The christmas I brought a fake boyfriend home, woke up in his arms, and realized the only person I’d been running from was the one I’d loved for years

It all started with one bed, a pillow wall, and a promise that nothing would change between them.
But fate has a terrible habit of breaking deals. And when the heart gets involved, no plan survives for long.
In a glass office tower in midtown Manhattan, Madison Carter stared at her phone screen like it was a ticking bomb.
Three missed calls from her mother.

Seven text messages from her grandmother.
And one voice message from her younger sister that she absolutely, positively did not want to listen to.
She pressed play anyway.
“Maddie! Oh my God, I have the most amazing news!”

Her sister’s voice was so high-pitched it could probably shatter crystal.
“Derek proposed. Can you believe it? We’re getting married. Mom is already planning everything. And—wait, you’re still coming home for Christmas, right? You have to be here two whole weeks. It’s going to be perfect!”

Madison let her head fall back against her office chair with a dramatic thud.
Perfect.
Of course it would be perfect. Everything in her sister’s life was perfect. The perfect boyfriend—now fiancé. The perfect career. The perfect hair that never frizzed, even in New York humidity.
Meanwhile, Madison wrote about perfect love stories for a living and couldn’t even get a second date.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was her mother.

“Sweetheart, I’m preparing the guest rooms. Should I put you in the pink room? You know, the one we decorated for…well, for when you need some alone time to think about your choices.”
Madison closed her eyes.
The pink room. Also known as the Spinster Suite in her mother’s passive‑aggressive vocabulary.
“Mom, I’m twenty‑seven, not seventy.”
“I know, dear, but your sister is twenty‑four and already engaged to a surgeon. I’m just saying, time moves differently for women. Your grandmother was married with two children by your age.”

“Grandmother also thought the moon landing was fake and that microwaves cause brain cancer.”
“Don’t be disrespectful. She’s just worried about you. We all are.”
Madison pinched the bridge of her nose.

This was going to be the worst Christmas of her entire life. Two weeks of pitying looks, invasive questions, and watching her sister parade around with her perfect fiancé while everyone whispered about poor Madison, who wrote romance novels but couldn’t find romance herself.

“I have to go, Mom. Deadline,” she lied.
She hung up before her mother could launch into another lecture about biological clocks and the importance of putting yourself out there.

Madison stared at her laptop screen. Chapter twelve of her latest novel mocked her with its blinking cursor. Her protagonists were finally getting their happy ending—a passionate reunion after weeks of longing, a kiss in the rain, a promise of forever.

If only real life worked like her books.
A knock on her office door made her jump.
“Come in.”
Christopher Rivera walked in with two cups of coffee, and Madison felt her stomach do that annoying flip it always did when he appeared.

Tall, broad‑shouldered, with dark hair that somehow looked perfect even when messy, and those impossible blue eyes that seemed to see right through people. He was wearing his usual expensive suit, perfectly tailored, making him look like he’d stepped off the cover of a business magazine—which, technically, he had. More than once.

“You look like someone just told you Christmas is canceled,” Christopher said, setting one of the coffees on her desk.

He knew exactly how she liked it—two sugars, extra cream, a shot of vanilla.

“Worse,” Madison muttered. “My sister got engaged.”

Christopher raised an eyebrow.

“And that’s bad because…?”

“Because now I have to spend two weeks watching her be perfect while my entire family asks me why I’m still single and offers to set me up with their dentist’s cousin’s son, who has a good job and only lives with his mother temporarily.”

A smile tugged at Christopher’s lips—that rare smile that only she ever got to see.

“Sounds terrible.”

“It is terrible. My mom already has me mentally moved into the Pink Room of Eternal Loneliness. My grandmother keeps sending me articles about freezing eggs, and don’t even get me started on my cousin, who thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes and will probably interrogate any date I bring home.”

Madison grabbed her coffee and took a long sip, letting the warmth calm her nerves.

Christopher sat on the edge of her desk, a casual intimacy they’d developed over years of friendship. He was her best friend, had been since they’d met at a charity gala five years ago—she’d been dragged there by her publisher, and he’d been avoiding investors. They’d bonded on a balcony over a mutual hatred of small talk and a shared love of old movies.

He ran a tech empire based in the U.S. She wrote love stories. Somehow, it worked.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Personally, I’m leaning toward suffering in silence, faking my own death, or joining a convent.”

“Pretty sure convents require religious conviction.”

“I’m desperate enough to convert.”

Christopher laughed. A real laugh, not the polite corporate chuckle he used in meetings.

She loved that she could make him laugh like that.

“There has to be a solution,” he said thoughtfully. “Unless you know a single, successful, charming man who’d be willing to pretend to be your boyfriend for two weeks just to get your family off your back. Otherwise, you’re doomed.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Christopher’s blue eyes locked onto hers, something shifting in his expression.

Madison’s heart did that stupid flip again.

“What if I did?” he said quietly.

“Did what?”

“Know someone.”

Madison blinked.

“Chris, I was joking. I’m not actually going to hire an escort or something.”

“I’m not talking about hiring anyone.”

He set down his coffee, his gaze steady and serious.

“I’m talking about me.”

Time seemed to stop.

Madison stared at him, certain she’d misheard.

“You?”

“Why not? I’m single. I’m successful. And according to Forbes, I’m moderately charming.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Your family doesn’t know me. I can play the doting boyfriend for two weeks.”

“Chris, that’s—that’s insane.”

“Is it?”

He crossed his arms, and Madison tried very hard not to notice how the movement made his shoulders look even broader.

“You need a fake boyfriend. I need someone to edit all the communication materials for the company rebrand. And you’re the only writer I trust not to make it sound like corporate nonsense. Fair trade.”

Madison’s mind was racing.

This was crazy. Absolutely crazy. Spend two weeks pretending to date her best friend—the man she definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent did not have feelings for.

“You really want to spend Christmas dealing with my invasive family?” she asked.

“I was going to spend it alone in my apartment anyway. At least this way I get good food and entertainment.”

“Entertainment?”

“Watching your cousin try to catch us in a lie sounds hilarious.”

Despite everything, Madison laughed.

God, this was such a terrible idea. But also…it might be the only idea that could save her from complete humiliation.

“If we do this,” she said slowly, “there would need to be rules.”

“I excel at rules and boundaries,” he said dryly. “Naturally. And we’d have to be convincing. My family might be overbearing, but they’re not stupid.”

Christopher leaned forward slightly, and suddenly the space between them felt very small.

“Madison, I’ve closed billion‑dollar deals. I think I can handle pretending to be crazy about you.”

Her breath caught.

It was just acting. Just pretending.

So why did her heart feel like it was trying to escape her chest?

“Okay,” she heard herself say. “Let’s do it.”

Christopher smiled. Not his corporate smile, but that real one just for her.

“Then we leave in three days. Hope you’re ready for the performance of your life.”

As he walked out of her office, Madison realized she’d just made either the best or worst decision of her entire life.

Probably both.

Three days later, Madison stood in front of her closet having what could only be described as a complete meltdown.

“What do you pack when you’re fake dating your best friend?” she muttered, throwing another sweater onto the growing pile on her bed. “What says ‘convincing girlfriend’ but also ‘please don’t get any ideas’?”

Her phone buzzed.

Christopher’s name flashed on the screen.

I’m outside. Ready?

Madison looked at her bedroom. It looked like her closet had exploded. Nothing was packed. She was wearing mismatched socks and yesterday’s mascara.

Super ready, she texted back. Just grabbing my bags.

She shoved clothes into her suitcase with the grace of a hurricane, zipped it with pure determination and prayer, and tried to look like a calm, collected adult as she wheeled it to the door.

Christopher leaned against his sleek black car at the curb, looking like he’d stepped out of a cologne commercial. Dark jeans, a navy sweater that hugged his frame in ways that should be illegal, and those blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“You look like you just ran a marathon,” he observed.

“I prefer ‘charmingly flustered.’”

He smiled and took her suitcase, loading it into the trunk with effortless ease.

Madison tried not to stare at the way his sweater stretched across his shoulders as he moved.

This was fine. Totally fine. Just two friends going on a completely platonic fake‑dating Christmas adventure.

Nothing weird about that at all.

Once they were on the highway heading out of the city, Christopher glanced over at her.

“So. Ground rules. We should probably get our story straight.”

“Right. Story.”

Madison pulled out her phone and opened her notes app.

“Okay. How did we start dating?”

“You tell me. You’re the romance writer.”

“That’s not helpful, Chris.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel thoughtfully.

“How about this? We’ve been friends for five years. Six months ago, something changed. I showed up at your apartment with flowers because I decided I was done pretending I didn’t have feelings for you.”

Madison’s heart did a weird stuttering thing.

“That’s actually really good. Did you Google that?”

“I pay attention when you talk about your books.”

She ignored the warm flutter in her chest.

“Okay, so six months. That’s enough time to be serious, but not so long that they’ll wonder why they’ve never heard of you.”

“What’s my favorite thing about you?” he asked.

The question caught her off guard.

Madison looked at him, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, she felt pinned by his attention.

“Um…maybe that I can make you laugh. You’re always so serious with everyone else.”

“True,” he said, merging smoothly into the next lane. “And your favorite thing about me?”

“That you bring me coffee without being asked.”

She was aiming for light and teasing, but it came out softer than she intended.

“And that you listen. Really listen, not just wait for your turn to talk.”

Christopher’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.

“See? We already know each other better than most actual couples.”

They spent the next two hours quizzing each other on favorite foods, movies, embarrassing stories.

Madison learned that Christopher secretly loved terrible reality TV shows and had once gotten stuck in an elevator for four hours.

Christopher discovered that Madison had a mild obsession with collecting vintage teacups and was allergic to strawberries.

“This is either going to be brilliant or a complete disaster,” Madison said as they pulled into the small town where her family’s holiday apartment was located.

“I have confidence in us,” Christopher replied.

“You have confidence in everything. It’s annoying.”

“You love it.”

She did.

That was the problem.

The apartment building was exactly as Madison remembered. Charming brick exterior, flower boxes in the windows, the kind of place that looked like it belonged on a Christmas card. Her family kept it year‑round but mainly used it for holidays and summer visits.

“Ready?” Christopher asked, grabbing both their bags like they weighed nothing.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Madison unlocked the apartment door, and relief flooded through her when she saw the empty living room.

Her family wasn’t arriving until tomorrow.

They’d have tonight to settle in and prepare for the chaos.

“Home sweet temporary home,” she said, flipping on the lights.

The apartment was cozy and warm, with hardwood floors, comfortable furniture, and a kitchen that smelled faintly of the cinnamon potpourri her mother loved.

Madison gave Christopher a quick tour of the living room, bathroom, and kitchen.

“And the bedroom is—”

She pushed open the door and froze.

One bedroom. One queen‑sized bed.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Christopher appeared behind her, and she felt him still as he registered the situation.

“I thought you said there were two bedrooms,” he said.

“There were when I was a kid. They must have renovated and combined them into one bigger room.”

Madison walked into the bedroom like she was approaching a crime scene.

Sure enough, one bed neatly made with a cream‑colored duvet and way too many decorative pillows. A single nightstand on each side, windows overlooking the street, and absolutely no couch.

She checked the living room.

Just two armchairs that definitely couldn’t sleep a six‑foot‑three man comfortably.

“I can take the floor,” Christopher offered.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll wake up with back problems, and then how will you be a convincing boyfriend when you’re walking like a question mark?”

“The armchair, then. And I’ll be unable to move for the entire holiday.”

“Chris, it’s fine. We’re adults. We can share a bed.”

The words hung between them, suddenly heavy with implication.

“Are you sure?” His voice was quieter than usual.

Madison forced herself to sound casual and unaffected, even though her heart was doing gymnastics.

“Absolutely. We’ll just put pillows down the middle like in those old sitcoms. It’ll be fine.”

“Pillows down the middle,” Christopher repeated, looking at the bed like it was a complex business problem that required strategic analysis.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, you can sleep in the living room and just make sure you’re in here before anyone shows up in the morning. My mom has a habit of barging in with breakfast.”

“No, it’s fine.” He set their bags down. “We can handle this like rational adults.”

“Exactly. Rational adults who are definitely not making this weird.”

“Not weird at all.”

They stood there in awkward silence for a moment.

“I’m going to unpack,” Madison announced, grabbing her suitcase and practically fleeing to the bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes too bright, and she looked like someone who was absolutely, definitely making this weird.

“Get it together, Carter,” she whispered to her reflection. “It’s just sleeping. People sleep near each other all the time. This is fine.”

When she emerged, Christopher had changed into sweatpants and a T‑shirt that should have made him look casual and approachable but instead made him look like every fitness magazine cover she’d ever seen.

