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That catches me off-guard. Not because he’s wrong—his face absolutely suits looking concerned—but because I’ve always mistaken it for a grumpy scowl designed to keep the rabble away. Owen isn’t a social butterfly, so I assumed his scowl was armour.

But now he’s telling me it’s a worry line.

“So, you’re permanently worried?”

“Most of the time,” he admits.

I try to put the brakes on my mouth before spiralling into catastrophic possibilities involving a dying relative or a cancerous lump. Then another thought sneaks in. Maybe part of his anxiety comes from being in a same-sex relationship. The world’s more accepting than it used to be, but people can still be awful in ways that feel embarrassingly outdated.

“I’m really sorry you feel like this,” I tell him softly. “But you’re right. The scowl does suit you.”

He looks up from his separated salad.

“It brings out the blue in your eyes.”

I’m not lying when I tell him this, but then he smiles. It’s small, faint even, but it’s there, nestled in the corners of his mouth. And if I thought the scowl brought out the blue in his eyes, I’m amazed by what the upturning of his lips does to the rest of his features.

And suddenly I’m in serious trouble, because if one small smile can make me feel this giddy, fake-dating him is going to be an absolute disaster.

9

Owen

The spinach in my salad is too wet, and I’ve overdone the mustard in the dressing, but I plough on with my lunch because the afternoon will be a long one on an empty stomach. I’m trying not to be distracted by the mess Alice’s sandwich is creating, telling myself the wildlife will love the grated cheese. But truthfully, I just want to get the sweeping brush out to tidy the whole thing up.

When Alice asked me why I’m helping her, I wanted to lie and tell her I’m a good guy and do this sort of thing all the time. But I don’t want to start a relationship (even if it is pretend) on lies, and I’m also a terrible liar, so I opted for the truth.

This is essentially one of my main worries—that someone will ask for my opinion about something, and I’ll be required to lie. I can’t do it. No matter what the situation, no matter the feelings of the person involved, I can’t bring myself to tell them that their horrific haircut that looks like it was done by Sweeney Todd while wearing a blindfold really suits them.

And herein brings my next worry. I’ve just agreed to go to a wedding with Alice as a pretend couple where we must lie our way through the entire day. What was I thinking when I agreed to this?

“How good are you at lying?” I ask as I close the lid on my lunch.

Alice scrunches up the foil her sandwich was wrapped in, then rests her arm on the table.

“I’m great at lying. And that’s the truth.” She laughs. “I can lie all day long.”

“Really?”

“You look shocked. Don’t you lie?” she asks.

“I’m terrible at it. But I’ve always thought of you as being a truthful person.” Alice has always been the only person who I thought spoke her mind and has no filter whatsoever.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a reason to lie to you, other than pretending to be tired the first day we met so I could start a conversation about herbal tea. But when I was younger, I used to create all these fake scenarios to meet a guy, or I’d engineer things so our paths would cross, and I suppose I’ve just kept doing it. I figured that the only way to talk to a guy would be to try and channel the things he likes, and to do so, I’d sometimes have to tell a few lies.”

I’m intrigued, so I ask, “Like what?”

“Like pretending to be into skateboarding to catch the eye of one of the skateboarding dudes, or that my favourite music was heavy metal so I could talk to a guy who was the lead guitarist in a band, or that I once rode a horse down a sandy beach so I could start a conversation with a man who owned a stable.”

“So, these lies were always to get a guy and always about you pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“Exactly.”

I scratch my chin. “Why would you do that?”

“Why else would a guy be interested in me?”

She’s looking at me with such sincerity that I want to shake her. I’ve always admired her confidence, her apparent ease with conversation, the way she can swoop into a room and change the dynamic with one witty sentence, yet here is a woman who doesn’t know her own worth.