Page 58 of Fractured Faceoff

The kiss left me reeling. Isla’s lips on mine had been a shock, an unexpected jolt that I hadn’t seen coming. I didn’t say anything. Couldn't. Instead, I turned my attention to the pot of boiling water in front of me and focused on making spaghetti.

“R-right,” she said.

“See? Physical,” I murmured, but even my voice was strained.

“So, we have a physical relationship?”

“A serious one,” I corrected.

We stood there for a moment, letting the weight of our fabricated story settle between us.

“What about after?” Isla asked. “After we decided it would be serious?”

“We kept it quiet at first,” I suggested, turning back to stir the pasta again. It was almost done. “Didn’t want to make things awkward with Ava and Kash. Or give you a reputation.”

“Makes sense,” she replied thoughtfully. "But eventuallywe couldn’t hide it anymore. Well, more likeyoucouldn't."

“I tend to get possessive over things that belong to me.” I nodded, liking how our story was coming together. It felt almost real, like something that could have actually happened.

"And I'm something that belongs to you?" she murmured.

I narrowed my eyes to look at her. "When you're mine, you're mine. That's it."

With that settled, I turned off the stove and drained the pasta while Isla grabbed plates from the cupboard.

As we worked together in the kitchen—preparing dinner and finalizing our story—I felt a strange sense of partnership with her that went beyond our fake relationship plan.

For now, though, it was enough to focus on getting through dinner without slipping up in front of Ava and Kash later on.

I plated the spaghetti, the sauce rich and fragrant, and carried the dishes over to the small kitchen table. Isla followed with glasses of water, setting them down with a clink.

We sat across from each other; the silence stretching between us as we twirled pasta onto our forks. I took a bite, savoring the taste, and glanced up to see Isla watching me.

"This is really good," she said, her voice soft but sincere.

I raised an eyebrow. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She laughed, a genuine sound that made my chest feel lighter. "Well, don't get used to it."

As we ate, I found myself watching her more than I was eating. Her movements were precise and deliberate, like shewas trying to maintain control even over something as simple as eating dinner. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, and her eyes—green and thoughtful—stayed focused on her plate most of the time.

I couldn't help but notice how she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear every few minutes, a nervous habit that made her seem more human, more real. There was something vulnerable about her in that moment, and it tugged at something inside me.

"What?" I asked finally, setting my fork down. "What is it?"

Isla hesitated, her fork hovering in mid-air before she set it down too. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I'm worried Ava is going to realize we're lying," she muttered.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "You really think she'll see through us?"

She nodded slowly. "Ava's not stupid. And she's known us both for years. She'll pick up on something if we're not careful."

I considered her words, realizing she had a point. Ava had always been sharp—too sharp sometimes—and this scheme of ours would only work if we were completely convincing.

"Then we'll just have to be careful," I said firmly. "Stick to our story and act like it's real."

Isla sighed, looking down at her plate again. "I hope you're right."

"We'll make it work," I assured her.

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