Page 27 of Faking the Face Off

My dad’s voice pulls me back to reality, grounding me in the moment. I shrug off my jacket and drape it over the chair before stepping into the living room where he’s sprawled on the couch with a blanket over his legs and a book propped on his lap.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, perching on the arm of the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He closes the book and sets it aside, giving me a pointed look. “You didn’t have to cut your night short to check on me, you know.”

“I didn’t.” It’s not a total lie. Technically, my end-of-evening antics with Ollie were part of this whole elaborate scheme. But I don’t correct myself, and Dad doesn’t press.

“Good. Because you deserve to have fun once in a while.” His voice softens, and I catch the unspoken concern in his tone. “You’ve been carrying a lot lately, and I know it’s all because of me. I can see it.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” I force a reassuring smile, but the weight of his words settles on me anyway.

He studies me for a long moment, then nods. “If you say so. But don’t let this old man’s mistakes make you forget to live your own life. Okay?”

“Okay.” My voice is quiet, but something in his words lingers as I lean over to kiss his cheek and tell him goodnight.

As I head upstairs, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s right. I’ve been so focused on fixing things for him that I haven’t thought about what I want. Quite frankly, I don’t have time to right now, and on top of that, I don’t want to.

Because now, there’s Ollie. Same Ollie as before, but for some reason now he’s different to me. Back to the only word I can think of today to describe him: more.

I pause at the window in my room, looking out into the darkened street where his car had been just minutes ago. My phone buzzes in my hand, a notification lighting up the screen—another like on his Instagram post.

Ollie and me, smiling and close, our secret starting to look a little too real.

I told myself I wouldn’t blur the lines. I told myself this is for show.

But the way my heart skips at the thought of him? That was most certainly never, ever supposed to be part of the plan.

CHAPTER 10

ANNA

Ismooth the blanket over Ellie’s tiny body, watching as her eyelids flutter closed. Across the room, Lucas is already out like a light, his little snores filling the otherwise quiet nursery. It wasn’t on my job description when I started to do nanny duties, but when your boss’s wife needs help, you step up to the plate to answer the call. At least I do.

And peaceful sweet moments like this make the chaos of the day worth it.

Molly pokes her head into the room, a warm smile lighting up her face. “Everyone tucked in?”

“Out cold,” I whisper, tiptoeing toward the door.

Molly crosses the room, leaning down to press a kiss on each child’s forehead. “Good night, my loves,” she murmurs, her voice soft and maternal.

We leave the room together, careful to close the door without a sound. Downstairs, the hum of the dishwasher fills the air as we enter the kitchen. I grab my bag from the counter and start gathering items needed for the next day like extra snacks, additional clothing in case of an accident at school, and some books to read if boredom strikes.

“Thanks for staying late again,” Molly says, sinking into a chair. She slides a notepad across the table toward me. “I wrote a few things down that I need help with tomorrow. Ben’s got a meeting at the rink, so it’s just me with the kids for most of the morning.”

“No problem,” I say, scanning her neat handwriting to see if I have any questions. “I’ll swing by early to get everything started.”

As we go over the list, my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at it and see Sutton’s name on the screen, followed by a text.

Payment is through, check your account.

Relief washes over me like a wave, and I exhale deeply, my shoulders finally relaxing for the first time in days.

“You okay?” Molly asks, her brow furrowing as she studies me.

I hesitate, debating how much to say. I’ve always gotten along with Molly as a person, and as far as employers go, she is great. I’ve shared personal details with her and asked for advice here and there over the past two years I’ve worked for them. I feel like she’s a good sounding board and I can trust her…even with some of this fairytale lie I’m living in.

“It’s my dad,” I tell her, which isn’t entirely untrue. “I’ve been worried about him, but I just got confirmation that things should start looking up soon.”

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