Page 146 of Play Fake
Beck turns to me, that small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Dance with me?”
My heart does that silly skipping thing again. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He stands and offers his hand. I slide mine into his, and he leads me onto the dance floor with that easy confidence of his—like he belongs here, even though I know this isn’t his usual scene.
The music is soft, slow. He rests one hand against my back, warm and solid, and pulls me close. My arms loop around his neck, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his suit jacket.
For a few perfect minutes, everything fades.
The worry about Logan.
The weight of my parents.
The tension of Zach’s presence.
It’s just us, swaying in the soft golden light, his heartbeat thrumming against my chest, his thumb drawing lazy circles against my back.
“You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Soph,” Beck says, his eyes taking me in.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, Harrison,” I murmur, tilting my head back to look at him.
He smirks down at me. “Why, thank you.”
I laugh softly, resting my head against him again, breathing him in. He smells like fresh cologne and a hint of the soap he always uses after games. Safe. Familiar.
The song ends too soon, and we step off to the side of the dance floor, fingers still loosely intertwined. Beck leans down to say something, but the moment shatters when I seethemmaking a beeline toward us.
My parents.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath.
Beck straightens subtly beside me, his hand finding the small of my back—not possessive, just there. Supportive.
“Sophie,” my mom says brightly, though the edge in her voice is unmistakable. “We didn’t know you added someone to the guest list.”
My dad stands slightly behind her, arms crossed. “We were under the impression your seat was open.”
I take a quiet breath. “Beck’s my date. Claire made sure he had a seat.”
My mom’s smile tightens. “Well, that’s certainly…unexpected.”
Dad’s eyes flick over Beck, assessing. “You know Zach’s family is here. It’s a little disrespectful to bring someone else.”
My stomach twists. “I don’t see how it’s disrespectful to bring my boyfriend to my sister’s wedding.”
Mom’s voice drops lower. “Sophie, we’ve been over this. Zach is a good match?—”
Before she can finish, Beck steps in calmly, his tone level. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, I appreciate you letting me be here tonight. I don’t want to cause any issues. Sophie and I are just here to celebrate Claire.”
His steadiness grounds me.
But my parents aren’t easily swayed. My dad’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about Claire right now. It’s about appearances.”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a familiar voice cuts in.
“Actually,” Claire says, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she walks up, still somehow radiant even with her veil pinned back, “it’sexactlyabout me.”
Mom whirls toward her. “Claire, we’re just trying to talk to your sister?—”
