Page 48 of The Match Faker

We’d survived a whole journey without strangling each other.

Now I hoped we could survive the rest of the night…

19

Mia

As Liam placed his hand on my lower back and guided me to the restaurant door, my heart thundered against my chest.

I’d sent an emergency message to my brain to calm the hell down, but clearly my body hadn’t got the memo. When Liam had taken my hand to get out of the car, that same feeling had raced through me.

His palm was big and warm and it felt so comforting. It’d been ages since a man had touched me.

But then I remembered. This was a fake date. Liam was just playing a part. He said so himself. Hopefully I’d get used to pretending soon too.

‘Mr Stone,’ the waiter greeted him. ‘Welcome. Madame.’ He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Please. Follow me.’

The man led us through to a large room. It was empty except for a single candlelit table in the centre.

‘I can take it from here.’ Liam nodded.

‘Very well. We will start bringing the food shortly.’

Liam stepped forward and pulled the chair out, then gestured for me to sit down.

‘You’re really going all out on the whole chivalry thing.’ I raised an eyebrow.

‘Standard date behaviour.’ He shrugged.

I had to admit: I kind of liked it. Opening the car door, pulling out the chair. I knew in this day and age, equality was important, but there was something romantic about it.

And I could slap myself for thinking it, but I also liked when Liam called me pretty. Even if it was pretend. When he’d said it, a weird tingly sensation raced through me.

This time, I’d done my own hair and make-up. Even though I’d had to apply my eyeliner twice because my hands wouldn’t stop trembling, I was happy with how it turned out. I knew what suited me and made me comfortable. I’d much rather be photographed being a hundred per cent myself rather than looking like a cheap imitation of someone else.

‘Are they bringing the menu?’ I liked to look at it as soon as possible because it took me ages to figure out what to choose.

‘No. I’ve already ordered.’

‘You’ve… wait, what?’

‘You heard.’ He folded his arms.

‘That’s taking the chivalry thing too far. I can choose my own food.’

‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrow. ‘This restaurant closes at eleven and it’s already close to nine. No offence, but if we waited for you to choose, the kitchen would be closed.’

‘That’s…’ Shit. He was right. ‘But how will you know what I like?’

‘Salt and pepper prawns? Vegetable spring rolls? Satay chicken?’

Dammit.

How did he remember these things? We’d had Chinese takeaway a few times as teenagers, but that was years ago.

‘I suppose that’s okay…’ I said, not wanting to admit he was spot on.

He’d been right about a lot. Like his decision to bring me here.

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