“Bathroom’s yours,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

That night they constructed the pillow wall with the seriousness of engineers building a bridge.

Six pillows stacked strategically down the center of the bed.

“This is ridiculous,” Christopher said, but he was almost smiling.

“This is survival.”

Madison climbed into her side of the bed, wearing her most modest pajamas—long pants, long‑sleeved shirt, buttoned up to her throat like she was preparing for winter in Alaska.

Christopher got in on his side, and Madison became hyper‑aware of every sound: the rustle of sheets, his breathing, the way the mattress dipped slightly under his weight.

“Goodnight, Madison.”

“Goodnight, Chris.”

She stared at the ceiling, willing herself to fall asleep and absolutely not think about the fact that her best friend—her devastatingly handsome best friend—was less than two feet away, separated only by decorative pillows.

This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life.

And they hadn’t even seen her family yet.

Madison woke up slowly, consciousness returning in warm, comfortable waves.

She felt safe, protected, like she was wrapped in the world’s most perfect blanket.

Except blankets didn’t have heartbeats.

Her eyes flew open.

She was pressed against Christopher’s chest, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, their legs tangled together beneath the sheets.

The pillow wall had completely disappeared, scattered across the floor like casualties of war.

And that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was the very obvious, very undeniable evidence of how close their bodies were, pressed firmly against her lower back.

Madison’s brain short‑circuited.

Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard she was certain he could feel it.

Every nerve ending in her body suddenly caught fire.

She was acutely, devastatingly aware of every point where their bodies touched—his chest against her back, his breath warm against her neck, his hand spread possessively across her stomach.

She should move.

She should definitely move.

Say something. Cough. Fake a sneeze.

But she didn’t.

Because a traitorous part of her, a part she’d been ignoring for years, wanted to stay exactly where she was. Wanted to sink deeper into his embrace. Wanted to turn around.

Christopher stirred behind her.

She felt the exact moment he woke up. His body tensed, his breathing changed, and then his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer.

His face buried in her hair, and she heard him make a soft, sleepy sound that did absolutely criminal things to her self‑control.

“M,” he murmured, still mostly asleep. “You smell incredible.”

Oh no.

Oh no.

Then she felt him freeze.

Awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water. His entire body went rigid, and Madison knew—knew—he’d just realized their position. Realized what she could feel. Realized what he’d just said out loud.

He pulled away so fast he nearly fell off the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough and panicked in a way she’d never heard before. “Madison, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

He practically ran to the bathroom, the door closing with a decisive click.

Madison lay there staring at the ceiling, her body still humming with awareness, her heart racing like she’d just run a marathon.

She could still feel the phantom warmth of his arm around her, the solid strength of his chest against her back.

She pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks.

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

Because the worst part—the absolutely worst part—was that she hadn’t wanted him to let go.

Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, both nursing cups of coffee and avoiding eye contact like their lives depended on it.

“So,” Madison said finally, desperate to break the suffocating silence.

“That was a mistake,” Christopher said quickly. “I’m sorry. I must have rolled over in my sleep. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she cut in.

“It’s not fine. You’re my best friend, and I made you uncomfortable.”

“Chris, it’s okay. Really. It was just bodies doing what bodies do. No big deal.”

Except it was a big deal.

It was a huge deal.

Because now she couldn’t stop thinking about how perfectly she’d fit against him. How right it had felt. How much she’d wanted to stay there.

Christopher ran a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than she’d ever seen him.

“We should rebuild the pillow wall,” he said. “Make it higher. Add more pillows. Maybe some duct tape.”

Despite everything, Madison laughed.

“Duct tape?”

“I’m improvising. This is new territory for me. Accidentally cuddling your fake girlfriend. Accidentally wanting to keep holding her.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

They stared at each other, the air between them suddenly electric.

Christopher stood abruptly.

“I should shower. Your family will be here soon, right?”

Madison nodded, not trusting her voice.

As he disappeared into the bathroom, she dropped her head into her hands.

This was supposed to be simple. Pretend to date her best friend, survive Christmas, go home.

Easy.

Except nothing felt simple anymore.

Not when she could still feel the warmth of his arm around her waist.

Not when her heart was doing things it absolutely should not be doing.

And definitely not when she’d just realized that maybe—just maybe—she’d been lying to herself about her feelings for Christopher Rivera for a very long time.

An hour later, Madison was attempting to make breakfast when she heard it—the unmistakable sound of her mother’s voice in the building hallway, followed by her grandmother’s cackle and her sister’s excited squeal.

“They’re early,” she hissed toward the bathroom. “Chris, they’re here.”

He emerged in jeans and nothing else, his hair still damp, water droplets running down his very bare, very muscular chest.

Madison’s brain briefly forgot how to function.

“What do I—” he started, then froze as the apartment door burst open.

“Surprise!” her mother called out. “We brought breakfast pastries, and—oh!”

Madison’s mother, grandmother, and sister stood in the doorway, bakery boxes in hand, staring at the scene before them.

Madison in an oversized shirt that very obviously belonged to a man.

Christopher, shirtless in the kitchen, looking like a startled movie star who’d wandered into the wrong set.

Her sister’s jaw literally dropped.

Her grandmother’s eyes went wide, then delighted.

Her mother clutched her chest dramatically.

“Oh my.”

“Mom,” Madison squeaked. “You said you weren’t coming until this afternoon.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” her mother said, her shock rapidly transforming into barely contained glee. “And it seems we did.”

Christopher, to his credit, recovered faster than Madison did.

He crossed the kitchen in three long strides, wrapped an arm around Madison’s waist with easy familiarity, and smiled that devastating smile.

“Mrs. Carter, I presume.” He extended his other hand. “Christopher Rivera. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”

Madison’s mother shook his hand, still staring at his now‑hastily‑grabbed T‑shirt.

“I—yes, we’ve heard…nothing about you,” she said pointedly. “That’s my fault,” Madison managed, her face burning. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did that, dear,” her grandmother said, pushing past and setting down the pastries. She gave Christopher an appraising look that made Madison want to dive under the table.

“Young man, do you always walk around half‑dressed in strange apartments?”

“Grandma!”

“What? I’m old. I can ask bold questions. It’s in the manual.” She turned back to Christopher. “You’re very attractive. Good jaw, strong shoulders. Are you planning to marry my granddaughter?”

“I’m working on it,” Christopher said smoothly.

Madison nearly choked on air.

Her sister finally found her voice.

“Madison, you have a boyfriend? Since when?”

“Six months,” Christopher answered before Madison could. “Best six months of my life.”

He looked down at Madison with such warmth, such apparent adoration, that for a second she almost forgot it was all pretend.

“I need to put on a shirt,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to Madison’s temple that made her entire nervous system short‑circuit. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he disappeared into the bedroom, Madison’s family descended like a tornado.

“He’s gorgeous,” her sister whispered urgently. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” her mother demanded, though she looked more thrilled than angry. “Is he serious about you? What does he do? Where did you meet?”

“Is he good in—”

“Grandma!” Madison yelped.

“That’s important information,” her grandmother said primly.

“Can we please have coffee before the interrogation?” Madison begged.

“Absolutely not,” her mother said, pulling out a chair and sitting down with the determination of a detective. “Start talking. Now. How did you meet? Why didn’t you tell us? What does he do? Does he like you more than his work? Does he want children?”

Christopher reappeared, thankfully now wearing a shirt and carrying two mugs of coffee.

He handed one to Madison with a private smile that made her grandmother emit a gleeful squeak.

“I can answer some of those,” he said, settling into the chair next to Madison and casually taking her hand.

His thumb traced circles on her palm, and Madison had to focus very hard on breathing normally.

“Madison and I have been friends for five years,” he began. “We met at a charity event in the city where we both hated the small talk and ended up hiding on the balcony together.”

“That sounds like Maddie,” her sister said, smiling.

“Six months ago, I finally worked up the courage to tell her I wanted to be more than friends.” He looked at Madison, and there was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite read. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

Madison’s heart did a somersault.

“And what do you do, Christopher?” her mother asked, leaning forward.

“I run a tech company. Nothing too exciting.”

“He’s the CEO of Rivera Technologies,” Madison added. “Forbes ‘30 Under 30.’ Well, thirty‑five now, but still.”

Her sister’s eyes widened.

“Wait. The Christopher Rivera? The one who created that data security system everyone uses now?”

Christopher shrugged modestly.

“Guilty.”

Madison’s mother looked like she might faint from joy.

Her grandmother was openly delighted.

Her sister looked somewhere between impressed and annoyed that Madison had apparently just won the unspoken boyfriend competition.

“Well,” her mother said, composing herself. “This is certainly wonderful. Unexpected, but wonderful. We’re so happy for you, sweetheart.”

She pulled Madison into a tight hug and whispered in her ear, “He looks at you like you hung the moon. Don’t let this one go.”

Madison’s throat tightened.

If only her mother knew the truth—that it was all an act, a performance, a carefully constructed lie.

Even if, for a moment, there in his arms, it had felt devastatingly real.

PART TWO – LINES BLURRING

Christopher’s POV

This was a terrible idea.

Christopher had closed billion‑dollar deals without breaking a sweat. He’d given presentations to skeptical boards, negotiated with some of the toughest people in business.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared him for the feeling of waking up with Madison Carter in his arms.

He stood in the shower, letting cold water pour over him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

His body had betrayed him spectacularly that morning.

Worse, his mouth had too.

“You smell incredible.”

What on earth had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem.

He’d been half asleep, wrapped around the woman he’d been secretly in love with for three years, and his sleepy brain had just…said it.

The worst part was that it was true.

She did smell incredible—like vanilla and something floral he could never quite identify, but that made him want to bury his face in her hair and never leave.

Christopher turned off the water and stared at himself in the mirror.

“Get it together, Rivera,” he muttered. “You’re pretending. That’s all this is. Pretending.”

Except it hadn’t felt like pretending when he’d held her.

It had felt like coming home.

Madison’s POV

“So, Christopher,” Madison’s grandmother said later that morning, settling into the couch like she was preparing for a long interrogation. “Tell me, what are your intentions toward my granddaughter?”

They’d moved to the living room after breakfast. Madison perched on an armchair while Christopher sat on the couch, looking far too comfortable for someone who should be terrified.

“My intentions are completely honorable, Mrs. Peterson,” he said with that charming smile that probably closed deals and broke hearts in equal measure.

“That’s boring. I want details. When are you proposing? How many children do you want? Are you good with your—”

“Grandma,” Madison groaned.

“What? I’m eighty‑two. I’ve earned the right to be a little bold.”

Christopher laughed.

“I appreciate your directness,” he said. “To answer your questions: when the time is right, I’m thinking two or three, and I’ve been told I’m fairly handy.”

Madison choked on her coffee.

Her sister, Ila, leaned forward.

“Okay, but I have to know: how did you actually get together? Like, what made you finally tell her you had feelings?”

Christopher glanced at Madison, and she saw something flicker in his eyes.

“It was her birthday,” he said. “She’d had a terrible day—deadline stress, an argument with her editor. I showed up at her apartment with her favorite Thai food and those romantic comedies she pretends not to love.”

That had actually happened six months ago. Madison remembered it vividly.

“We were on her couch,” he continued, his voice softer now, “and she laughed at something in the movie, and I just…looked at her. Really looked at her. And I realized I was tired of pretending I didn’t want this. Didn’t want her. Every single day.”

The room had gone quiet.

Even Madison’s grandmother wasn’t making jokes.

“So I told her,” Christopher said, his blue eyes locked on Madison’s. “I said, ‘I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.’”

Madison’s heart was hammering.

That hadn’t happened.

None of that had happened.

So why did it sound so real?

Why did she wish it had?

“And what did you say?” her mother asked Madison gently.

Madison swallowed hard.

“I told him I’d been waiting for him to figure it out for two years,” she said.

Christopher’s expression shifted—surprise, confusion, something she couldn’t quite name.

Because that part was true.

She had been waiting.

She just hadn’t admitted it to herself until right now.

Later that afternoon, Madison’s cousin Andrew arrived.

He was twenty‑nine, worked as a data analyst, and had an unfortunate habit of treating real life like one of his case files.

“So, Christopher Rivera,” Andrew said, shaking Christopher’s hand with a grip that was slightly too firm. “Madison’s told us absolutely nothing about you, which I find fascinating. Usually she overshares about everything.”

“Andrew, be nice,” Madison warned.

“I am being nice. I’m just curious.”

He pulled out his phone.

“Quick compatibility test. Madison, what side of the bed does Christopher sleep on?”

“Left,” Madison answered immediately.

“Christopher, what’s Madison’s coffee order?”

“Two sugars, extra cream, shot of vanilla,” Christopher said without hesitation.

