When Love Is Unexpected: A Sweet Fake Relationship Friends To Lovers Romance

20. Chapter 20

Isay yes, but my heart is screaming no. It”s not what I want. I love you.

”Okay,” she says. ”Okay. I”ll help you pack.”

We put all my things back in the suitcase in complete silence. I don”t even know what to say to make things better, to make things go back to normal. The last thing I want is for history to repeat itself and for me to be left standing without the girl and without the friend.

I pick up the suitcase and she picks up the last few shirts still on the hangers and hands them to me.

”Are you coming down for lunch?” I ask.

”No,” she says, ”I have a few phone calls to make, so I”ll just grab something from the fridge up here.”

There”s a smile plastered on her face, but it”s not genuine.

For the first time since I”ve known her, she doesn”t walk me to the door.

Everyone notices her absence during lunch. I recite the excuse she gave me, but no one”s buying it. All I get are skeptical looks.

”We”re still going dancing tonight, right?” asks Emma. “Everyone will be there. It”ll be fun.”

Luke stops by and picks up Emma to take more wedding gifts to their new house. I help them put everything in the car and recognize one of the boxes from the studio.

”Be careful with this box,” I tell Luke, carrying it to the car. ”They”re cups I made at the studio.”

”Emma”s going to love them,” says Luke, ”I”ll make sure to put the box in the kitchen.”

When they drive off, I go back inside and find my parents sitting in the kitchen with expressions I”ve learned to read over the years. The looks they”d give me when I missed curfew, got a bad grade, or did something stupid to one of my sisters.

”Sit down, Son,” says Dad.

”What is going on with Laila?” asks Mom.

”Nothing,” I say, taking a seat at the table.

”I know you slept in the den last night,” says Mom.

”Mom, it”s complicated,” I say.

”Spell it out for us,” says Dad, ”We”re listening.”

I tell them everything. Including the bright idea that I had to pass Laila off as my girlfriend so everyone in the family would know I was over Patricia.

”Oh, Son,” says Mom, ”that was such a bad idea. I can”t believe you felt the need to lie to everyone.”

”Please don”t blame Laila. It was my idea. We”re friends, and she agreed to do it for me.”

”We don”t blame her,” says Dad. ”We don”t blame anyone. We”re just surprised that you”d think lying was the best solution.”

”I hated coming home to everyone asking me how I was doing, trying to fix me up with a friend or someone”s daughter. I”m over Patricia, and I don”t need a new girlfriend to prove that.”

”So,” Mom begins, ”if you two are just friends, what happened last night? What am I missing?”

”I understand this family”s values,” I say, “but I also know that you, as my parents, have never judged me for my bad decisions. I asked Patricia to marry me because we slept together. I felt it was the right thing to do because I loved her and was her first.”

Talking to my parents about this feels so weird, but I press on.

”I loved her, and she loved me. We planned to spend the rest of our lives together. When she told me she didn”t want children, I felt that was a deal breaker, so I was going to break up with her, but instead of breaking up, we slept together. She hinted that she could change her mind about having children. I thought, okay, then let”s get married. I was twenty-two, and I thought I had found the one. She wasn”t the one.”

”So what happened last night?” asks Mom again.

”I”m not going to talk about it,” I say, ”but the point is, it was inappropriate for Laila and me to sleep in the same room.”

”You”re in love with her,” says Mom, ”I can tell.”

”I am,” I say.

”Does she know?” asks Dad. ”You two have been playing the part of two people in love very convincingly.”

”We have a deep friendship, and now we know that we also have a great attraction to each other. That”s why I left the room.”

Their nods tell me they understand.

”If she doesn”t know,” says Dad, ”you need to tell her.”

”I agree,” says Mom.

”If I tell her, and she doesn”t feel the same way, I lose her and her friendship.”

”If you don”t tell her,” says Dad, ”you”ll regret it.”

”I”d rather regret never knowing she loved me than regret telling her and finding out she doesn”t love me.”

”That”s the stupidest thing I”ve ever heard,” says Dad. ”You”re going to let her go because you”re afraid of rejection?”

”Yeah,” I say. ”I experienced rejection with Patricia, and it destroyed me.”

”Patricia wants you back,” says Mom. ”Vanessa has more than hinted at the fact that her daughter regrets her decision to turn your offer of marriage down.”

”She emailed me several times telling me how she feels.”

”How do you feel?” asks Dad.

”I love Laila. I haven”t thought about Patricia in over two years. The day I met Laila, I knew my life would never be the same again.”

”Why did you leave New York if you knew how you felt about her?” asks Dad.

”She had a boyfriend,” I say. ”She was unavailable. We were friends, and he didn”t care too much about me.”

