Page 6 of Fake It 'Til You Feel It

Something pretty to focus on.As I spend longer on the balcony, I get less and less nervous about either falling overboard or hurling. Above the wakes crashing into the boat, I hear Nathan’s footsteps behind me.

“You okay?” he asks quietly as he approaches.

“Fine,” I lie. “Just... this is harder than I expected.”

He moves closer, his chest brushing my back. “You’re doing great.” His strong arms bracket around me on the railing, making it so that I’m definitely not falling over.Or escaping.

“Am I?” I turn to face him. “Because I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

His eyes darken. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Before I can ask what he means, Eleanor’s voice carries from inside. “Oh, they’re adorable together, aren’t they, Wallace?”

Nathan’s hands move to my waist, pulling me closer. “We have an audience,” he murmurs.

“Nathan…”

“Trust me,” he breathes, and then his lips are on mine.

The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant—nothing like I imagined it would be. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek, and for a moment I forget this is pretend.

When we break apart, his expression is unreadable. “Harris is watching,” he says roughly.

“Right,” I manage. “The deal.”

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—not this soft, not this real.

This was supposed to be transactional. A role to play, a line we wouldn’t cross. But now, with the warmth of his breath still ghosting over my skin, I can’t ignore the shift. He didn’t kiss me like it was just for show. And worse, I didn’t kiss him back like it was just for show.

How do I come back from this?

He steps back, something flickering in his eyes. “The deal.”

I nod again, but my fingers tighten into fists at my sides. Because the deal was supposed to protect me. But right now, it feels like I just let him take something I can’t get back.

As I watch him walk away, I wonder if either of us still believes that’s all this is. The lies feel heavy on my tongue, but the truth might be even harder to swallow.

I spendthe afternoon avoiding Nathan, using work as an excuse. I find myself curled up on our king-sized mattress, my laptop open next to me as I scroll through the alerts on my phone. There are calls to return, meetings to schedule—my regular job doesn’t stop just because I’m playing girlfriend. I’m still runninghislife besides this.

Nathan might be out there shaking hands and selling the dream, but I’m the one making sure that dream actually happens. While he’s schmoozing investors, I’m fixing scheduling conflicts, smoothing over egos, and reviewing contracts for the Montclair development—because if I don’t, no one else will. My fingers hover over an email, eyes scanning the latest mistake buried in the financial projections. I let out a sharp breath.How does he even function without me?

The thought doesn’t land right.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t.

Not in the way he should, not in the way someone at his level should be able to. I keep everything together. I fix what he overlooks, clean up what his staff rushes through, and balance the numbers before any last-minute decisions can tank a deal.

I already run this company.

Not in name, not on paper. But in every way that matters.

I stare at the email, the weight of that realization pressing against my ribs.

If I can run this business from a damn yacht, maybe I can talk Nathan into letting me run it from a corner office.

Evening finds us together again,this time at a formal dinner on deck. The table settings could fund a small country, and the guest list reads like a Who’s-Who of New York real estate.

I smooth my dress over my thighs, the fabric sleek and cool against my skin. Deep navy silk, tasteful but expensive—perfectly tailored, hugging my waist, draping just right over my hips. It fits too well.

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