Andrew frowned, clearly hoping to catch them in a lie.

“Madison, what’s Christopher’s middle name?”

Madison opened her mouth, then closed it.

She actually didn’t know his middle name.

“Alexander,” Christopher replied smoothly. “She knows it. She just likes to make me sweat.”

Andrew wasn’t convinced.

“Christopher, what’s Madison’s biggest fear?”

“Being forgotten,” Christopher said quietly. “Not death, not failure. She’s afraid she’ll leave this world without having made any real impact. That her stories won’t matter. That she won’t matter.”

The room went silent.

Madison stared at him, her throat tight.

He was right.

He was absolutely right.

She’d never told him that directly, but somehow he knew.

“Also spiders,” Christopher added with a small smile. “She’s terrified of spiders.”

The tension broke. Everyone laughed, including Madison, though her eyes were suspiciously bright.

“Okay, you pass. For now,” Andrew said grudgingly. “There will be more tests.”

“Looking forward to it,” Christopher replied, amused.

“Oh, you should be. I have a whole list. This was just the warm‑up round.”

That evening, after her family finally left—“We’ll be back tomorrow for lunch,” her mother had promised, which sounded more like a threat—Madison collapsed onto the couch.

“Your family is exhausting,” Christopher said, sitting next to her.

“I warned you.”

“You really did.”

He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable.

“What you said earlier,” he began, “about waiting for me to figure it out.”

Madison’s heart skipped.

“I was improvising,” she said quickly. “Playing the part.”

“Were you?”

The question hung between them, heavy with implications.

“Chris—”

“Because I wasn’t.”

He shifted closer, and Madison’s breath caught.

“When I said I couldn’t stop thinking about you, that I was tired of pretending…that wasn’t acting, Madison.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

“What if I do mean them?”

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek, and Madison felt like she was burning from the inside out.

“We’re supposed to be pretending,” she said, but her voice was shaky.

“I know.”

His thumb traced her jawline, and she shivered.

“But right now, there’s no one watching. No one to fool. It’s just us.”

“That’s what scares me,” she admitted.

Christopher smiled, soft and understanding.

“Me too.”

They sat there in the quiet apartment, the space between them charged with everything unsaid.

Madison wanted to lean in, wanted to close the distance, wanted to know what his lips would feel like against hers.

But if they crossed that line, there would be no going back.

And she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to risk losing her best friend for something that might just be temporary holiday madness brought on by close quarters and pretend dating.

“We should probably rebuild the pillow wall,” she said finally.

“Probably a good idea.”

Neither of them moved.

“Madison?”

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t regret waking up with you in my arms this morning,” he said quietly. “I just regret that it surprised you. That it made you uncomfortable.”

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “That’s what scared me.”

His blue eyes darkened.

“Then we’re both in trouble.”

“Serious trouble,” she agreed.

Christopher stood, extending his hand to help her up.

When she took it, he pulled her close—not into an embrace, just close enough that she could feel his warmth, could see the conflict in his eyes that probably mirrored her own.

“Tomorrow’s going to be harder,” he said. “More family, more questions, more pretending. Can you handle it?”

She smiled weakly.

“The pretending isn’t the hard part anymore, Chris. The hard part is remembering this has an expiration date.”

He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Madison standing in the living room.

Her hand still warm from his touch.

Her heart tangled in knots she had no idea how to unravel.

This was only day two.

They had twelve more days of this.

Madison had a terrible feeling that by the end of two weeks, her heart wasn’t going to be the only thing she’d risked in this charade.

Madison woke up the next morning to find herself once again wrapped around Christopher like a koala on a tree.

This was becoming a very dangerous pattern.

His arm was around her waist, her head tucked under his chin, their legs impossibly tangled. The pillow wall they’d carefully reconstructed had apparently declared defeat and vanished sometime during the night.

But this time, Christopher was already awake.

She could tell by his breathing—too controlled, too deliberate.

He was lying perfectly still, probably terrified of waking her up, possibly having an internal crisis about their current position.

“I know you’re awake,” Christopher said quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest and into her ear. “I can tell when your breathing changes.”

“That’s creepy,” she muttered.

“That’s observant.”

She felt him smile against her hair.

“We should probably talk about this,” he said.

“About how your bed has a magnetic force that pulls us together?”

“About how neither of us seems to mind it very much.”

Madison’s heart stuttered.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him and immediately regretted it.

His hair was messy from sleep, his blue eyes soft in the morning light, and he was looking at her with an expression that made her chest ache.

“Chris—”

Her phone exploded with sound.

Both of them jumped as Madison’s alarm shrieked, followed immediately by three text messages that pinged in rapid succession.

Madison grabbed her phone, grateful for the interruption even as she mourned it.

Mom: Lunch at noon. Don’t be late.

Grandma: Wear something pretty. First impressions matter. Even though you already made a very good impression yesterday with that surprise shirtless situation.

Ila: Can’t wait for you to meet Derek. He’s so excited to meet your Christopher.

“Derek’s coming,” Madison said, showing Christopher the messages.

“Your sister’s fiancé,” Christopher said. “The perfect one. Doctor, volunteers at free clinics, probably rescues puppies in his spare time.”

He sat up, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Sounds intimidating.”

“You’re a tech CEO who’s been on the cover of Forbes,” she reminded him. “I think you can handle a doctor.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Everything is a competition in my family. You’ll learn.”

Three hours later, Madison stood in front of the bathroom mirror trying on her fifth outfit.

Nothing looked right.

Everything was either too casual or trying too hard.

“You look beautiful,” Christopher said from the doorway.

She jumped.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to watch you reject four perfectly good outfits.”

He walked in, and the bathroom suddenly felt very small.

“What’s wrong with this one?” he asked, nodding at her dress.

“It’s too…I don’t know. Plain.”

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Madison,” he said gently.

He turned her to face him, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“You’re my fake girlfriend, remember? I’m supposed to think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. Which, for the record, isn’t hard to pretend.”

Her breath caught.

“Christopher—”

“Let me finish.”

His hands slid down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re going to walk into that lunch, and your sister’s perfect fiancé is going to be there, and you’re going to feel like you’re being compared.”

He tilted her chin gently until she met his eyes.

“But here’s the thing. I’m not comparing you to anyone. To me, there is no comparison.”

“You’re really good at this fake boyfriend thing,” she whispered.

“What if I’m not pretending?”

Before she could respond, her phone rang.

Her mother.

“Of course we’re on our way,” Madison said, answering it. “Yes, we’re both dressed. No, I don’t need you to—Mom, we’re adults. Okay, fine. Yes, we’re leaving now.”

She hung up and looked at Christopher.

“We should go.”

“We should talk about what I just said,” he replied.

“We should definitely not do that right now,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Come on. Time to meet Dr. Perfect.”

The restaurant her mother had chosen was, of course, the fanciest one in town. White tablecloths, crystal glasses, the kind of place where the menu didn’t have prices because if you had to ask, you probably couldn’t afford it.

Madison’s family was already seated at a large table. Next to Ila sat a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a medical drama—handsome, clean‑cut, wearing a smile that was probably meant to be charming but came across as slightly practiced.

“Madison, Christopher,” her mother called, waving them over enthusiastically. “Come meet Derek.”

Derek stood, extending his hand to Christopher first.

“You must be the famous Christopher Rivera. I’ve read about your company. Very impressive.”

“Thanks,” Christopher said, shaking his hand. “And you’re the surgeon, right?”

“Cardiothoracic. I specialize in pediatric cases.”

Derek turned to Madison, his smile widening.

“And you must be the talented writer. Ila talks about you all the time.”

“Does she?”

Madison glanced at her sister, who was beaming.

They settled into their seats, Christopher’s hand immediately finding Madison’s under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her palm.

“So, Christopher,” Derek said, leaning forward. “How did a tech CEO end up with a romance novelist? Seems like an unusual pairing.”

“Opposites attract,” Christopher said smoothly. “Though we’re not as opposite as you’d think. We both solve problems for a living. I just do it with code, and Madison does it with words.”

“How poetic,” Derek said, and Madison couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or a little condescending.

Andrew seized his opportunity.

“Speaking of poetry—Christopher, what’s Madison’s favorite book?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” Christopher answered without hesitation. “But she has a secret soft spot for The Princess Bride.”

Madison squeezed his hand under the table.

He was right on both counts.

“And Madison,” Andrew continued, “what’s Christopher’s biggest pet peeve?”

“People who don’t listen,” Madison said. “He hates when people interrupt or when they’re looking at their phones while someone’s talking. He values genuine connection.”

Christopher’s hand tightened on hers.

Derek watched this exchange with interest.

“You two seem very in sync,” he observed.

“They do, don’t they?” Ila said, smiling at her sister. “It’s actually kind of adorable.”

Throughout lunch, Madison noticed that Derek was everything he appeared to be—polite, accomplished, well‑mannered. He asked appropriate questions, laughed at appropriate times, and treated Ila with appropriate affection.

He was perfect.

And absolutely, completely boring.

Madison looked at Christopher, who was currently telling her grandmother some ridiculous story about a failed business pitch that involved a broken projector and a very confused janitor.

Her grandmother was cackling with laughter, even her mother was smiling, and Christopher looked relaxed and bright in a way she’d never seen in his office.

He caught Madison looking and winked.

Her stomach flipped.

This was the difference, she realized.

Derek was performing perfection.

Christopher was just…Christopher. Real, warm, funny. He made her grandmother laugh, he held Madison’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

And none of it was supposed to be real.

The thought hit her like cold water.

This was all an act. A performance. In two weeks, they’d go back to being just friends.

All of this—the hand‑holding, the intimate looks, the waking up wrapped around each other—would stop.

The realization made her chest ache.

“Madison, you okay?” Christopher asked quietly, concern in his eyes.

“Fine,” she lied. “Just tired.”

He studied her face for a moment, then pushed his chair back.

“Madison needs some air,” he announced. “We’ll be right back.”

He led her out to the restaurant’s garden patio, empty in the December chill. Twinkle lights glowed overhead, and their breath puffed in the cold air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning her to face him.

“Nothing,” she said automatically. “Everything. I don’t know.”

She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Derek’s perfect for my sister,” she said. “He’s exactly what she wanted. But…”

“But?” Christopher prompted.

“But there’s no spark,” she said quietly. “No life. It’s like watching two actors who learned their lines but forgot to feel anything.”

Christopher stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on her arms.

“And what do we look like?” he asked.

“Like something real,” she whispered. “Which is the problem. Because it’s not.”

“Madison—” he began.

“We should go back inside,” she said quickly, pulling away before she did something reckless like kiss him. “They’ll wonder where we went.”

Christopher caught her hand, gently tugging her back.

“One of these days, you’re going to let me finish a sentence,” he said.

“One of these days, you’re going to say something I’m ready to hear,” she shot back.

They stared at each other, the air between them electric.

“Maybe that day is coming sooner than you think,” he said quietly.

Before Madison could respond, the patio door opened and Andrew stuck his head out.

“Everything okay out here? Grandma’s worried you two snuck off to make out.”

“Tell Grandma she’ll have to keep wondering,” Christopher said.

But he was smiling as he took Madison’s hand and led her back inside.

As they returned to the table, Madison realized something terrifying.

She was falling in love with her fake boyfriend.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

PART THREE – NO MORE PRETENDING

Christopher’s POV

Christopher was losing his mind.

It was day four of this charade, and he was absolutely, completely losing his mind.

He stood in the shower again, cold water pounding over him as he tried to get his body—and his thoughts—under control.

Every morning, he woke up with Madison in his arms.

Every morning, it got harder to let go.

Every morning, he had to remind himself that this was temporary. That she’d asked him here to play a part. That she needed him to be convincing, not honest.

Except it felt honest.

God, it felt so honest.

The way she fit against him, the little sighs she made in her sleep, the way her hand would sometimes rest on his chest, right over his heart, like she was checking to make sure it was still beating.

It was.

Barely.

Because she was quietly breaking it a little more each day.

His phone buzzed on the counter where he’d left it.

A text from Matthew, his oldest friend back in California.

Matthew: How’s the fake dating going? Have you kissed her yet?

Christopher: It’s complicated.

Matthew: That’s code for “I’m in way over my head.” I told you this would happen.

Matthew: You’ve been in love with her for three years, man. Did you really think you could pretend to date her without it becoming real?

Christopher: It was real before it started. That’s the problem.

Matthew: So tell her.

Christopher: And risk losing her? Risk ruining everything when she doesn’t feel the same way?

Matthew: Bold of you to assume she doesn’t feel the same way. From an outside perspective, you’re both clearly in deep.

Christopher stared at the screen for a long moment, then set the phone down without responding.

