Page 59 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

Marianne emerges again, this time with a pitcher of something that looks fancy enough to have its own Instagram account. “Cucumber mint water,” she announces, filling our glasses before returning to her risotto.

“How convenient,” Lucy says after Marianne retreats, her voice dropping to a more conspiratorial level. She leans forward slightly. “So you sweep in with your John-not-Gideon act, charm my best friend who’s normally suspicious of any man who breathes in her direction, and then somehow convince her to marry you before the week is out? I need the secret ingredient here, because nothing about this adds up.”

The flatbread turns to sawdust in my mouth. I reach for the cucumber water, nearly knocking it over in my haste.

“When you know, you know,” Gideon says with such conviction that for a split second, I almost believe him myself.

I feel Lucy’s eyes on me, searching for something. Confirmation, perhaps, or the tell-tale signs of the lie I’m living. From the kitchen comes the gentle clatter of Marianne stirring the risotto, a domestic soundtrack to the most surreal conversation of my life.

If she buys this, I deserve an Oscar. If she doesn’t, I deserve whatever interrogation technique she’s about to unleash.

“Sometimes the right person changes everything,” Gideon adds, his tone softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Ava challenges me. She sees the world differently than anyone I’ve ever met.”

I blink in surprise. This doesn’t sound rehearsed.

“I need to take this call,” Gideon suddenly announces as his phone buzzes. “Business emergency. Lucy, please make yourself at home.” He squeezes my shoulder briefly before rising. “We’ll finish lunch when I return.”

The moment he leaves, Lucy stands up and shuts the door to the kitchen. Then she turns on me.

“Okay, what the actual fuck, Ava? You hate whirlwind romances. You once lectured me for three hours about how my cousin’s six-month engagement was ‘recklessly premature.’”

I laugh nervously, running a hand through my hair. “People change?”

“Not that much.” Lucy leans forward. “And you’re doing that thing with your face.”

“What thing?” I ask, though I know exactly what she means.

“That thing where you try to act casual but your entire face turns the color of a fire hydrant.” She points accusingly. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Deep breath. Stick to the story. There are approximately fifty million reasons why this charade needs to work, and most of them have dollar signs attached.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” I lie, the words tasting sour. “It happened fast, yes. It’s overwhelming, yes. But it’s real.”

Lucy studies me for a long moment. “Your eyes followed him the entire time he was in the room. You practically vibrate when he’s near you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I scoff, though my heart is hammering.

“Is it? Because I know that look, Ava. I’ve just never seen it onyou before.”

“What look?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Like he’s the sun and you’re a plant that’s been kept in the dark.”

I snort. “That’s poetic and completely overblown.”

“Is it though? Tell me when was the last time you had sex with him.”

I swallow. “Um, every day.”

She laughs. Just laughs. “You’re such a bad liar. You’re not fucking him, yet it’s so obvious that you want to.” She pauses, considering for a moment. “And Mr. Billionaire looks at you the same way.”

This stops me short. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does.” Lucy leans back, crossing her arms. “So either you’re both spectacular actors, or there’s something very strange going on here.”

The truth hovers dangerously close to the surface, threatening to spill out. I want to tell her everything. The contract, the business arrangement, the no-emotions clause that I’m increasingly worried I might be violating simply by existing in Gideon’s orbit.

Instead, I deflect. “It’s complicated.”

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