Page 115 of The Fake Dating War

Pity. I could have said more.

Not because Harry is worth it, but because adrenaline distracted from pain. And now it’s no longer doing that, and there’s a wail inside me that no one else can hear.

“You should go after them,” I say, staring at the exit. “Your bonus is running away.”

“Reema. Please. You have to understand–” Jake pleads.

“That’s why you volunteered. That’s why you are here. Being with me—pretending to be with me—I should have asked. Pushed for an answer. Why else agree to this—this—charade?—”

Bebe rolls her wheelchair into the center of our gathering. “What are you talking about, Reema? Pretend? Charade?”

How could I have forgotten? We have an audience.

“What are you saying?” my mother asks. “Why are you upset at him? Especially after he protected you.”

“He is your partner,” my dad says. “And we don’t mind if he was working this week?—”

“He’s not my partner.”

“You’re breaking up?” Bebe’s question is incredulous. “Why?” She wheels to face Jake. “Is it because she used to be married to that animal? Because she divorced him? Don’t believe his words!”

“That’s not it,” I say, speaking before he can.

“Don’t break-up. We can figure this out,” cries my panicked mother. When she looks at me, I can tell she’s frantic that her vision of my perfect life is about to tumble down. Guilt chokes my throat. I should have never given them this lie in the first place. I can’t take that back now, but I need to stop hiding.

“There… is nothing to figure out. We were never together. I’ve been lying to everyone.”

Louder gasps and murmurs spread.

“The truth is I’m thirty-five, single, and alone. This man is my co-worker—” Who I refuse to make eye-contact with, even though I feel the constant press of his gaze. He’s been staring at me this whole time.

“I asked him to pretend to be my boyfriend, because I was afraid of being talked about—pitied—of not having anything to show for myself at my sister’s wedding. But I was wrong to lie. What I should have done is come here as myself. Because I’m not sad or behind or whatever you’ll tell me I am. No, I get to be whatever I want myself to be, and that—” I sigh. “That can be sad and disappointed and full of regret some days. But that’s not what I’m made of, either. I’m fucking proud of myself and of everything I’m trying to do to find my own happiness. I’m on a journey and allowed to take my time with it, and to decide what my own goals are. You don’t get to tell me what makes a good life. Idecidethat.”

From the background, Serena thumps her chest and the room echoes with her stretched out, “Yessssssssss.”

No one else cheers, but it’s fine. I’ve shocked people, especially my parents. I’m not done. I take turns pointing at everyone in this room but him.

“We’re not going to talk about this tonight. This night is to celebrate my sister who is waiting in her room with Gurinder, super excited about their big walk-in entrance. Nobody is going to gossip about me tonight. I don’t care what you say when you go home, but if anyone is doing anything less than partying and being happy for Esha, I will personally kick them out of here!”

My reminder works. My dad jolts into action. He exclaims we are late and says we need to go to the other hall. People start moving. My mother doesn’t want to leave, but Bebe forces her to go, mumbling something about giving Jake and I some time to talk. As if that will help.

“Reema.”

Judging from the surrounding quiet, we’re alone. I shut my eyes. “Fuck.”It hurts.

“Please, let me explain?—”

“Leave. I’ll beg you if I have to, but I can’t have you here. Go away?—”

“Yell at me. Hit me. Scream. Anything, baby. I’ll take anything you want to do, but please look at me, Reema.” His voice is full of such terrible anguish, but I refuse to let it sway me. I can’t. My chin trembles. Doesn’t he get it? I was brave with everything else, but I’m not strong enough for this.

One day, he can explain how he never lied to me, and that we both got what we needed out of this arrangement. That he did a great job convincing my family of his love and devotion, and that—hey—we got some great sex out of it, too. That the process made us even bond a little. That wanting to win the bonus isn’t personal. We’re competitors. There are no rules when it comes to beating the other person, so why is this any different? If anything, I should be impressed by how far he’s gone to win.

One day, I’ll be able to listen to all that and not be shredded.

Today is not that day.

“You need to go.” I clutch my stomach. It hurts everywhere, but it’s the place I can hold most easily. Tears brim my eyes. “Please go, so this whole night isn’t ruined. You have to leave. Don’t make me beg. I’m already so tired. Go… Coleman.”

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