”But she”s available now,” says Mom.

”Yes,” I say, ”but her career is now her focus. Just like it was for Patricia.”

”We”re spinning our wheels here, Son,” says Dad. ”If you let that young woman go, you will be miserable for the rest of your life.”

Dad gets up from the table and walks away. That”s my cue that he”s done with this conversation.

”He makes it sound so simple,” I say.

”We know love is complicated,” Mom says. ”But look at you. You look so despondent right now. I can”t imagine it being much worse if you let her know how you feel and she turns you down. Think about it.”

”I feel much worse than I look, then,” I say.

”We”re all going to Amanda”s for dinner tonight,” Mom says. “If you decide not to go dancing, you and Laila will be on your own for dinner.”

”Okay, Mom,” I say as I watch her walk away. She”s going to find Dad so they can discuss where they went wrong with raising me.

”Great!” I think. ”Now everyone”s mad at me.”

A couple of hours later, I go upstairs and knock on the door to ask Laila if she still wants to go line dancing.

”Come in,” she says.

I walk in just in time to see her put on the cowboy hat. Her hair is down, with wild curls framing her face. She”s not wearing the cowboy outfit she bought. Instead, she”s wearing a cream-colored lace dress with spaghetti straps and a ruffled skirt that is short on the front and long on the back. She”s wearing the leather belt without the buckle and the cowboy boots that hit right below the knee.

”You look amazing,” I say.

”Thank you,” she says without looking at me. ”I”m ready whenever you are.”

”I still have to get dressed,” I say. ”Do you want to wait for me downstairs? Everyone”s gone.”

”Sure,” she says. ”I”ll meet you down there. I”m still doing my makeup.”

I change into a blue and black long-sleeve western shirt, jeans, leather belt, and boots.

On the drive to the bar, Laila is quiet.

”Are you going to be mad at me the whole night?” I ask.

”I”m not mad,” she says. ”It just feels weird between us. I don”t know what to say or how to act.”

”I don”t want that,” I say. ”I want things to be the way they were before.”

”Before we kissed,” she says, finishing my thought for me.

”Yeah,” I say. ”Before we kissed.”

She looks out the window again and remains quiet for the rest of the thirty-minute ride to our destination.

When we arrive, the rest of our party is already there: Emma, Luke, Abby, Andrew, Tiffany, Josh, Luke”s best man, Tom, and his wife Annie.

I sit next to Laila and reach for her hand under the table, but she pulls it away.

The conversation with everyone else at the table flows easily, and we all have something to add about the upcoming wedding.

”Where are you going for your honeymoon?” asks Laila.

”Spain!” Emma squeals, ”I”m so excited! We leave Monday, and we”ll be gone two whole weeks.”

”Now it”s time to burn off all those calories,” says Tiffany, grabbing Josh”s hand.

Everyone at the table grabs their partner and heads to the dance floor.

”Will you dance with me?” I ask, offering Laila my hand.

Her green eyes are boring into me like daggers.

”I don”t know how to line dance yet,” she says.

”It”s a slow song,” I say, listening to the lyrics of one of my favorite songs.

She takes my hand, and I lead her to the dance floor. I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close to me. Moving on the dance floor with her in my arms is sweet torture.

”Something about strawberry wine?” she asks. ”Interesting lyrics.”

”Yes,” I say. ”But you”re much sweeter than any wine.”

After rolling her eyes, she says, ”Don”t try to sweet-talk me; it”s not going to work. As soon as this little charade of yours is over, I”m going home.

”I told my parents everything this morning.”

”Is that right? Then I can go home.”

”You”re my date to my sister”s wedding. Please don”t leave.”

”Fine. I”ll stay for the wedding, but I”m leaving Sunday.”

”What about the reunion?” I ask.

”What about it? You can take Patricia.”

”I don”t want to go with Patricia. I want to go with you. I lo—.”

”You what?” she asks. But I can”t say it. I can”t bring myself to tell her I love her, so I show her.

This song serves as the perfect backdrop to our kiss, making all other sounds and voices disappear. The music is slow, and the words are true. Her lips are sweeter than anything I”ve ever tasted. She wraps her arms around my neck, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her even closer. She not only lets me kiss her but responds by kissing me back. We dance, and we explore each other”s lips. I wish the song could last forever, but when it ends, so does our kiss.

”Don”t ever do that again,” she says, her eyes glistening with tears.

”You kissed me back,” I say in protest as I watch her walk back to our table.

”You said the best and easiest plan is to go back to being just friends. Remember?”

I remember, and she knows it, so she continues.

”I”m not going to be your friend with benefits,” she says, sitting down. ”Even if the only benefit is kissing, I”m not going to do it.”

