Page 54 of Faking It For Real

"Don't you dare," she said, slipping it onto her wrist. "I'm fully committed to documenting this anthropological experience."

Their bickering created a comfortable background noise as I waited for Mia, nervously adjusting my tie. When her bedroom door finally opened, my carefully rehearsed greeting died in my throat.

She was stunning. Her deep blue dress brought out the warm tones in her skin and fit her perfectly, flowing gracefully to just above her knees. Her dark hair was partially pulled back, highlighting the elegant curve of her neck and the simple silver earrings catching the light as she moved. She looked like herself, but elevated—the essence of Mia distilled into its most beautiful form.

I realized I was staring without speaking when Olivia snorted and stage-whispered, "Boyfriend.exe has stopped working," while snapping photos on her phone.

"Hi," Mia said, looking almost shy.

"Hi," I echoed lamely, then remembered the corsage in my hand. "This is for you. I hope it's okay—I wasn't sure about the color, but the florist said white goes with everything, and I tried to find blue accents that might match your dress, which looks amazing, by the way, you look amazing, not just the dress, though that's great too, and I'm going to stop talking now."

She laughed, the sound breaking through my nervous rambling. "It's beautiful, thank you." She held out her wrist, allowing me to slip the corsage on. "Very traditional."

"Too much?" I asked quietly.

"No," she said, meeting my eyes. "It's perfect."

We posed for the obligatory pre-formal photos, Olivia insisting on capturing "the full charade for posterity," as she put it. In every shot, I was acutely aware of Mia beside me—the delicate floral scent of her perfume, the warmth of her waist under my hand, the way she relaxed against me as the photos continued.

The formal itself was being held in the university's grand ballroom, transformed for the occasion with twinkling lights, ice-blue decorations, and delicate paper snowflakes suspended from the ceiling. As we entered, Mia gasped softly beside me.

"It's like walking into a snow globe," she said, eyes wide with appreciation.

"Good venue for a photographer, right?" I asked, pleased by her reaction.

She nodded, though I noticed she hadn't brought her camera tonight. "Sometimes it's nice to just experience things, not document them."

"Professional night off?"

"Something like that," she agreed, then squeezed my arm gently. "Thank you for this, by the way. For asking me."

"Part of the arrangement, right?" I said automatically, immediately wishing I could take the words back when I saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face.

"Right," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "The arrangement."

Before I could backtrack, I spotted Vanessa across the room, watching us with lingering suspicion. She looked stunning in a form-fitting red dress, her new date—some guy from the lacrosse team—hovering attentively beside her. When she caught me looking, she whispered something to her date and began making her way toward us.

"Operation 'Convince Vanessa' is still in effect, I see," Mia murmured, following my gaze.

"Sorry," I said, genuinely meaning it. "We don't have to interact with her if you don't want to."

"It's fine," Mia assured me. "It's why we're here, after all."

Again, there was that strange undertone that made me wonder if she was as unaffected by our pretense as she claimed. Before I could analyze it further, Vanessa arrived, her smile sharp.

"Ethan, Mia," she greeted us with exaggerated warmth. "Don't you two look cozy."

"We are," I said simply, pulling Mia closer to my side. To my relief, she played along perfectly, leaning into me with practiced ease.

"How nice," Vanessa's gaze lingered on Mia's corsage. "Very traditional of you, Ethan. I don't recall you being such a romantic when we were together."

"People change," I said, refusing to take the bait. "You look nice, Vanessa. Is your date enjoying himself?"

Her smile tightened at the deflection. "Immensely. In fact, I should get back to him." She touched Mia's arm in a gesture of false friendliness. "Don't let him step on your toes during the slow dances. He's hopeless with rhythm."

After she swept away, Mia looked up at me with amusement. "Hopeless with rhythm?"

"She's exaggerating," I said defensively. "I'm not completely uncoordinated."

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