Page 32 of The Fake Affair

"At The Bear's Head," I add smoothly, remembering our practiced story. "Best whiskey in Old Town."

"I was there with my study group," Bella continues. "This pretentious Scotsman kept correcting our Shakespeare quotes?—"

"Because you were butchering them, love."

She laughs, the sound so natural it makes my chest tight. "I quoted Macbeth just to annoy him. The Scottish play, in Scotland, to a Scotsman."

"Bold strategy," Harrison's wife remarks.

"It worked," I find myself saying, looking down at Bella. "I asked her to coffee the next day."

"He pretended it was to correct my literary knowledge."

"You pretended to need the help. We synced so well that it didn’t matter if she were friends with my sister.”

“Best friends,” she adds.

Harrison's wife is captivated, but I notice Victoria watching us carefully from across the room. Her approval matters more than the others—she's known me longest, and has seen through my previous attempts at relationships.

"And now here you are," Harrison says. "Why keep it quiet for so long?"

This is the tricky part. The question we knew would come.

"Logan's idea," Bella says before I can speak. "He wanted me to establish myself professionally first. No shortcuts, no assumptions about sleeping my way to success." She looks up at me, her eyes soft. "He's always been protective of my independence."

It's a perfect answer. Better than the one we rehearsed. Professional, romantic, and exactly what the board wants to hear.

"That sounds like Logan," Victoria says, joining us. "Always thinking three steps ahead."

If she only knew.

We move through the gallery, building our fictional past to everyone else who cares to listen while securing very real business connections.

“That’s not actually what that piece means,” she whispers after I make up some pretentious interpretation of what looks like spilled paint.

“No?”

“Not even close.” Her eyes dance with amusement. “But watching you try to sound cultured is highly entertaining.”

“Careful, love. I might start sharing more Edinburgh stories.”

“I see. Like the one about the haunted pub you definitely never visited?”

I laugh, and the sound surprises us both. When was the last time someone made me laugh at one of these events?

The drive home is quiet. The gallery show was a success—the Goldmans are fully on board, Victoria is pleased, and our relationship story is firmly established.

I’m running through tomorrow’s schedule when I feel a weight on my shoulder. Bella’s fallen asleep, her face peaceful, one hand curled into my jacket.

She must be exhausted. She spent all afternoon memorizing artists’ names and styles, just to make tonight perfect. To help me. To help the company.

I should wake her, but instead, I tell my driver to take the long way home, and I let her sleep.

“Logan?” she murmurs, half-awake.

“Mm?”

“Did I do well tonight?”

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