Matthew didn’t understand.

He couldn’t understand.

What it was like to have the most important person in your life finally in your arms, knowing it was temporary. Knowing that in a week, it would all end.

He turned off the water and got dressed, steeling himself for another day of pretending.

Madison’s POV

That afternoon, Madison’s mother declared it was time for family game day—which, in the Carter family, meant chaos disguised as bonding.

“We’re playing charades, then Pictionary, then truth or dare,” her mother announced, setting up the living room like a game show set.

“Truth or dare?” Madison repeated. “Mom, we’re not twelve.”

“It’s tradition. Remember, we played at Ila’s graduation party.”

Madison did remember. It had ended with her cousin trying to do a handstand and breaking a lamp.

“This will be fun,” her grandmother said, settling into the best chair with a glass of wine that was definitely too large. “I want to see Christopher’s competitive side.”

“Should I be worried?” Christopher murmured to Madison as they sat on the couch together.

“Terrified,” she whispered back. “My family takes games very seriously.”

“Define ‘seriously.’”

“My dad once didn’t speak to his brother for a month over a disputed Scrabble word.”

“Your dad’s not here, right?”

“Business trip. You’re safe. For now.”

The first game, charades, was predictably chaotic.

Derek acted out heart surgery with the intensity of someone actually performing the operation.

Ila guessed every movie wrong and blamed it on Derek’s “unclear hand gestures.”

Andrew treated every round like a criminal investigation, taking notes and muttering under his breath.

When it was Christopher’s turn, he picked a card, glanced at it, then looked directly at Madison.

She saw the mischief in his eyes and braced herself.

He clutched his chest dramatically, gazed into the distance with exaggerated longing, pretended to write passionately in the air, then swept an invisible person into his arms for a theatrical, swooping almost‑kiss.

Everyone was laughing.

Even Derek cracked a genuine smile.

“Romance novel!” Madison shouted finally.

Christopher pointed at her triumphantly.

“See? We’re connected,” he said.

“That’s because you are basically mocking my entire career,” she shot back, but she was smiling.

“I would never mock your career,” he said. “I was honoring it. With enthusiasm.”

During Pictionary, things got competitive.

Christopher turned out to be a terrible artist but an excellent guesser—especially when Madison was drawing.

She’d barely sketched two lines before he was shouting answers.

“How did you get ‘coffee shop’ from two lines?” Ila demanded.

“I know how she thinks,” Christopher said simply.

Madison’s heart did that annoying flutter thing again.

Then came truth or dare.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Madison muttered.

“Probably,” Christopher agreed. “But at least it’ll be entertaining.”

Her grandmother went first, spinning the bottle. It landed on Derek.

“Truth or dare, young man?”

“Truth,” Derek said confidently.

“Boring,” Andrew groaned.

“What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for Ila?” her grandmother asked.

Derek thought for a moment.

“I arranged for her birthday dinner at her favorite restaurant,” he said. “Reserved the private room, had them prepare her favorite meal, brought flowers.”

It sounded nice.

Planned. Appropriate.

“Christopher,” her grandmother continued, turning to him. “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for Madison?”

Christopher didn’t hesitate.

“Last month, she was having a terrible writing day,” he said. “Nothing was working, and she was ready to throw her laptop out the window. I knew she needed to clear her head, so I showed up at her apartment at midnight with a blanket, two thermoses of hot chocolate, and drove her out of the city to that spot where you can see the stars.”

Madison’s breath caught.

That had actually happened.

She’d been stuck on a chapter, frustrated and exhausted, and he’d just appeared.

“We stayed there until sunrise,” Christopher continued, his eyes on Madison. “And by the time we got back, she knew exactly how to fix her chapter. She wrote it in four hours straight and said it was the best thing she’d ever written.”

The room had gone quiet.

“That’s…” Her mother’s voice was thick with emotion. “That’s beautiful.”

“That’s not fair,” Ila said, but she was smiling. “How are we supposed to compete with that?”

The bottle spun again.

This time it landed on Christopher.

“Truth or dare?” Andrew asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Dare,” Christopher said evenly. “I’m not afraid.”

Andrew grinned.

“I dare you to tell us the exact moment you knew you were in love with Madison.”

Madison’s heart stopped.

“Andrew, that’s not a dare,” their mother protested. “That’s a truth question.”

“Fine. I dare him to tell the truth about when he fell in love with her,” Andrew corrected.

Christopher was quiet for a moment.

Madison could feel everyone watching them, waiting.

Her palms were sweating.

“Three years ago,” Christopher said finally, his voice quiet but clear. “She was at my apartment. We were watching some disaster of a movie she’d chosen. Terrible plot, worse acting. There was a scene where the main character did something completely illogical, and Madison just…lost it. She started ranting about plot holes and character motivation, using her hands to gesture, getting increasingly passionate about this ridiculous movie.”

He turned to look at her, and Madison felt pinned by his gaze.

“And I realized I could listen to her talk about anything for the rest of my life,” he said softly. “That everything was better when she was in the room. That I was better when she was in the room. I didn’t tell her because I was afraid of ruining what we had. It took me three years to work up the courage.”

Madison couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Because that movie night had happened. That conversation had happened. She remembered it clearly—some terrible sci‑fi film she’d ripped apart for an hour.

Had he really been in love with her that long?

Or was he just an impossibly good actor?

“That’s…” Her mother was actually crying now. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Ila was looking at Derek with an expression Madison couldn’t quite read.

“My turn,” her grandmother announced briskly, spinning the bottle.

It landed on Madison.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

“Truth,” Madison said, her voice shaky.

“When did you know you loved him?”

Madison looked at Christopher.

At those blue eyes that saw through her.

At the face she knew better than her own.

At the man who’d been her best friend for five years and who she’d been slowly, terrifyingly falling in love with without even realizing it.

“I think I always knew,” she said softly. “I just wasn’t ready to admit it. Because loving him felt like standing on the edge of a cliff—thrilling and terrifying at the same time. Once you jump, there’s no going back.”

“And you jumped?” her grandmother asked gently.

Madison swallowed.

“I jumped,” she said. Her eyes never left Christopher’s. “I’m still jumping.”

The air between them was electric.

Christopher’s hand found hers, their fingers threading together, and Madison felt like her heart might actually burst out of her chest.

“Okay, this is getting too emotional for me,” Andrew announced. “Who wants pizza? I’m buying.”

The spell broke.

Everyone started arguing about toppings, someone turned on music, and the moment passed.

But later, when they were finally alone in their apartment, Christopher stopped Madison in the hallway.

“How much of that was true?” he asked quietly.

“How much of yours was true?” she countered.

He didn’t hesitate.

“All of it.”

Madison’s heart stuttered.

“Chris—”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Wrong time, wrong circumstances. We’re supposed to be pretending.”

He stepped closer, and she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“But Madison,” he said, his voice rough, “I need you to know: everything I’ve said to your family, every word about how I feel about you…I wasn’t acting.”

“We can’t do this,” she whispered, even as her body swayed toward him.

“I know.”

“We’ll ruin everything.”

“I know that too.”

“We should go to bed,” she said weakly. “Separate sides. Rebuild the wall.”

“We should,” he agreed.

Neither of them moved.

Finally, Christopher stepped back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You’re right,” he said. “We should maintain boundaries. Keep this professional.”

“Professional fake dating,” Madison said, and almost laughed at how absurd it sounded.

“Exactly.”

They built the pillow wall in silence, stacking it higher than ever.

That night, Madison lay awake for hours staring at those ridiculous pillows, acutely aware of Christopher on the other side, and wondered how much longer they could keep pretending their hearts weren’t already completely entangled.

Morning came too early.

Madison woke to sunlight streaming through the window and the distinct lack of warmth beside her.

She rolled over to find Christopher’s side of the bed empty, the pillow wall again demolished, pillows scattered everywhere like evidence of a very civilized battle.

She could hear movement in the kitchen, smell coffee drifting through the apartment.

Madison pulled on a light sundress and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

Christopher stood at the stove, making what appeared to be pancakes, wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else.

His back was to her, and Madison took a moment to appreciate the view.

The broad shoulders. The defined muscles. The way his body moved with casual grace.

She was so distracted that she didn’t notice him turn around until he spoke.

“Morning,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.

His hair was a mess, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and his blue eyes locked onto her with an intensity that made her stomach flip.

“Morning,” she managed. “You’re making pancakes?”

“Your mom mentioned you love them,” he said, turning back to the stove and flipping one expertly. “Figured I’d practice my domestic boyfriend skills.”

Madison moved to pour herself coffee, acutely aware of how small the kitchen suddenly felt.

Christopher was right there, close enough to touch, the warmth from his body radiating across the narrow space.

She reached for the sugar at the same moment he turned to grab a plate.

They collided, not hard, but enough that she stumbled.

His hands shot out to steady her, gripping her waist, and suddenly they were pressed together, her hands flat against his chest.

Madison’s brain short‑circuited.

She could feel his heart beating under her palms, fast and strong. She could feel the heat of his skin, could smell his soap mixed with something uniquely him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

But she didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Christopher’s hands were still on her waist, his fingers spreading, his thumbs brushing the bare skin where her dress had shifted.

His gaze dropped to her lips, then back up, and Madison saw something dangerous flash across his face.

“Your perfume,” he said, his voice dropping. “I need to know what perfume you’re wearing.”

Before she could answer, before she could even breathe, he moved.

One moment she was standing, the next she was sitting on the counter, Christopher between her knees, his body close to hers.

His hands slid from her waist to her hair, fingers threading through the loose waves.

“Chris, what are you—” she started, but her voice died as he leaned in.

He didn’t kiss her mouth.

Instead, he pressed his face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in.

Madison felt like every nerve ending in her body had caught fire.

“This perfume,” he murmured against her skin, his lips barely brushing her pulse point. “It’s been driving me a little out of my mind for days.”

“It’s just—”

She gasped as he pressed a soft kiss to her neck.

“It’s just vanilla,” she managed. “Nothing special.”

“Not true,” he whispered. “Everything about you is special.”

His hands were still in her hair, tilting her head to give him better access.

Madison’s hands gripped his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

Her body had a very strong opinion about which option it preferred.

He kissed a line up her neck, along her jaw.

Madison shivered, a quiet sound escaping her throat that she’d definitely blush about later.

“Chris,” she breathed. “Someone could walk in.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered against her skin, though she felt him smile. “The pancakes are burning.”

That got his attention.

Christopher pulled back, and Madison immediately missed his warmth.

He turned back to the stove, rescuing the slightly overdone pancakes while Madison tried to remember how to breathe.

Her entire body was trembling.

Her skin felt too hot.

And she was acutely aware that if he’d asked—if he’d moved just a little closer and actually kissed her—she would have let him.

She might have kissed him first.

Christopher turned back to her, and something in his expression made her breath catch.

He looked conflicted, shaken, like he was fighting a war with himself.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly.

“Probably not,” she agreed.

“There’s no one here to fool,” he said. “No audience.”

“I know.”

“So why did I do it?” he asked, half to himself.

Madison slid off the counter, her legs a little unsteady.

“I don’t know, Chris,” she said softly. “You tell me.”

He stared at her, jaw tight.

“Because I’ve been thinking about kissing your neck since the first morning we woke up tangled together,” he said. “Because the way you smell makes me forget this is supposed to be fake. Because every time I look at you, I forget we’re pretending.”

Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.

“We can’t do this,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“We’re friends. Best friends.”

“I know that too.”

“If we cross this line—”

“Madison,” he said quietly, stepping closer until her back hit the counter again, “we crossed that line days ago. We’re just both too scared to admit it.”

“What happens when this is over?” she asked. “When Christmas ends and we go back to our real lives?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

His hand came up to cup her cheek.

“But I know I don’t want to go back to pretending you’re just my friend,” he said. “Because you haven’t been ‘just my friend’ for a very long time.”

Madison opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed insistently on the counter.

She grabbed it, grateful for the interruption and hating it at the same time.

Mom: Family outing today. Ice skating. Be ready in an hour.

“Ice skating,” Madison said, her voice not quite steady. “Your favorite.”

Christopher groaned.

“I can’t ice skate.”

“What?” she gasped. “Mr. Good‑at‑Everything can’t ice skate?”

“I grew up in San Diego,” he reminded her. “We had beaches, not ice rinks.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“This is going to be embarrassing.”

Despite everything—the tension, the confusion, the wanting—Madison laughed.

“Oh, this I have to see.”

An hour later, they stood at the entrance to the outdoor ice rink in the town square.

Christmas lights were strung overhead, holiday music played through speakers, and families glided across the ice with varying degrees of grace.

Christopher looked at the ice like it had personally offended him.

