Page 144 of Fake As Puck
Around us, his family is still cheering and taking pictures and generally treating this like the best entertainment they’ve had all year.
“They like you too,” he says.
“So what happens now?” I ask.
“Now we figure it out. Together. For real this time.”
He kisses me again, and this time it tastes like forever.
Like the beginning of something real and messy and beautiful.
Like the best decision I’ve ever made.
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “Everyone, let’s go back to the reception. I want to dance with my girlfriend.”
I smile, letting him pull me back to the dance floor. I have butterflies in my stomach when he turns and smiles at me. Tessa runs up next to me and pinches my arm.
“Told you,” she whispers.
We walk back inside and dance the night away.
40
I haven’t stopped watching her.
The reception is winding down around us, but all I can see is Liv. The way the twinkle lights catch in her hair. The way she throws her head back when she laughs at something Tessa says. The way she keeps finding my eyes across the dance floor and smiling like we share a secret.
Which we do now.
The best secret.
She’s mine. Really mine. Not fake mine, not arrangement mine, not convenient mine.
Mine.
And I’m hers.
After everything—the confession, the microphone, the tears, the applause—we danced. Just swayed together while my cousin’swedding continued around us, while my family pretended not to be watching us, while the reality of what just happened settled in.
“Ready to get out of here?” I ask when the band announces their last song.
“Yes,” she says immediately. “I love your family, but I need to be alone with you.”
“Good. Because I need to be alone with you too.”
We say our goodbyes—hugs from my parents, promises to call soon, Tessa squeezing Liv so tight I think she might crack a rib.
“I’m so happy for you,” my mom whispers to me as we’re leaving.
“Thanks, Mom.”
The walk back to the hotel is quiet, but it’s not awkward quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that comes from both of us processing what just happened, what it means, what comes next.
My hand never leaves hers.
“That was...” I start as we reach our door.
“Terrifying,” she says with a nod.
