Page 120 of Faking the Shot

But since the wrap party, the questions she’d been wrestling with for days had contended also with a new fear. Because Zac had withdrawn. She’d sensed his withdrawal, the distance he’d put between them, like he too had realized their agreement was coming to an end and it was best to harden his heart before feelings got more painful. And while part of her hoped he could do this, for his sake anyway, the old patterns of insecurity and self-preservation shriekedno, no, no,begging her to push him away to protect her heart before letting him break it.

The Teahouse adjoining Stanley Park was filled with couples who were all about the romance. Tea candles and white tablecloths, red roses in crystal vases, hors d’oeuvres shaped in hearts. She wasn’t sure whether the food they served here qualified as healthy and clean, but Zac had chosen it, so he must’ve known what the menu would consist of.

The fact he had chosen this venue made her wonder if he chose it because it would be more difficult to create a scene. Or maybe he was just nice. What would she know? She’d never had a real boyfriend before and he was so nice and had been acting exactly like what she wanted, but was that acting, with him just following her cues and script? Or was it real?

She glanced at the fire crackling in the stone fireplace, their table positioned between it and a window that probably looked out on the ocean during the day. The place was elegant, refined, and warm.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” His smile was warm, but was that real?

“Yes.” That wasn’t real either. Because this wasn’t nice. This was agony.

She pasted on a broader smile as various couples glanced at them, then murmured to each other. She saw a few people take sneaky pics, which reminded her that they needed a photo, one last proof of their fake relationship before they went their separate ways. “Hey, do you mind if we get a photo?”

“You want me to ask a waiter to take it?”

“Sure.”

Zac nodded and a waiter obliged them and she smiled, knowing the dim light would make her red dress and diamond necklace glow. Zac reached across to hold her hand, and she obliged. Fake, fake, fake until the end.

“Thanks.” Zac sent her the photo, and she uploaded it then put her phone away.

The last photo, the last meal. All of this would soon end.

“So, have you decided what you want to eat?” he asked.

“No.”

Studying the menu gave a chance to breathe. To gather herself. But hiding behind it also reminded her of that time in the café when they’d first shared a meal—or at least a cup of tea, and they’d agreed on this sham relationship. They’dagreed. Why was she feeling so bad when they’d both agreed to this?

“The fish looks good,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“And the steak.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Ains.”

She glanced at him. Then lowered her eyes. That look in his eyes said he knew. Oh, why were they still here? They had their photo, Rosie would be happy. Tonight they’d go their separate ways and all would be okay. It would have to be.

“We can go if you want,” he said quietly.

And go where? Surely it was better to eat rather than have everyone wonder why they had showed up and then exited without eating? That would just cause more gossip.

“I think I’d like the Teahouse salad,” she said.

“That’s all?”

“I’m not hungry.” And she strongly suspected guilt would not let her eat more than a few mouthfuls.

His face fell, and she felt the knife twist a little harder. “But you get what you want though.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting what I want tonight.”

She sucked in another breath, but before she could ask what he meant, the waiter appeared again. “Have we made a selection?”

Oh, she’d made a selection. A selection of bad decisions, starting with insisting this be fake. She’d never forgive herself.

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