Page 14 of Fake It 'Til You Feel It

I close my eyes, trying to gather the pieces of my shattered composure. I ask the only thing on my mind: “What are we doing, Nathan?”

“Whatever this is,” he says, his voice rough from keeping it low, “it’s real. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

He draws back, his thumbs circling on the fabric at my waist. A teasing touch, deliberate and devastating. My body leans towards his, instinct over logic, and I hate it.

I hate how much I miss the warmth of his lips already.

I shouldn’t. I can’t.

This is a game, a performance, a means to an end. But if that’s true, why is my pulse hammering against my ribs like I’m the one about to lose something? Why do I feel like if I let this moment slip away, I might regret it?

His fingers flex, tension coiling in his grip as if he’s waiting—waiting for me to decide.

A choice. A simple one. One word, and this stops.

“Dana,” he murmurs, softer now, almost unsteady. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you want this…”

His words trail off, heavy with unspoken meaning.

I should say no. I should walk away. Pretend this never happened.

But then he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing that matters. Like if I stepped back, he’d let me go—but he doesn’t want to.

And that’s what ruins me.

“I hate you,” I whisper, but there’s no venom in it.

His lips quirk, thumb tracing slow circles on my hip. “I know.”

The air between us hums, charged and ready to combust. I can’t take it anymore.

This time, I’m the one to close the gap.

Frustration. Tension. A desperate collision. The moment our lips crash together, it’s raw and electric—white hot, dangerous, a live wire sparking between us. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a release, a breaking point that neither of us saw coming but both of us needed.

My hands slide up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. My fingers scrape up into his hair, thick at the roots but softer than I expected. My grip tightens and his arms cage me in, pressing me against him like he’s daring me to let go first.

I don’t.

He tastes like wine and ruin, like something I should resist but don’t. Like something I never stood a chance against.

It’s reckless, dangerous—but I can’t bring myself to stop.

The waves crash softly against the yacht, and for once, they match the chaos inside me.

Later,the dining hall on the boat glows softly, the warm lighting bouncing off the polished silverware and glasses of wine. People chat around us, but I’m hyperaware of Nathan by my side. His presence is all that I can focus on, and luckily no one has directly engaged me in conversation. His deep laugh cuts through the hum of conversation, drawing smiles from nearby tables.

As dessert is served, someone at another table leans over. “You two are such a beautiful couple,” the woman gushes, her hands clasped together.

I smile, leaning into Nathan instinctively. “That’s so sweet of you,” I reply, keeping my voice light and warm.

The woman’s husband nods. “You just have that… connection. Like you’re perfectly in sync.”

Nathan’s arm moves to rest behind my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder. It’s a light touch, but I feel it everywhere. “We try our best,” I say smoothly, forcing myself to stay composed.

A photographer hovers nearby, camera at the ready. They’ve been capturing moments throughout the retreat, blending into the background like they belong in every frame. Now, they pause in front of us, their gaze sharp with recognition.

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