Page 13 of Last First Kiss
“Nah.” I let out a shaky laugh. “We’re notactuallyrelated. And usdating”—I add air quotes—“doesn’t have togo on forever, just until the wedding is over. Four weeks tops.”
Though maybe even less if I get a job in New York. It even gives us the perfect “breakup” reason, but I’m not ready to share that with Clara yet.
Clara studies me for a good ten minutes. I want to hurry her along, but I need her to be as okay with this as I am. I know I’m asking a lot.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she says, and my heart sinks. “But—I’d do anything for you, and since you already told her, there’s no reason to make this worse for both of us.”
Inside, I’m practically throwing confetti. On the outside, I try to play it cool, but an excited shriek slips out.
“Thank you, I love you, I promise I’ll be the best fake girlfriend you’ve ever had,” I whisper as I bite back the full-on smile threatening to take over my face. “You’re the best, you know that?”
“I know.” Clara smiles smugly.
CHAPTER FOUR
CLARA
“Where can I put these?” Isabella asks, holding up a bottle of champagne and orange juice.
“Anywhere is fine,” I say, barely glancing at her.
Alejandra tsks. “Put them here.” She guides Isabella to the makeshift drink station on the kitchen island, shaking her head at me.
It’s Sunday, and it is hands down my favorite day of the week. Valeria, Isabella, and Lily come over on Sunday mornings, and we hang out, play games, drink mimosas, and unwind before the chaos of the work week. But right now, I am too consumed by the idea of fake-dating Alejandra to pay attention to what’s going on around me. I hear bits and pieces of conversation, but I couldn’t tell you what they’re about.
The next hour is a bit of a blur. I busy myself making mimosas for everyone, pouring orange juice and prosecco into mismatched glasses while Isabella and Valeria fight over what to cook for breakfast.
Eventually, we all gather around, plates full, drinks poured. Alejandra sits beside me, our legs brushing underthe table, barely a touch, but my mind still hyperfocuses on it.
There’s a soft clink that pulls my attention. Alejandra has her mimosa glass in the air, and everyone’s eyes are on her.
“I have an announcement.” Alejandra beams, and I sink down, my stomach suddenly clenching.
“Well ...wehave an announcement,” she adds as she looks down at me. Her eyes sparkle as she reaches for my hand, and the second her fingers find mine, my heart lunges into my throat. I start shaking my head, trying to signal her to stop. But Alejandra doesn’t notice.
“Clara and I are dating!” she says with far too much enthusiasm.
Fuck.
Not “fuck” as in “Why did she tell them?” It’s not that we weren’t going to tell the girls; it’s “fuck” as in “Fuck, I wanted to tell Valeria first,” to warn her not to get too excited, because it’s not real. She’s the only one who knows about my feelings for Alejandra, and I don’t want her to slip up and say something she shouldn’t.
But she’s already staring at me, wide-eyed and excited. I subtly shake my head, and Valeria frowns, brow wrinkling.
“Wait, what?” Lily says.
“Explain.” Isabella tries—and fails—not to smile.
“We’re dating,” Alejandra says proudly as her hand squeezes tighter around mine.
Everyone goes quiet for a few seconds, watching each other. I follow their gaze, trying to read their reactions, wondering what the hell they’re thinking. I’ve always wondered if they’d support us dating. Not that I thought they wouldn’t, we were so excited about Lily and Isabella,but still, you never know how people will react to switching their group’s dynamics.
“Finally,” Isabella says as she starts a slow clap. “I knew it!”
Now I’m the one who freezes. How is this the second person to say it? Have I been doing that terrible a job hiding my feelings for Alejandra? I try not to freak out at the thought, but it’s hard.
“What do you mean, youknewit?” Alejandra asks, eyes narrowed at Isabella.
My eyes dart around the room, searching for something to focus on, anything to calm the nervous energy suddenly bubbling inside me, but nothing’s grounding enough. So I sip on my mimosa instead, trying to focus on the bubbles fizzling down my throat.