“It’s not that hard,” Madison said, lacing up her skates. “You just glide.”

“I’m going to fall and break something important.”

“Your pride?” she teased.

“I was thinking my spine, but sure, that too.”

Madison stood, wobbling slightly on her skates.

Christopher followed, immediately gripping the wall like his life depended on it.

“Come on,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ll help you.”

“This is humiliating.”

“This is adorable,” she corrected.

She tugged him onto the ice.

“Just hold on to me.”

Christopher did, both hands gripping her waist as she slowly skated backward, pulling him along.

His legs were stiff, his movements jerky, and he looked absolutely terrified.

“Relax,” Madison said, trying not to laugh. “You’re too tense.”

“I’m about to fall on frozen water. I reserve the right to be tense.”

“You’re not going to fall,” she said.

“You don’t know that.”

A child, maybe seven years old, zoomed past them effortlessly, doing a little spin.

Christopher glared after the child.

“That’s just showing off,” he muttered.

Madison burst out laughing.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused.

“Immense” she said. “Now, try pushing off gently. I’ve got you.”

They made slow progress around the rink. Christopher gradually got more confident. He only almost fell twice, catching himself both times by gripping Madison tighter.

“See?” she said. “You’re getting it.”

“I’m getting frostbite. That’s what I’m getting.”

Across the rink, Madison spotted her family.

Her mother waved enthusiastically.

Derek and Ila skated in perfect synchronized movements like they’d choreographed it.

Andrew was attempting to skate backward and failing spectacularly.

“They’re watching us,” Christopher muttered.

“Then we should give them a show,” Madison said.

She let go of one of his hands and moved to his side, threading her arm through his.

“Just follow my lead.”

They skated together, slowly finding a rhythm.

Somewhere along the way, Christopher stopped looking at his feet and started looking at her.

“You’re smiling,” she said.

“Against my better judgment,” he replied. “I’m having fun.”

“Because you’re spending time on frozen water with me,” she teased.

“Because I’m spending time with you,” he corrected gently. “The frozen water is just a terrifying bonus.”

They made it around the rink twice before Christopher’s skate caught on something.

He stumbled, arms windmilling, and Madison tried to catch him but instead got pulled down with him.

They landed in a heap on the ice, Christopher on his back with Madison sprawled across his chest.

For a moment, they just lay there, stunned.

Then Madison felt Christopher’s chest shaking and realized he was laughing—really laughing. The kind of uninhibited joy she rarely saw from him.

She started laughing too, and soon they were both lying on the ice, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, completely oblivious to the skaters moving around them or her family skating over with concern.

“Are you two okay?” her mother asked.

“Perfect,” Christopher managed, still grinning. “Just working on our synchronized falling routine.”

Madison looked down at him—at his bright eyes and genuine smile, at the way he was looking at her like she really was the only person in the world—and she realized with startling clarity that she wasn’t falling in love with him.

She’d already fallen.

The thought should have terrified her.

Instead, it felt strangely like coming home.

That night, Christopher couldn’t sleep.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, hyper‑aware of Madison breathing softly beside him.

The pillow wall was there.

They’d rebuilt it with grim determination after the ice‑skating incident.

But it felt more symbolic than functional at this point.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Matthew: How’s the “I can handle pretending” plan?

Christopher: Not great.

Matthew: Shocking.

Christopher: We keep waking up tangled together.

Matthew: Because you both want to be there. Tell her.

Christopher: It’s not that simple.

Matthew: It is. You’re making it complicated because you’re scared.

Christopher: I’d rather be scared than lose her.

Matthew: Or you could be honest and actually get your happy ending.

Christopher put the phone down.

Matthew didn’t understand.

He turned his head to look at the pillow wall beyond which Madison slept.

Or at least he thought she slept.

“Chris?” her voice came quietly through the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep,” she said. “Too much on my mind.”

“Same,” he admitted.

Silence for a moment.

“Do you ever wish we could just pause time?” she asked. “Stay in a moment forever?”

“Which moment?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe this morning. Or today at the ice rink when you looked so happy,” she said. “Before everything feels complicated again.”

“Madison,” he said softly. “It’s already complicated.”

“I know,” she whispered.

Another silence.

“Can I ask you something?” she said. “And you have to answer honestly.”

His heart rate picked up.

“Okay.”

“When this is over,” she said, “when we go back to being just friends…do you really think we can?”

The question hung in the air like a grenade.

“I don’t know,” Christopher admitted. “But I know I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s hard.”

He heard her breath hitch.

Then quietly:

“Goodnight, Christopher.”

“Goodnight, Madison.”

Neither of them slept much after that.

The next morning, Madison’s mother announced the entire family was going Christmas shopping in the city.

“It’s tradition,” she declared over breakfast. “We go every year. It’ll be wonderful.”

Madison and Christopher exchanged glances.

“‘Wonderful’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Madison muttered.

“Exhausting, maybe,” Christopher suggested.

“Definitely,” she agreed.

The shopping trip was exactly as Madison predicted.

Her mother insisted on visiting every store.

Her grandmother made bold comments about lingerie.

Andrew kept trying to lose Derek in the crowds.

“I don’t dislike him,” Andrew explained when Madison caught him. “I just think he’s boring, and I’m testing his tracking skills.”

“He’s a surgeon, not a detective,” Madison reminded him.

“Everyone should have basic tracking skills. What if there’s an emergency?”

Madison decided not to engage with that logic.

She and Christopher eventually got separated from the main group and wandered into a bookstore.

Christopher watched with amusement as Madison reverently touched various book spines, her face lighting up at certain titles.

“You’re like a kid in a candy store,” he observed.

“Books are better than candy,” she said.

“Debatable,” he said.

She pulled out a vintage edition of Persuasion.

“Look at this,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

Christopher plucked it from her hands and took it to the register before she could protest.

“Chris, no, that’s expensive,” she protested, following him.

“It’s a gift,” he said.

He paid before she could stop him.

“Consider it an early Christmas present,” he said.

“You didn’t have to,” she said.

“I wanted to,” he replied.

He handed her the bag, and their fingers brushed.

The contact sent a little spark up her arm.

“You should have things that make you happy,” he said.

They stood there in the middle of the bookstore, the air thick with everything unsaid.

“You make me happy,” Madison said before she could stop herself.

Christopher’s expression shifted—surprise, hope, something deeper.

“Madison—” he began.

“Madison, there you are!”

Ila appeared, slightly out of breath.

“We’ve been looking everywhere. Grandma wants to get lunch.”

The moment shattered.

Christopher stepped back, and Madison clutched her book like a lifeline.

Over lunch at a crowded café, Madison noticed something was off with her sister.

Ila kept checking her phone, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Derek was his usual pleasant self, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before.

When Derek excused himself to take a call, Madison leaned toward her sister.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Ila said automatically.

“Ila,” Madison said quietly.

Her sister sighed.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just…Derek wants to move the wedding up.”

“How far up?” Madison asked.

“Like really up,” Ila said. “Spring instead of next fall.”

“That’s soon,” Madison said.

“I know.”

Ila stirred her coffee absently.

“And I know I should be excited,” she said. “But I just feel rushed. Like we’re checking boxes on a list. Get engaged—check. Pick a date—check. Find a venue—check. But where’s the… I don’t know. The magic?”

Madison didn’t know what to say.

She glanced at Christopher, who was listening quietly.

“You want to know something?” Ila continued.

“Always,” Madison said.

“Yesterday at the ice rink, I watched you two fall on the ice and just laugh,” Ila said. “Like it was the funniest thing in the world. And I thought—when was the last time Derek and I laughed like that? When was the last time we did something spontaneous and ridiculous just because we wanted to?”

“Ila…”

“I’m not saying I don’t love him,” Ila said quickly. “I do. He’s perfect on paper. But you and Christopher…”

She shook her head.

“You two look at each other like you’re in on some secret the rest of us don’t know,” she said. “Like you’re best friends and partners all at once. That’s what I want. That’s what I thought I had. But now I’m not sure.”

Madison’s chest tightened.

If only Ila knew the truth—that it had started as pretend. That she and Christopher were just acting.

That in a week, it was all supposed to end.

Except it didn’t feel fake anymore.

It hadn’t felt fake for days.

That night, back at the apartment, Madison sat on the couch while Christopher made tea in the kitchen.

“Your sister seems troubled,” he said, bringing her a mug.

“She’s questioning her engagement because of us,” Madison said. “Because she realized she wants what we have—what we’re pretending to have.”

She let out a humorless laugh.

“Ironic, isn’t it? We’re faking a relationship so well that we’re making her doubt her real one.”

Christopher set down his mug and turned to face her fully.

“Madison, when are we going to stop pretending?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“When are we going to stop calling this fake?” he asked, moving closer. “Because I’m not pretending anymore. I haven’t been for days. Maybe I never was.”

Madison’s heart was racing.

“Chris…”

“I meant everything I said in that game,” he said. “About falling in love with you three years ago. About you being the best thing in my life. About not wanting to lose you.”

He cupped her face in his hands.

“The only thing I’m pretending,” he said quietly, “is that I’m okay with this ending.”

“We’re going to ruin our friendship,” she whispered.

“We already changed it,” he said. “The second I agreed to this plan. The second I put my arm around you and called you mine. The second I woke up with you in my arms and didn’t want to let go.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

“So am I,” he said. “But I’m more scared of going back to pretending I don’t want this. Don’t want you.”

Madison closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked. “What if we try and it falls apart?”

“What if it doesn’t?” he countered. “What if this is exactly what we’ve both been too afraid to reach for?”

She opened her eyes to find him watching her with such intensity it stole her breath.

“I’m in love with you,” she said suddenly.

The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“I think I have been for a long time, but I was too scared to admit it. And this week—being with you like this, sleeping next to you, holding your hand, pretending to be yours—it’s been the best and worst week of my life. Because I want it to be real so badly it hurts.”

Christopher’s expression transformed—relief, joy, something that looked almost like pain.

“It is real,” he said. “It’s been real from the beginning.”

He leaned in, and Madison’s breath caught.

This was it.

He was going to kiss her.

And everything would change.

His lips were inches from hers when someone knocked on the door.

They sprang apart like teenagers caught by a parent.

“Madison? Christopher?”

It was her mother’s voice.

“Are you still awake? I brought you some leftover pie.”

Christopher dropped his head back with a groan.

“Your family has the most incredible timing,” he muttered.

Despite everything, Madison laughed.

“Welcome to the Carter family,” she said.

She opened the door, and her mother bustled in with enough pie to feed an army.

As her mother chattered about the day and Christopher answered politely, Madison caught his eye across the room.

Soon, his expression promised.

Soon we’ll finish this conversation.

Soon, she silently agreed.

Soon we’ll stop pretending.

And soon couldn’t come fast enough.

PART FOUR – REAL LOVE

Madison woke up the next morning to an empty bed and the sound of her phone buzzing insistently.

Seven missed calls from her mother.

Twelve texts in the family group chat.

Three voicemails from her grandmother.

Her stomach sank.

Something was wrong.

She grabbed her phone and scrolled through the messages, her heart rate increasing with each one.

Ila: I need to talk to everyone. Family meeting at Mom’s. 10:00 a.m. It’s important.

Mom: Please come. Sweetheart, your sister needs us.

Grandma: If Derek hurt her, I’m going to hit him with my purse. It’s heavy. I carry small rocks in it for self‑defense.

Madison stumbled out of bed, pulling on jeans and a sweater.

Where was Christopher?

She found him in the kitchen, already dressed, two travel mugs of coffee ready.

“Your family’s been trying to reach you,” he said. “Your mom called me when you didn’t answer.”

“What happened?” Madison asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Your mom just said Ila needs everyone there now.”

He handed her a coffee and her coat.

“Come on. I’ll drive.”

The drive to her mother’s house was tense.

Madison tried calling Ila three times, but it went straight to voicemail.

“She’s probably fine,” Christopher said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Maybe she just wants to talk about wedding plans or something.”

“Then why does Grandma have rocks in her purse?” Madison asked.

“Your grandmother always has rocks in her purse,” Christopher pointed out.

“Fair,” Madison admitted.

When they arrived, the entire family was already gathered in the living room.

Her mother looked worried.

Her grandmother was muttering something about men and their nonsense.

Andrew was pacing like he was working on a case.

Ila sat on the couch, her eyes red from crying, but she looked calm. Almost relieved.

“What’s going on?” Madison asked, sitting next to her sister.

Christopher stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder in silent support.

“I called off the engagement,” Ila said quietly.

The room erupted.

“What?” their mother gasped.

“Finally,” Andrew muttered, then caught himself. “I mean…that’s unfortunate.”

“Where’s Derek?” their grandmother demanded. “Did he do something? Because I have rocks.”

