Page 7 of Friends Who Fake It

Desire.

The same desire that was pounding him from the inside out was clearly terrorizing her system, too. He closed his eyes for a second, praying for strength, and then, Meredith and Baxter were there, all happy congratulations to the new couple, and warm welcomes for the man who apparently somehow made their daughter more acceptable to them.

Idiots.

* * *

Willow had only realized that very same day that they would have toactlike an actual couple for this scheme to work. The fact she hadn’t thought that part out at all she put down to the stressful situation that was lunch with Meredith. She’d been thrown completely off her game. Totally knocked for six by the barely veiled insinuation that Willow was a big old disappointment to both her stepmother and father. That his birthday would be all but ruined if she were to turn up, single again.

At first, she’d thought about throwing Tom in her stepmother’s face, but something had held her back from offering the simple truth to Meredith.

Instead, she’d opted for Francesco.

Which was fine. Somewhat perfect, even, if her goal in life was to appease Meredith and Baxter. (Which, on many levels, it apparently was—one couldn’t easily fight a lifetime’s conditioning).

But there were complications to this ruse. Such as kissing Francesco.

Out of nowhere, time seemed to have developed an amorphous quality and Willow was back in his old apartment, on that rainy night when he’d pulled her against his body and kissed her as though his life depended on it, and she’d been oh so dreadfully tempted to succumb. To help him strip her out of her clothes, to kiss him all over, to kiss away his grief and sadness, to kiss him until they were making love.

Because she’d wanted that.

She’d wanted him.

Deep down, beneath their friendship, was that same little school girl crush she’d felt all those years ago, when she’d first met Francesco and thought him to be the most beautiful man that had ever walked this earth. Not his brothers. Not his cousins.

Just Francesco.

It was a crush she’d conquered through sheer grit.

But at his father’s funeral, she’d seen something in him that was so familiar to her it had been like an instant bond was formed.

Francesco Santoro, so strong and hard-headed, was, in fact, lost. Lost like Willow had been lost, so many times in her life. Lost, as if there was no place on this earth that perfectly suited. Lost, like you had no idea where you should be, and who might want you.

She’d only intended to help him through the difficult patch, but somehow, with each text and call and visit to his apartment, she’d felt that stitch of attraction re-forming, deep down inside of her.

Except, Francesco was a date-o-matic, forever hooking up with a different new woman, and Willow knew that if they gave into the surface level attraction, it would spell the end of their friendship. She hadn’t been willing to let that happen.

That was all ancient history, anyway. She had Tom—at least, she would have him again, at some point. When they could work through their issues, and she could screw up the courage to tell her father and stepmother about him.

“Francesco,” Baxter’s voice was just as polished as his custom-made shoes, from the tip of which to the very last hair on his head were all perfectly groomed and arranged to remind everyone that he was a charming, diffident aristocrat. Meredith was at his side, wearing a navy blue skirt suit with a large diamond necklace at her slender throat. Her hair, a lustrous brown, was cut into a neat bob, and her nails were painted a pearlescent white.

“Darling, we were so thrilled when Willow told us your news.”

Following behind them were Willow’s younger half-sisters, Kathryn and Aria.

“Delighted, delighted,” Baxter added, shaking Francesco’s hand with enough enthusiasm to create the cover for Willow to be able to slip a few steps away from Francesco and regain her breath—and sanity.

“Well, there’s no need to stand here in this cold,” Meredith said, then threw a perplexed glance at Willow. “Really, Willow, why haven’t you brought Francesco inside already?”

“They looked perfectly happy out here alone,” Aria said with a wink at her half-sister, earning a slight flutter of impatience from Meredith.

“Yes, well, thehors’ doeuvrewill be entirely spoilt if we don’t hurry,” Meredith replied, one last little look of displeasure for Willow before she offered a broad smile in Francesco’s direction. “Come, darling, come along inside.”

But he waited back with Willow, and when the group was far enough away to be out of earshot, he leaned down and whispered against Willow’s ear, so she felt his warm breath flush her skin, “Yes, we can’t have thehors’ doeuvregetting ruined.”

She glanced up at him and laughed, beginning to relax. Because this was Francesco, one of her oldest friends. Everything was going to be completely fine.

* * *

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