“Okay,” she says. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Not really, but I can tell you’re happy.” She glances at Julian, then back at me. “He looks at you like you’re the only one in the room, Pops. I don’t know where you found him or what kind of deal you made with the universe to deserve him—”
My breath catches.
“—but whatever this is? It’s the real deal this time. I can tell.”
I exhale slowly. “How can you tell?”
“Because I’ve seen you with fake.” Her voice drops. “Preston was fake. All those guys before him—the finance bros, thestartup founders, that actor who kept calling himself a ‘creative’—they were all fake. You performing happiness while they performed interest. Two people going through the motions of a relationship without having one.”
“That’s...” I trail off. She’s not wrong.
“This isn’t that.” Violet reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “This is something else.”
“It started as—” I stop myself. Choose my words. “It’s complicated, Vi.”
“Love usually is.” She smiles. “But complicated doesn’t mean bad. Sometimes complicated is just real life being messy and refusing to fit into the boxes we build for it.”
I want to tell her everything. About Spellbound Dates. About the thousands of dollars I paid for a professional faker who turned out to be something far stranger than any regular guy. About the things I’ve been googling at 3 AM that would make any rational person run screaming.
Instead, I say: “I really like him.”
“I know.”
“Like, really. Inconveniently. Against my better judgment and every survival instinct I possess.”
“The best ones always are.” She raises her glass. “To inconvenient men who make us question everything we thought we knew.”
“To inconvenient men.”
We clink glasses. Julian catches my eye. His expression is soft. Open. Almost human.
Whatever else he is, he’s here. He’s choosing to be here. That has to count for something.
When the check comes, Chris pays it before anyone can argue, waving off Julian’s black card with confidence.
“My treat,” he says. “Consider it a thank-you for being here. Both of you.”
“You’re thanking us for attending your wedding?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s the bare minimum of sisterly duty. I’d have to be dead or actively incarcerated to miss it.”
“You know what I mean.” He stands, offering Violet his hand. “Hey babe, let’s take a walk on the beach. I want to catch the sunset before it’s gone.”
Violet practically glows. “That’s so romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy. You know it’s my thing, babe.”
Julian and I exchange a look. His says: They’re adorable. Mine says: Disgustingly so. But I’m smiling, because my sister is happy, and happiness looks good on her.
We follow them out of the restaurant, down the winding path through the resort’s manicured gardens toward the beach. The sun is sinking toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of amber and rose.
My fingers twitch toward my phone. It is absolutely beautiful, and would make an amazing picture.
Except, I leave it in my pocket—despite the five years of conditioning to take advantage of these moments.
Julian notices. “You don’t want to take a picture?”