“Grandma, please put away your weaponized purse,” Ila said with a watery laugh.

“Derek didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Madison took her sister’s hand.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I realized something watching you two,” Ila said, looking between Madison and Christopher. “Watching how you look at each other, how you laugh together, how you just…fit.”

She took a breath.

“Derek and I, we make sense on paper,” she said. “We have compatible lifestyles, similar goals, matching five‑year plans. But we don’t have what you have.”

Her voice cracked, but she kept going.

“We don’t laugh like you do,” she said. “We don’t have the same inside jokes. He doesn’t know that I hate the color yellow or that I still sleep with a nightlight because I’m scared of the dark. And I don’t know his favorite book or what makes him really, truly happy beyond his career.”

She wiped her eyes.

“We were building a partnership,” she said. “Not a love story. And I want a love story.”

Their mother was crying now.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered.

“I talked to Derek last night,” Ila said. “He agreed. We were both trying to force something that wasn’t there. He’s a good man. He’ll be okay. But he’s not my person.”

She squeezed Madison’s hand.

“And I realized that because of you two,” she said, looking between Madison and Christopher. “Because you showed me what real love looks like.”

Madison felt Christopher’s hand tighten on her shoulder.

Guilt twisted in her stomach.

Their fake relationship had just destroyed her sister’s real one.

Except…was it still fake?

“Are you okay?” Madison asked softly.

“I’m sad,” Ila said. “But I’m also relieved. I’d rather be alone and hopeful than coupled and settling. You taught me that, Maddie. You and your books and your insistence on happily‑ever‑afters. I want my happily ever after. Just not with Derek.”

Their grandmother stood up decisively.

“Then we need something to drink,” she said. “It’s ten in the morning, but this is either a crisis or a celebration. I can’t tell which.”

“Both,” Ila said. “Definitely both.”

Several hours later, after drinks and tears and far too much family talking, Madison and Christopher finally escaped back to their apartment.

The moment the door closed, Madison turned to him.

“My sister called off her engagement because of us,” she said.

“I know,” he said. “Because she wanted what we have.”

“What we’re pretending to have,” Madison said.

Christopher shook his head.

“Madison,” he said quietly, “we really need to stop calling this pretend.”

She started pacing.

“We said we loved each other,” she said. “We almost kissed. We keep waking up wrapped around each other every morning. At what point does this stop being fake?”

He caught her arm, stopping her pacing.

“It stopped being fake the moment I agreed to this,” he said. “Maybe before that. Maybe it was never fake at all.”

“But what happens after Christmas?” she demanded. “We go back to our real lives. Then what? Do we date? Do we try to make this work? What if we can’t transition from fake to real? What if—”

“Madison,” he interrupted gently. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?” she asked.

“Overthinking everything.”

“That’s like telling the ocean to stop being wet,” she muttered.

He smiled despite himself.

“Fair point.”

His hands came up to frame her face.

“But right now, in this moment, I don’t care about logistics or what‑ifs,” he said. “I only care about this: I love you. Really, truly love you. And I want to see where this goes. Even if it’s scary. Especially because it’s scary. The best things usually are.”

Madison looked up at him—at this man who knew her better than anyone. Who brought her coffee without asking. Who held her when she needed it and gave her space when she didn’t. Who made her laugh and drove her crazy and had somehow become the most essential person in her life without her even noticing.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “So much it terrifies me.”

“Good,” he said, his voice rough. “We can be scared together.”

He leaned down, and this time there were no interruptions.

No doorbells.

No phones.

Just Christopher lowering his head slowly, giving her all the time in the world to pull away if she wanted.

She didn’t want to.

Their lips met softly at first—tentative, questioning.

Then Christopher made a low sound in his throat and pulled her closer, one hand sliding into her hair while the other wrapped around her waist, and the kiss deepened into something that stole her breath and made her knees weak.

Madison’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to erase any distance between them.

He tasted like coffee and something uniquely him, and she never wanted this to end.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Christopher rested his forehead against hers.

“I’ve wanted to do that for three years,” he admitted.

“You should have done it sooner,” she whispered.

“I was an idiot,” he said.

“You were scared,” she corrected.

“Same thing,” he said wryly.

He pulled back to look at her, his blue eyes dark with emotion.

“But I’m not letting fear make the decisions anymore,” he said.

“Liar,” she murmured. “You’re terrified. I can feel your heart racing.”

“Okay, I’m terrified,” he admitted. “But I’m doing this anyway.”

Madison smiled, reaching up to trace his jaw.

“That’s called being brave, not foolish,” she said.

“With you, it’s the same thing,” he said softly.

She laughed and kissed him again, slower this time, sweeter.

When they parted, she was still smiling against his lips.

“We should tell my family,” she said. “The truth. That this started as fake but became real.”

Christopher tensed.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“They deserve to know,” she said. “And I’m tired of pretending. Even pretending that we’re pretending.”

She laced her fingers through his.

“I want this to be real in every way,” she said. “No more lies.”

“Okay,” he said.

He kissed her forehead.

“We’ll tell them together at Christmas Eve dinner.”

“Christmas Eve dinner,” she agreed.

What neither of them knew was that Christmas Eve was going to bring more than just confessions.

It was going to change everything.

The next two days passed in a blur of family activities and stolen moments.

Christopher found himself existing in a strange limbo.

They’d kissed.

They’d confessed their feelings.

But they hadn’t told anyone yet.

To the family, they were still the perfect couple who’d been together for six months.

Only Christopher and Madison knew the truth was far more complicated.

The night before Christmas Eve, Christopher couldn’t sleep.

But this time, it wasn’t because of confusion.

It was anticipation.

Tomorrow they’d tell the truth.

Tomorrow everything would change again.

He heard movement on Madison’s side of the bed.

The pillow wall had been officially abandoned days ago.

Now they just slept together, tangled up in each other, not even pretending it was accidental anymore.

“Can’t sleep?” she whispered in the dark.

“No,” he said. “You?”

“My brain won’t shut off,” she said. “I keep thinking about tomorrow. What if they’re angry? What if they think we made fools of them?”

“They won’t,” he said.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because they’ve watched us fall in love in real time,” he said. “Whether we were faking it at the beginning doesn’t matter as much as what’s real now.”

He felt her hand find his under the covers, their fingers intertwining.

“When did you get so wise?” she asked.

“About three years ago,” he said. “When I met this writer who challenged everything I thought I knew about connection and vulnerability.”

Even in the dark, he could hear her smile.

“Smooth talker,” she murmured.

“Only with you,” he replied.

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then Madison sat up suddenly.

“I can’t just lie here,” she said. “I need to move. Or think. Or I don’t know. Something.”

Christopher sat up too.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Go for a walk. Count sheep. Learn to juggle.”

He laughed and got out of bed, extending his hand.

“I have a better idea,” he said.

Madison let Christopher pull her into the living room.

He didn’t turn on any overhead lights, just walked to the old radio her mother kept on the shelf and turned it on low.

Soft jazz filled the room—the kind of song that belonged in an old black‑and‑white movie.

“What are you doing?” Madison asked.

“Something I’ve wanted to do since the night we agreed to this insane plan,” he said, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

“Christopher…”

“No audience,” he said quietly. “No performance. Just us.”

His eyes found hers in the dim light flooding in from the street.

“Dance with me, Madison,” he repeated.

She took his hand.

He pulled her close, one hand settling on her waist, the other holding hers.

Her free hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

They began to sway.

“You’re a good dancer,” she observed.

“I took lessons for business events,” he said.

“Of course you did,” she muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“It means you’re annoyingly competent at everything,” she replied.

“I’m terrible at ice skating,” he reminded her.

“One thing,” she said. “You’re bad at one thing.”

“I’m also bad at pretending I’m not completely in love with you,” he said softly.

He pulled her closer until there was barely any space between them.

“I’ve been terrible at that for years,” he added.

Madison rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Why didn’t you tell me before all this?” she asked.

“Fear,” he said simply. “Cowardice. The certainty that you’d never see me as anything more than a friend. Take your pick.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I was an idiot,” he added.

“I was an idiot too,” she said. “I convinced myself that what I felt was just normal best‑friend affection. That the reason my heart raced when you smiled at me was just…caffeine.”

“Caffeine?” he repeated, amused.

“I was in denial,” she muttered. “It seemed logical at the time.”

He spun her gently, then pulled her back in.

Madison went willingly, fitting against him like she’d always belonged there.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked quietly.

“Always,” he said.

“That first morning when we woke up tangled together,” she began.

He tensed slightly.

“I didn’t want you to let go,” she said. “I pretended to be surprised, but really I just wanted to stay there forever.”

“Madison…” he breathed.

“And every morning since then, when I wake up in your arms, I have this moment of perfect happiness before reality sets in and I remember that this was all supposed to be temporary,” she said. “Or it was supposed to be.”

She pulled back to look at him.

“But it’s not anymore, is it?” she asked.

“This is real,” he said, his eyes shining. “This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”

The song changed to something even slower, more intimate.

They kept dancing, barely moving now, just swaying together in the darkened living room.

“I’m scared about tomorrow,” Madison admitted.

“Me too,” he said.

“What if everything falls apart?” she asked.

“Then we’ll put it back together,” he said simply. “But I don’t think it will. Your family loves you. They want you to be happy. And if you’re happy with me—if we’re happy together—that’s what will matter.”

“When did you become so sure about us?” she asked.

“The moment I woke up with you in my arms and realized I never wanted to wake up any other way,” he said.

Madison’s heart felt too full for her chest.

She rose on her toes and kissed him, soft and sure.

When they broke apart, Christopher rested his forehead against hers.

“Stay here,” he whispered. “Just for a minute. Let me pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“It doesn’t,” she whispered back. “Right now, it’s just us.”

They stood there in the middle of the living room, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to music that had long since ended, existing in a moment that felt stolen from time itself.

The next morning—Christmas Eve—Madison woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee.

She smiled at the memory of dancing with Christopher in the dark.

They’d stayed up until almost three, talking and laughing and stealing kisses like teenagers.

She found him in the kitchen making breakfast.

He looked up when she entered, and his entire face transformed with that smile that was only for her.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said.

“Morning,” she replied.

She walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face against his back.

“You’re making eggs,” she observed.

“I’m attempting eggs,” he corrected. “The jury’s still out on whether they’re edible.”

“You’re a tech genius who runs a billion‑dollar company,” she teased. “I think you can handle scrambled eggs.”

“You’d think that,” he said. “You’d be wrong.”

She laughed and went to pour coffee.

They moved around each other with easy familiarity, and Madison marveled at how natural this felt—like they’d been doing this for years. Like they were meant to do this for years more.

“So,” Christopher said, plating the eggs (which actually looked pretty good). “Tonight’s the night.”

“Tonight’s the night,” Madison agreed, accepting the plate he handed her.

“We tell your family everything,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied.

“Although,” he admitted, “part of me wants to just…not. To let them keep believing we’ve been together six months. To skip the ‘this started as fake’ part.”

“We could,” Madison said slowly. “But then we’d be starting this relationship with a lie. And I don’t want that.”

“Neither do I,” he said.

He reached across the table and took her hand.

“We do this together,” he said. “Whatever happens.”

“Whatever happens,” she echoed.

What they didn’t know was that “whatever happens” was going to involve a lot more drama than either of them expected.

Because the Carter family was about to get a crash course in how fake dating becomes real love.

And it was going to be spectacular.

Christmas Eve dinner was at Madison’s mother’s house, which meant the place was decorated within an inch of its life.

Lights everywhere.

Garlands on every surface.

A tree so enormous it probably required structural engineering approval.

Madison and Christopher arrived together, hands clasped, both trying to mask their nerves with smiles.

“Ready?” he whispered as they approached the door.

“Not even a little bit,” she whispered back. “We could run. Start new lives in Canada.”

“Tempting,” he said. “But I don’t think I could pull off the whole ‘off the grid’ thing. I panicked last month when the Wi‑Fi went down for twenty minutes.”

She laughed despite herself.

“Fair point,” she said. “Okay. Plan A it is. We tell them the truth.”

The door swung open before they could knock.

Madison’s grandmother stood there, resplendent in a red sweater covered in sequins and tiny jingle bells.

“There they are—the lovebirds!” she cried. She pulled them both inside. “You’re just in time. Your mother is having a minor breakdown because the turkey is taking too long, and Andrew is interrogating the neighbor’s cat about suspicious behavior.”

“That sounds normal,” Madison said.

“For this family? Absolutely,” her grandmother said. “Now come on. We’re playing a game before dinner.”

Madison and Christopher exchanged glances.

Games in this family were never simple.

They found the rest of the family in the living room. Ila looked better—still sad, but lighter, like a weight had been lifted.

