Page 20 of Fake It for Christmas

Realization dawned on him. “I see. You made up an oh-shit boyfriend.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve done it before,” he told me. “You have an oh-shit panic moment and tell people you’re in a relationship, hoping they won’t ask you more about it.”

I let out a slow breath. “Yes. Exactly.”

Rowen glanced behind me at my family. “I’m starting to get it. Do they thinkI’mthis mystery boyfriend?”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Rowen.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Shane, Shane, Shane,” he said. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Fuck. I’m really sorry.”

“You know they’re all looking over at us, right?”

I bit my lip. “Figured they were probably still staring. It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone seriously, and my family are definitely curious people.”

“I get it. I am, too,” Rowen said. “Don’t sweat it, by the way. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Here,” he said, glancing one last time at them before moving in and closing the gap between us.

His lips were on mine a moment later.

It felt like a movie moment—him landing a sweet, slow kiss on me at the farmer’s market, while the holiday hustle andbustle swirled all around us. Rowen’s lips were soft on mine. It felt almost more intimate than our last kiss, even though it was gentle and sweet.

“Think this is helping?” he said as he broke off, giving me a little squeeze on my hip.

“It’s either helping or it’s making things alotmore complicated,” I said. “Thank you, Rowen.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

I still had no idea what I was going to do about the Christmas party, but that was for future me to figure out.

6

ROWEN

“It’s a disappointment,” my grandfather said as he set down his salad fork. My grandparents’ private cook swooped in, collecting the silverware and plate from the first course of our dinner. “Not talking about the food, of course, Bianca. This salad was very good, as usual.”

He had been in the middle of talking about my parents—he made sure to mention what a disappointment their behavior had been about once a day, at least. My grandparents were under the illusion that their staff had no idea that my parents were in prison, but I was pretty sure all of them had picked up on it by now from bits of conversations.

Moments later Bianca was back with the second course, a beautiful roast chicken with lemon and rosemary. Candles flickered at the center of the big, formal dining table, where they ate dinner every night.

“We’ll be speaking with your parents again tomorrow, though, dear,” my grandmother said as Bianca carved her a few pieces of chicken. “We’ll let them know you’re thinking of them.”

I’m thinking I wish I’d never known them at all, I thought, though that was something even I wouldn’t say with Bianca around.

Dinners with my grandparents were mostly like this. Quiet, stiff, and not exactly unpleasant, but certainly old-fashioned. They weren’t reallyfeelingspeople, and they hadn’t been involved much in my life before my parents went to prison anyway. My grandfather talked about golf, and my grandmother talked about her knitting club and the charity work she did.

They were very nice old people. Even if they weren’t outwardly loving toward me, they’d provided me the only place I could stay when everything had gone to shit in New York. I was taken care of with food as well as spending cash, and I made sure to be extra kind with tips to all of their staff members each week.

I was deeply grateful to have this as a landing place, even if it was in Tennessee.

And even if my own career was a big, fat question mark now.

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