10
The ride home is a blur of streetlights and laughter, West’s hand on my knee as he navigates Seattle streets.
I’m tipsy. Not drunk drunk, but that perfect level of buzzed where everything feels possible and nothing feels scary.
“That was so fun,” I say for probably the tenth time since we left the reception.
“You said that already.”
I giggle. “Because it’s true. Your friends are great. Reed and Chelsea are perfect together. The whole thing was just perfect.”
We pull into his driveway, and I immediately kick off my heels the second we’re through the front door.
“Oh my god,” I groan, wiggling my toes. “Freedom.”
“Better?”
“So much better. Why do we torture ourselves with shoes like that?”
“Because they make your legs look incredible.”
The words hang in the air between us, and I can see him realizing what he just said.
“I mean—” he starts.
“Thank you,” I say, cutting him off. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”
He looks like his mind is racing a million miles per second.
“West.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop being charming. It’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Just dangerous.”
I pad into the living room in my bare feet, suddenly restless and energetic despite the late hour. The house is quiet and dark, but I’m still buzzing from the wedding, from the dancing, from the way West looked at me all night.
“I need music,” I announce, finding his speaker system.
“Liv, it’s almost midnight.”
“So? We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“A successful fake girlfriend debut.”
I connect my phone to his speakers and scroll through my playlists until I find something perfect. An upbeat song but not too loud, danceable but not overwhelming.
“What are you doing?” West asks as I start swaying to the music.
“Dancing. Join me.”
“I don’t think—”
“Come on. One song. We just survived our first public appearance as a couple. That deserves a celebration dance.”
“A celebration dance?”
“Yes. It’s a thing.”
“It’s not a thing.”
I hold out my hand and plead with my eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he takes it.
We start slow, just swaying together in his living room with only the glow from the streetlights coming through the windows. But then the beat picks up, and I start spinning under his arm, laughing as my dress twirls around me.
“I feel so free here,” I blurt out.
He chuckles as he watches me. “Free from what?” he asks.
I shrug. “Expectations. Worry. The constant voice in my head telling me I’m not good enough for this life.”
“What life?”
“This life. Your life. Houses with granite countertops and friends who toast with craft beer and weddings where people cry happy tears.”
I spin away from him, arms out, head back, letting the music carry me.
“Liv.”
“What?”
“You are good enough for this life.”
I stop spinning and look at him. Did I say that out loud? He’s standing in the middle of his living room, hair messed up from dancing, shirt untucked, looking at me like I’m something he wants to keep.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me want to believe you.”
“Maybe you should believe me.”
The song changes to something slower, more intimate, and suddenly the air between us feels charged.
“West,” I say quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
I open my mouth to tell him that this doesn’t feel fake anymore, that somewhere between the airport and right now old feelings started rushing back to me, that the scariest part about leaving tomorrow is that I don’t want to.
But then I catch myself.
Because this is exactly the kind of moment that ruins everything. The kind of moment where someone says something they can’t take back and everything gets complicated and messy.
“Never mind,” I say instead.
“Liv.”
“It’s nothing. Just... wedding emotions.”
“You sure?” he asks as I nod.
I force a smile. “I’m sure.”
But I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything except that I’m standing in West Carmack’s living room at midnight, dancing to music in the dark, and I’ve never felt more alive.
“One more song?” I ask.
He pulls me back into his arms, and we dance to something soft and sweet, and I let myself pretend for just a few more minutes that this is real. That I’m his actual girlfriend and he’s my actual boyfriend and tomorrow we’ll wake up together and figure out what to have for breakfast.
“Thank you,” I say into his chest. “For tonight. For letting me be part of this. For making me feel like I belong.”
“You do belong.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. But thank you for making me feel like I do.”
The song ends, and we stand for a moment, swaying slightly even though there’s no music.
“I should probably go to bed,” I say, but I don’t move away from him.
“Probably.”
“Long day tomorrow. Flight home. Back to reality.”
“Yeah.”
“This was nice though.”
He agrees, looking down at me. “Yeah, it was.”
We’re both whispering now, like speaking too loudly might break whatever spell we’re under.
He adds, “I’m really glad you came.”
“Me too.”
I should go to my room and close the door and try to forget how right this feels.
Instead, I sink down onto his couch, suddenly exhausted.
“Just for a minute,” I say, curling up against the cushions.
“You should go to bed.”
“I will. In a minute.”
He sits down next to me, and somehow I end up with my head on his shoulder, his arm around me.
“This is nice,” I murmur. “We’re good at this. The couple thing.”
“We are.”
“It’s almost like we’re actually...”
I close my eyes, just for a second, just to rest them.
The last thing I remember is the sound of West’s heartbeat under my ear and the feeling of his hand stroking my hair.
When I wake up, it’s morning, and I’m still on the couch, still in his arms, and the sunlight streaming through the windows makes everything look different.
Real.
And terrifying .