Her mother was fussing over the turkey situation.

Andrew was at the window with binoculars, muttering about “feline espionage.”

“Madison, Christopher,” her mother said, rushing over. “Thank goodness. We need even teams for the game.”

“What game?” Christopher asked cautiously.

“The newlywed game,” her mother said. “Well, the couple’s version. We did it last year, and it was so much fun.”

Madison felt Christopher’s hand tighten on hers.

Of course.

Of course this would be the game.

They settled onto the couch—Madison and Christopher on one side, Ila on another, with their grandmother keeping score as if it were the Olympics.

“First question,” her mother announced importantly. “Madison, what would Christopher say is your most annoying habit?”

Madison thought about it.

“That I leave coffee cups everywhere,” she said. “Or that I rewrite the same paragraph seventeen times.”

“Christopher?” her mother asked.

“That she apologizes for things that aren’t her fault,” he said softly. “She says ‘sorry’ when someone bumps into her, when the weather is bad, when things beyond her control go wrong. I wish she knew she didn’t have to apologize for existing in the world.”

The room went quiet.

“Well,” her mother said, clearing her throat. “That’s very specific. And very sweet. One point.”

“Christopher,” Andrew said, leaning forward. “What’s Madison’s biggest fear?”

“Being forgotten,” Christopher answered immediately. “She’s afraid that after she’s gone, nobody will remember she was here. That her stories won’t matter. That she won’t have left any real mark on the world.”

Madison’s eyes stung.

He’d said this before, but hearing it again, knowing he really understood her that deeply, made her chest ache.

“How do you know that?” her mother asked, puzzled. “Madison’s never told me that.”

“She didn’t have to tell me,” Christopher said. “I pay attention.”

Madison squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

The game continued.

Every answer Christopher gave was thoughtful, specific, revealing just how well he knew her.

And Madison knew him just as well—his fear of failure, his difficulty letting people in, his secret love of ridiculous action movies.

By the end, they had a perfect score.

“You two are disgustingly in sync,” Andrew said. “It’s actually impressive. And slightly unsettling.”

“Thank you,” Madison said.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Andrew replied.

“I’m choosing to take it as one,” she said.

Dinner was the usual Carter family chaos—too much food, too many conversations happening at once, her grandmother telling increasingly bold stories about her youth that made everyone uncomfortable.

But through it all, Madison felt Christopher’s presence beside her like an anchor. His hand on her knee under the table. His quiet laughter at her grandmother’s stories. The way he automatically helped her mother clear plates without being asked.

This was real.

He was real.

They were real.

After dessert, as everyone settled in the living room with coffee and pie, Madison caught Christopher’s eye.

He nodded slightly.

It was time.

“Everyone,” she said, standing.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Christopher and I have something we need to tell you.”

The room fell silent.

Her mother looked excited.

Her grandmother looked like she knew exactly what was coming.

Andrew looked suspicious.

“We’re getting married,” her grandmother guessed.

“No!” Madison said quickly.

“You’re having a baby,” her mother gasped.

“Mom, no,” Madison said.

“You’re secretly royalty and have to return to your kingdom,” Andrew suggested.

“What? No. Can everyone just—”

Madison took a deep breath.

“The truth is,” she said, “Christopher and I haven’t been dating for six months.”

Confusion rippled through the room.

“What do you mean?” Ila asked.

Madison looked at Christopher, who stood and took her hand.

“When Madison called me about coming here for Christmas,” he said, “she asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend. It was supposed to be fake—a way to get all of you to stop worrying about her being single.”

Her mother’s face went pale.

“So you were faking,” she said slowly. “All of this?”

“At first,” Madison said quickly. “At first it was pretend. But then…”

“But you lied to us,” her mother said, her voice rising. “This whole time, everything we saw, everything we believed—it was all a lie?”

“That’s not—” Madison began.

“It became real,” she said desperately. “That’s what I’m trying to explain. It started as fake, but somewhere along the way, it became real. We fell in love. Actually fell in love.”

“How convenient,” Andrew said dryly. “Right when you got caught.”

“We weren’t caught,” Christopher said firmly. “We chose to tell you the truth because we don’t want to start our relationship with a lie.”

“Start your relationship?” their grandmother repeated. “So you’re saying for the past two weeks, everything we saw—the looks, the touches, the way you couldn’t keep your eyes off each other—that was all acting?”

“No,” Madison said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It started as acting. But I don’t know exactly when it changed. Maybe the first morning when we woke up tangled together. Maybe when he danced with me when nobody was watching. Maybe it was always real and we were just too scared to admit it.”

“This is ridiculous,” her mother said, shaking her head. “You can’t fake your way into real love.”

“Why not?” Ila’s voice cut through the tension.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“Why can’t you fake your way into real love?” she asked. “They spent two weeks living as a couple. Waking up together. Making decisions together. Learning each other’s habits and fears and dreams. That’s more intimacy than some people get in years of casual dating.”

“Ila—” their mother began.

“Mom, listen,” Ila said. “I watched them every day. The way they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. The way Christopher brought her coffee without asking. The way Madison laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t actually funny.”

“Hey,” Christopher protested weakly.

“You two fit,” Ila continued. “That wasn’t fake. Maybe it started that way. But what I’ve seen? That’s real love.”

Madison’s throat was tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered to her sister.

Her mother looked between them, conflict clear on her face.

“I don’t know what to think,” she said. “I need… I need a moment.”

She left the room, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Christopher’s arm came around Madison’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the remaining family members. “We never meant to hurt anyone. We just…we didn’t expect this to happen.”

“Life’s funny that way,” her grandmother said, and there was something almost approving in her tone. “You make plans, and then love laughs in your face.”

“So you’re not angry?” Madison asked.

“Oh, I’m annoyed,” her grandmother said. “You lied. You made us look like fools.”

Then she smiled.

“But I’m not blind,” she added. “I was married fifty‑three years before your grandfather passed. I know what real love looks like. And you two…” She pointed at them. “You have it. Whether you meant to or not.”

Andrew was still frowning.

“I don’t like being deceived,” he said.

“We know,” Christopher replied.

Andrew sighed.

“I also ran a background check on you the first day you arrived,” he said.

“You what?” Madison yelped.

“I’m thorough. Sue me,” Andrew said.

He pulled out his phone.

“According to my research,” he continued, “you’ve been friends with Madison for five years. You show up at her apartment multiple times a week. You’ve been her emergency contact for three years. You attend every book launch she has. You haven’t dated anyone seriously in all that time.”

He looked up at Christopher.

“So either you’re the world’s most dedicated friend,” he said, “or you’ve been in love with her way longer than two weeks.”

Christopher held his gaze.

“Three years,” he said. “I’ve been in love with her for three years.”

“Then this fake dating thing was just you finally getting your chance,” Andrew concluded.

“Yes,” Christopher said. “And I took it.”

Andrew nodded slowly.

“I’m still annoyed you lied,” he said. “But I respect the strategy.”

Madison didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Her family was absolutely, undeniably ridiculous.

And she loved them for it.

Now she just had to convince her mother.

Madison found her mother on the back porch, wrapped in a coat and staring at the Christmas lights strung along the fence.

“Mom,” Madison said softly.

Her mother didn’t turn around.

“I prepared that pink room for you,” she said. “Bought extra blankets. Made sure it was comfortable. Because I thought my daughter would be spending Christmas alone again, and I wanted her to feel loved, even if she felt lonely.”

Madison’s chest tightened.

“Mom…”

“And then you showed up with this wonderful man,” her mother continued. “This kind, successful man who looked at you like you hung the moon. And I was so happy. So relieved. Because finally, my daughter had found someone who saw how special she was.”

“He does see that,” Madison said quietly. “That part was never a lie.”

Her mother turned, tears on her cheeks.

“But you thought you had to lie to me,” she said. “That you had to fake a relationship rather than just come home and be yourself. Do you know how that makes me feel? That I made you so uncomfortable about being single that you felt you had to drag your best friend into a charade?”

“I didn’t hire him, Mom,” Madison whispered. “He offered. He’s my best friend.”

“Which makes it worse,” her mother said. “You felt you had to involve your best friend because you thought I wouldn’t accept you as you are.”

Her mother wiped at her eyes.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” she said. “I pushed too hard. I made you feel like you weren’t enough on your own. And I am so sorry, sweetheart. You’ve always been enough. More than enough.”

Madison felt tears spilling down her own cheeks.

“I know you were just worried about me,” she said.

“I was,” her mother said. “But that’s not your burden to carry. You’re twenty‑seven. You’re brilliant and successful and talented. You’ve written books that make people believe in love. That’s more than most people accomplish in a lifetime.”

She cupped Madison’s face.

“And if you want to be single, that’s okay,” she said. “If you want to be with Christopher, that’s okay too. As long as you’re happy. And as long as you’re not lying—to yourself or to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Madison said. “I really do love him, Mom. I think I have for years. But I was too scared to admit it. And yes, this started as a ridiculous plan. But it became real. He became real. We became real.”

Her mother studied her face for a long moment.

“You’re sure?” she asked. “This isn’t just convenience or proximity or—”

“Mom,” Madison interrupted gently. “I wake up in his arms every morning, and it feels like coming home. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes. He makes me laugh even when I want to cry. He supports my dreams without trying to manage them. He’s my best friend…and the love of my life. And I didn’t even realize those could be the same person until two weeks ago.”

She took her mother’s hands.

“I know we started this the wrong way,” she said. “But I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her mother pulled her into a tight hug.

“Then I’m happy for you,” she said. “Truly. Even if you did give me a minor heart attack with that confession.”

“That seems to be a family trait,” Madison said, laughing through her tears. “We don’t do anything quietly.”

“We prefer ‘emotionally expressive,’” her mother corrected with a watery smile.

She pulled back.

“Now,” she said, “let’s go back inside before your grandmother drinks all the wine and starts telling stories about her wild youth that nobody needs to hear.”

They returned to find Christopher in the hallway, looking anxious.

He straightened when he saw them.

“Mrs. Carter, I want to apologize—” he began.

“Oh, stop,” Madison’s mother said, waving a hand. “You love my daughter. You’ve been her friend for five years. You agreed to this ridiculous plan because you couldn’t say no to her. If anything, that proves you’re perfect for her. She needs someone who can keep up with her.”

“I do have a lot of chaos,” Madison admitted.

“And you,” her mother said, turning to Christopher, “need someone who challenges you and makes you laugh and drags you out of your very organized life sometimes. So really, you’re both disasters who found each other. I call that fate.”

“Statistically improbable luck,” Andrew called from the living room.

“Andrew, please stop eavesdropping,” their mother called back.

“I’m not eavesdropping,” Andrew protested. “I’m…gathering data.”

Christopher was smiling now, relief clear on his face.

“So we’re okay?” he asked.

“We’re okay,” her mother said.

She patted his cheek.

“But if you hurt my daughter,” she added sweetly, “I’ll have to hurt you. I’m small, but I’m very motivated when it comes to my children.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Christopher said earnestly.

They returned to the living room to find everyone pretending they hadn’t been listening at the door.

Her grandmother was the first to speak.

“So,” she said, clapping her hands. “Are we doing gifts now, or are we waiting for more dramatic revelations? Because I have some stories about my younger days that would really spice things up.”

“Grandma, you’ve only had one husband,” Ila pointed out.

“That you know of,” her grandmother said.

“Mom!” Madison’s mother gasped.

“I’m kidding,” her grandmother said. “Probably. The sixties were blurry.”

The tension broke.

Everyone laughed.

They moved on to gifts and music and her grandmother’s increasingly questionable stories.

Through it all, Christopher’s hand stayed in Madison’s, and whenever she caught his eye across the room, the look he gave her made her heart skip.

Later, after everyone had left and they were helping clean up, Madison’s mother pulled them both aside.

“I have one question,” she said.

“Just one?” Madison asked warily.

“When you two finally got together—really together—where did it happen?” her mother asked. “What was the moment?”

Madison and Christopher looked at each other.

“We haven’t,” Madison admitted. “Not fully. We’ve kissed. We’ve confessed our feelings. But we wanted to wait until this was all settled. Until we knew we were on solid ground.”

Her mother’s eyes went wide.

“You mean you’ve been sleeping in the same bed for two weeks and you haven’t—”

“Mom,” Madison groaned.

“I’m just impressed by the restraint,” her mother said. “Your father and I would’ve lasted maybe three days.”

“Mom, please stop talking,” Madison begged, her face burning.

“I’m just saying,” her mother said, smiling. “That’s real love. Being able to wait. Wanting to do things right.”

She patted both their cheeks.

“Okay, I’m done embarrassing you now,” she said. “Mostly. I can’t make any promises.”