”It doesn”t feel like you”re my friend right now,” I say. ”Your eyes are like daggers piercing through me.”

She sits back and crosses her arms, which is my signal that she”s mad.

”You told me that even if we kissed, I”d never lose your friendship,” I say in the most gentle way I can.

”You”re right,” she says. For a split second, I think I”ve won this battle, but this is Laila Linder, so I know she just got started, and I”ll never win.

”I”ll admit,” she begins, ”I was curious about what it would be like to kiss you. Then you asked me to pose as your girlfriend. Then we kissed, and I”ll admit this too: you do it quite well.”

That makes me smile.

”No, no,” she says. ”Don”t think that sexy smile is going to fix everything.”

”You think my smile is sexy?” I ask, smiling even bigger.

”Ugh!” she exclaims, ”You”re infuriating!”

”Sorry,” I say, ”I”m listening.”

”Sam, we were fine. We were enjoying our time with your family. We were being ourselves with each other. I thought we were getting closer and that our relationship was changing into something better. When you came home after the golf game, you were different. You were acting weird. You weren”t touching me. It wasn”t even the kissing, Sam. You”ve always found a way to make me feel special, and when I”m with you, I feel… I feel loved.”

”You feel loved?” I ask, letting the words sink in.

”Yes,” she says; her eyes are searching mine. Searching for what?

When I don”t say anything, she gets up and says, ”You frustrate the heck out of me, Sam.”

”Where are you going?” I ask.

”I don”t know,” she says and walks away, heading toward the long hallway leading to the ladies” room. When she hasn”t returned after five minutes, I look for my sister or someone to check in on her, but everyone”s on the dance floor. I walk down the hallway and find Laila in a nook next to an emergency exit door. She”s leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

”Are you trying to make your escape?” I ask, looking at the door.

”It”s locked,” she says. ”So much for it being an emergency exit.”

I put my hand on the wall next to her shoulder and look at her. She looks back at me but doesn”t smile.

”I want to leave,” she says.

”Please don”t leave,” I say. ”You”re right. I”ve been a total jerk these last couple of days.”

”Good. So you admit it. Now can you tell me why?”

”Because I”m a coward. I”ve been afraid to tell you what I feel. You”re my best friend, and the thought of losing you sends me into a tailspin of uncertainty, fear, and depression.”

”Why would you lose me?” she asks. ”I”m trying to understand what is going on, but you refuse to talk to me. That makes me wonder what I”m doing wrong, and it makes me question the strength of our friendship. I don”t want to lose you, Sam.”

”I don”t want to lose us,” I say.

”Your eyes look so much more blue tonight,” she says. ”Maybe it”s the shirt.”

”Maybe it”s you,” I say.

”Sam, I—.”

”Wait,” I say, trying to summon the courage before it”s too late. ”Let me finish.”

”Okay,” she says, uncrossing her arms and reaching for my hand. ”Talk to me.”

It”s now or never.

”When I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful thing my eyes had ever seen. The more I got to know you, the more I realized you are just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. Every time I left you, it hurt. Every time you left me to go meet Eric, it killed me. It killed me until I couldn”t take it anymore.”

”That”s why you left,” she says.

”I thought distance would help,” I say, looking into the emerald ocean I know so well. From the green to the blues and golden specks in her eyes, I know every detail of her gaze. The gaze reserved for me and no one else.

”I was wrong,” I continue. ”Distance only made me realize I missed you like I would miss breathing.”

”What about Helga?” she asks.

”I can”t believe you remember her name,” I say.

”How could I forget?” she asks. ”Helga was the woman who got to see you every day. She was the one who got to talk to you in person. She got to hold your hand. She went on fun excursions with you. She got to sleep with you.” She stares at me, searching for something to confirm the latter part of her comment.

”It bothers you that I had an intimate relationship with someone after meeting you.”

”A little,” she says. ”I”m not gonna lie.”

”You had Eric.”

”I never slept with Eric.”

”I didn”t know that,” I say.

”Right,” she says.

”Sometimes, we”d be at Loren”s helping her with an order, and you”d get up to go meet Eric. I”d go home and imagine you being with him. It was torture.”

”I”m sorry,” she says. ”I wish you had told me.”

”I couldn”t tell you, but I tried to show you,” I say, ”with every touch, with every glance. You had to know.”

”I think my heart has always known, but I need you to tell me.”

She looks at me expectantly.

”I love you, Laila,” I say, throwing all caution to the wind, ”I”ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. Not telling you for fear of losing our friendship is no longer an option. You have to know. You have to know that I can”t picture my life without you in it.”

Her eyes are welling up with tears. I hope they”re the happy kind.

”Is this the part where the prince charming kisses the princess?” she asks.