Thanks, Dad.” Helen left the room nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just turned her mother’s world upside down.

Aria blinked helplessly at Nik. “Am I missing something?”

He pulled her sketchbook gently from her hands before hauling her into his lap. She huffed, fidgeting as if this weren’t the most comfortable place in the world. He held her tight, as always, his hands cupping her belly, his chin resting on her shoulder. “She’s in love, chrysí mou.”

“She’s always in bloody love.”

“But some kinds are different.”

“You can’t possibly know—”

“Do you trust me?”

She laughed, sliding a hand over his cheek. “Oh, stop that. You know I do.”

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