As they drove back to the apartment that night, Madison felt lighter than she had in days.

The truth was out.

Her family knew.

And she and Christopher were still together.

“That went better than expected,” Christopher said.

“Your bar for ‘better than expected’ must be very low,” Madison said. “I was anticipating pitchforks and torches. We got tears and acceptance.”

“I call that a win,” he said.

She laughed, lacing her fingers through his across the console.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For doing this. For being patient with my crazy family. For loving me even when I’m a mess.”

“Especially when you’re a mess,” he said.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“Home?” she repeated.

The apartment they’d been sharing.

The bed they’d been sleeping in.

The life they’d started building piece by piece without even realizing it.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m ready to go home.”

What neither of them said—but both understood—was that home wasn’t the apartment.

It was each other.

And tonight, they were finally going to stop holding back.

The apartment was quiet when they returned, filled only with the soft glow of the Christmas lights they’d strung up days ago.

Madison set her purse down, suddenly nervous in a way she hadn’t been all night.

This was it.

They’d told the truth.

They’d survived the fallout.

And now they were alone, with nothing between them except two weeks of wanting and waiting.

“Want some tea?” Christopher asked, though she could hear the tension in his voice too.

“No,” Madison said.

She turned to face him.

“I don’t want tea,” she said softly. “I want you.”

Something flickered in his expression—heat, tenderness, something deeper.

“Madison…” he said.

He took a step toward her.

“What do you want exactly?” he asked quietly. “Because once we do this, once we cross this line, I won’t be able to go back. I won’t be able to pretend you’re ‘just my friend’ anymore.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I don’t want you to pretend.”

She took a step toward him, closing the distance.

“I want this,” she said. “I want you. All of you.”

He searched her face, as if memorizing every detail.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said.

He kissed her then.

Deep and certain.

All the pent‑up emotion of the last few years poured into it.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Christopher rested his forehead against hers.

“Bedroom,” he murmured. “I want to do this right.”

He took her hand and led her down the hallway, and Madison’s heart was beating so hard she was certain he could hear it.

When they reached the bedroom, he turned to face her, his expression soft but intense.

“I need you to know something,” he said quietly. “I’ve imagined this moment for three years. And now that it’s finally happening, I’m terrified of rushing it. Of not making it what you deserve.”

Madison cupped his face, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

“Christopher, it’s already what I want,” she said. “Because it’s you. Because it’s us.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring.

They took their time.

Clothes were removed with gentle hands and quiet laughter, every step full of whispered reassurances and soft kisses.

When they finally lay together, nothing between them, there were no jokes, no pretense—just two people who had taken a long, winding road to get to this exact moment.

“I love you,” Christopher said, his voice rough with emotion. “I need you to know that this isn’t just physical for me. It’s everything.”

“I know,” Madison whispered. “I love you too. Show me.”

He did.

They moved together slowly, learning each other in a new way, every touch and kiss layered with years of friendship and unspoken longing.

It was intense and overwhelming, not because of anything dramatic, but because of how safe she felt. How completely known.

It felt like something in her, something that had been quietly waiting, finally clicked into place.

When they finally stilled, breathless and clinging to each other, Madison realized she was crying.

Christopher immediately pulled back, alarmed.

“Did I…did I hurt you?” he asked, panic flickering across his face.

“No,” she said quickly, laughing through her tears. “No, you didn’t. It’s the opposite. I’m just…happy. Overwhelmingly, terrifyingly happy. I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Christopher visibly relaxed.

He brushed away her tears with his thumbs, his own eyes suspiciously bright.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “I thought I knew what I was missing all these years. I had no idea.”

They stayed awake for hours, talking and touching and sharing quiet kisses.

They talked about the past—about all the moments they’d missed, all the signs they’d ignored.

They talked about the future—where they might live, how they’d make this work, what came next.

“Move in with me,” Christopher said suddenly.

“Officially,” he added. “Not just for two weeks, but for real. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Your place or mine?” Madison asked.

“I don’t care,” he said. “We’ll get a new place. One that’s ours. With a huge closet for your clothes and a library for your books and a kitchen I’ll probably ruin while trying to make you breakfast every morning.”

She laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“That sounds perfect,” she said. “Except maybe the ‘ruining the kitchen’ part. We might invest in cooking lessons.”

“Deal,” he said.

As dawn began to break outside, painting the room in soft pink and gold, Madison felt Christopher’s hand find hers under the blanket, their fingers intertwining.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered back.

It was Christmas morning.

They’d survived two weeks of fake dating, family chaos, and finally telling the truth.

And now, wrapped in each other’s arms as the sun rose on a new day, Madison realized something.

The best love stories weren’t the ones she wrote.

They were the ones she lived.

EPILOGUE – HAPPILY EVER AFTER (AND THEN SOME)

Six months later, Madison stood in front of her laptop, staring at the final page of her manuscript.

She’d just typed “The End” on what might be her best book yet—a story about two best friends who fake a relationship for the holidays and discover that sometimes the best love stories are the ones you never see coming.

Art imitating life.

Or maybe life imitating art.

She wasn’t sure which anymore.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Christopher.

Christopher: Come to the apartment tonight. 7:00 p.m. I have a surprise.

Madison smiled.

They’d officially moved into a new place together three months ago—a beautiful loft with floor‑to‑ceiling windows, a library for her books, and a kitchen Christopher had already nearly burned down twice.

But they’d kept the small holiday apartment where it all started, unable to let it go.

It held too many memories.

Madison: The apartment? Is everything okay?

Christopher: Everything’s perfect. Just trust me.

She did.

Completely.

When Madison arrived at the apartment that evening, she found the door unlocked and candlelight flickering from inside.

Her heart started racing.

“Christopher?” she called.

“In here,” his voice answered from the living room.

She pushed open the door and stopped.

The room was transformed.

Candles everywhere.

Rose petals scattered across the floor.

The small table set for two with what looked like an elaborate meal.

And in the center of it all stood Christopher, wearing a suit, looking nervous and hopeful and so handsome it made her chest ache.

“What is all this?” she asked.

“Sit,” he said, pulling out her chair. “First we eat. I made your favorite.”

“You cooked?” she asked, suspicious.

“I had help from a chef friend,” he admitted. “Okay, the chef made it and I reheated it. But I was emotionally involved in the process.”

She laughed, sitting down.

“This is already perfect,” she said.

Throughout dinner, Christopher seemed distracted, fidgeting, checking his watch, making sure her glass was never empty.

Madison pretended not to notice, even though her heart was pounding with anticipation.

After they finished eating, Christopher stood and walked over to the old radio.

He turned it on, and soft jazz filled the room—the same kind of music that had played the night they’d danced together in the dark.

“Dance with me,” he said, extending his hand.

“Again?” she asked, but she was already standing.

“Always,” he said.

They swayed together in the candlelight, and Madison felt tears prick her eyes.

This place—the small apartment where they’d shared a bed, built pillow walls, and slowly fallen in love—would always be special.

“You remember the night we danced here?” Christopher asked softly. “When it was three in the morning and we couldn’t sleep?”

“I remember everything about that night,” she said.

“I told myself I was dancing with you to calm your nerves,” he said. “To help you relax.”

He pulled back slightly to look at her.

“But the truth is, I danced with you because I wanted to hold you,” he said. “Because even then, before we admitted anything, I knew I never wanted to let go.”

“Christopher…” she whispered.

“Let me finish,” he said, his voice unsteady.

“Madison, you came into my life five years ago and turned everything upside down,” he said. “You made me laugh. You challenged me. You saw past the CEO, past the carefully constructed image, and you just…saw me. And you liked me anyway.”

Tears slipped down Madison’s cheeks.

“These past six months have been the best of my life,” he continued. “Living with you. Building a life with you. Waking up every morning and remembering that I get to keep you. That this is real. That you’re mine, and I’m yours.”

He stopped dancing and stepped back.

Then, slowly, he lowered himself to one knee.

Madison’s hands flew to her mouth, her breath catching.

Christopher pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a stunning ring—simple and elegant and so perfectly her that she almost sobbed.

“Madison Carter,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “you write stories about love for millions of people. You create happily‑ever‑afters for a living. But I don’t want to be just a character in one of your books.”

He took a shaky breath.

“I want to be the real thing,” he said. “The person you choose every day. The one who holds you when you’re sad and celebrates with you when you’re happy. The one who brings you coffee without asking and loves every messy, brilliant, beautiful part of you.”

“Christopher,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. “Will you let me be your real‑life happily‑ever‑after?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I haven’t asked yet,” he said with a watery laugh.

“I don’t care,” she replied, laughing through her tears. “The answer is yes.”

He slid the ring onto her finger, his hands trembling.

Then he was standing, and she was in his arms, and they were both laughing and crying at the same time.

“I love you,” she said between kisses.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he said. “Always have. Always will.”

They held each other in the middle of that tiny apartment, surrounded by candlelight and memories, and Madison thought about how strange life was.

How two weeks of pretending had led to the most real thing she’d ever known.

How sometimes the best love stories were the ones you never planned.

One year later, Madison sat on the porch of the house they’d bought together.

A charming place on the outskirts of the city, with a big yard, a cozy reading nook, and enough space for the family they were building.

Her hand rested on her belly, round with six months of pregnancy.

She felt the baby move and smiled, pressing gently where a tiny foot pushed back.

“Stubborn already,” she said to the bump. “Just like your father.”

“I heard that,” Christopher said, stepping out onto the porch with two glasses of lemonade.

He handed her one and settled into the chair beside her, his hand immediately going to her belly.

“How’s my girl today?” he asked.

“Your girl is tired of being pregnant and would like this baby to stop using my ribs as a trampoline,” Madison said.

“I was talking about the baby,” he said, grinning.

“She’s fine,” Madison said. “Kicking up a storm.”

Madison took his hand and placed it where their daughter was currently doing what felt like gymnastics.

“Feel that?” she asked.

Christopher’s face softened with wonder and joy and such overwhelming love that Madison felt tears prick her eyes all over again.

He did that to her constantly now.

Made her cry with happiness at the most random moments.

“Hey there, little one,” he murmured to her belly. “It’s Dad. Just checking in. Your mom says you’re being stubborn, but I think you’re just getting ready for the world. We can’t wait to meet you.”

The baby kicked again, as if in response.

Madison watched her husband—her husband—talk to their daughter and felt so grateful she could barely breathe.

They’d gotten married in the spring, a small ceremony with family and friends in the courtyard of the apartment building where it all began.

Her mother had cried through the entire ceremony.

Her grandmother had made bold jokes during the reception.

Andrew had given a best‑man speech that included a detailed timeline of their “suspicious behavior” leading up to the fake‑dating scheme.

Ila—who had since started dating a kind physical therapist she’d met at the gym—had been Madison’s maid of honor.

It had been chaotic and emotional and absolutely perfect.

“What are you thinking about?” Christopher asked now, looking up at her.

“How different my life is now,” she said. “How a year and a half ago, I was dreading Christmas. And now…”

She gestured around them.

“Now I have all this,” she said. “A husband. A baby on the way. A life I didn’t even know I wanted.”

“Thank goodness for your family’s very intense Christmas expectations,” Christopher said with a grin.

“Thank goodness you agreed to the world’s most ridiculous plan,” she replied.

“Best decision I ever made,” he said. “Well, second best. The best was telling you I loved you.”

“You’re so cheesy,” she said.

“You love it,” he replied.

“I really do,” she admitted.

They sat together as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

Christopher’s hand stayed on her belly, feeling their daughter move.

Madison’s hand covered his, holding it there.

“You know what’s funny?” Madison said.

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said.

“I spent years writing romance novels about people finding love in unexpected ways,” she said. “And then I lived it.”

“Are you going to write about us?” he asked.

“I already did,” she said. “Just finished the manuscript. It’s about two best friends who fake a relationship for Christmas and discover that sometimes the person you’ve been looking for has been there all along.”

“How does it end?” he asked.

“Happily,” she said. “Obviously.”

She smiled.

“With a house, a baby, and a lifetime of loving each other,” she said. “Even when it’s messy and complicated and scary.”

“Sounds realistic,” he said.

“The best love stories are,” she replied.

Christopher stood and held out his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make dinner.”

“You’ll probably burn dinner,” she teased.

“Probably,” he agreed. “But you’ll love me anyway.”

“Always,” she said.

As they walked into their house—their home—Madison thought about everything that had led them here.

The fake dating.

The real feelings.

The chaos and the confessions.

And finally, the courage to choose love.

Her grandmother had been right.

Life was funny.

You made plans, and then love laughed in your face.

But sometimes, if you were very lucky, that laughter turned into the best sound you’d ever heard.

The sound of coming home.