10. Belle #2
"Like as a couple," I clarify, feeling my heart race as the plan takes shape. "Think about it. We both have invitations. We're both terrified of the matching aspect. What if we went as each other's dates and avoided the whole thing entirely?"
Adam stares at me for a long moment, processing the suggestion. In the dim light, I can see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the pros and cons of what I'm proposing.
"You mean fake dating," he says slowly.
"Exactly. We attend together, present ourselves as an established couple, enjoy the experience without any pressure to find our 'perfect matches' or participate in whatever matching ceremonies they have planned."
"That's..." Adam pauses, running his hand through his hair in the way he does when he's thinking hard about something. "That's actually not a terrible idea."
"Really?"
"Really. I mean, we know each other well enough to be convincing. We're comfortable together. And it would solve both our problems, because I'll attend without my mother assuming I'm actively pack-hunting, and you get to experience the ball without whatever pressure you're worried about."
Relief floods through me so intensely that I feel lightheaded. "So you'll do it?"
"I'll do it," Adam confirms, then grins. "How does one fake date with their best friend? Because I feel like there might be some acting involved that we're both crap at."
I laugh, remembering our last disastrous attempt at deception. "Remember when we tried to convince Mrs. Henderson that we were dating so she'd stop trying to set you up with her niece?"
Adam groans and covers his face. "Oh God, yes. You called me 'sweetie' and I physically recoiled like you'd slapped me."
"And then you tried to put your arm around me and somehow managed to elbow me in the ribs instead!"
"I panicked! You were standing closer than usual and I misjudged the distance!" Adam protests. "But you weren't any better. You tried to hold my hand and grabbed my wrist like you were checking my pulse."
"I was nervous! And then when she asked how long we'd been together, we both answered at the same time with completely different timelines."
"Three weeks!" Adam mimics in a high voice.
"Six months!" I counter in a deeper tone.
"And then we both just stood there staring at each other in horror while Mrs. Henderson looked between us like we'd lost our minds."
"She definitely didn't believe us. I think she felt sorry for us and stopped asking questions out of secondhand embarrassment."
"We are going to be terrible at this," Adam says, but he's still grinning.
“Yeah,” I agree. "But at least we'll fail together.”This time we’ll practice in advance, to prepare us for the event.”
“How?”
“We..” I pause, realizing I haven't thought this through as thoroughly as I probably should have. "Stand closer together? Hold hands? Look at each other like we're... romantically interested instead of platonically comfortable?"
“Easier said than done,” Adam mutters, but he's smiling.
"Come here."
I stand up and move toward his chair, suddenly aware of how the simple act of approaching Adam feels different when there's romantic pretense involved. Even fake romantic pretense.
"Closer," Adam says, reaching for my hand.
The moment his fingers close around mine, I understand the magnitude of what we're attempting. Adam's hand is warm, slightly callused from years of handling books, and completely familiar.
"This feels weird," I admit.
"Incredibly weird," Adam agrees. "But not bad weird. Just different weird."
"Should we try looking at each other like we're in love?"
"I have no idea how to do that," Adam confesses. "What does being in love even look like?"
We're a mess. In the library with books, we're good, but I didn't realize until now that not only have I had limitations on romantic encounters, but so has Adam, which is why his mom desperately wants to set him up.
Maybe I should set him free. It's selfish of me to want Adam to stay here forever, especially when I get the feeling he's not really happy.
I shake my head at the idea. Of course he's happy, he loves my chocolate treats.
"I don't know! You're asking the wrong person. When have I ever been in love?"
"Never, as far as I know. Which means we're both attempting to fake an emotion neither of us has ever experienced,” I confess.
Great. This plan is already falling apart and we haven't even left the library."
Adam laughs, the sound echoing through the quiet space and somehow making everything feel less awkward. "Okay, let's approach this scientifically. What do people in love look like in movies?"
"They gaze into each other's eyes a lot," I suggest.
"Right. Gazing. We can do gazing."
Adam turns to face me fully, still holding my hand, and looks directly into my eyes. For a moment, we just stare at each other, trying to manufacture romantic feelings through concentrated eye contact.
It's ridiculous. And awkward. And somehow also... not entirely unpleasant.
"How's this?" Adam asks, his voice slightly lower than usual.
"It's..." I pause, caught off guard by how different Adam looks when he's focusing all his attention on my face. I've looked into his eyes thousands of times over the years, but never with this kind of intentional intimacy. "It's actually not bad."
"Really?"
"Really. You have nice eyes,” I say.
"Thank you. So do you."
We continue staring at each other, and gradually the awkwardness begins to fade. Maybe it's the dim lighting, or just the fact that we're both trying so hard to make this work, but something shifts between us.
"This might actually be doable," I say softly.
"Yeah," Adam agrees, his voice still lower than normal. "Though I think we need to work on the hand-holding. It still feels like we're about to start a business meeting."
"What's wrong with our hand-holding?"
"It's too... polite. Too careful. Couples who are actually in love probably hold hands like they mean it."
To demonstrate his point, Adam adjusts his grip, interlacing our fingers and drawing me slightly closer. The change is subtle but significant and suddenly the contact feels more intimate, more intentional.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much better," I admit, surprised by how the small adjustment changes the entire dynamic between us. "Though this is definitely going to take some getting used to."
"The hand-holding or the whole fake relationship thing?"
"Both. All of it. The idea that we're going to walk into the most exclusive social event in the region and convince everyone that we're madly in love when we've never even kissed."
"Do you think we'll need to kiss?" Adam asks, apparently following the same train of thought.
"Probably not. I mean, how much public affection do couples usually display at formal events?"
"I have no idea. I've never been to a formal event as part of a couple."
"Neither have I."
We stand there for a moment, still holding hands, both contemplating the kissing question that neither of us seems ready to address directly.
"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," I finally say.
"Right. Bridge-crossing. Very practical."
"Are you having second thoughts?" I ask, suddenly worried that I've pushed Adam into something he's not actually comfortable with.
"No," Adam says immediately. "No, I think this is actually brilliant. Complicated and potentially disastrous, but brilliant."
"Potentially disastrous how?"
"Well, what happens after the ball? Do we pretend to break up? Do we tell people it was fake the whole time? Do we just... go back to being friends and hope no one asks uncomfortable questions?"
I don't have good answers for any of them. I've been so focused on getting through the ball itself that I haven't thought about the aftermath.
"We'll figure it out," I say with determination I'm not sure I feel. "One crisis at a time."
"That's your solution to everything, isn't it? Figure it out as you go,”
Adam says.
“It's worked so far."
"Has it, though?" Adam asks gently. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been figuring things out alone for a long time. Maybe it's okay to have help sometimes."
His words hit deeper than they should, touching on truths I've been avoiding about my tendency to handle everything independently. Since my parents died, I've prided myself on self-sufficiency, on not needing anyone else to manage my life or solve my problems.
But standing here in the empty library, holding hands with my best friend while planning to fake a romantic relationship, I'm forced to acknowledge that maybe some problems are easier to handle with help.
"You're right," I admit. "I do try to handle everything alone. I'm not very good at accepting help."
"I know. But I'm offering anyway. For the ball, for whatever comes after, for whatever you need."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight with emotions I can't identify. This is why Adam means so much to me—not just because he's my friend, but because he sees me clearly and offers support without making me feel weak for needing it.
"Thank you," I say softly.
"Don't thank me yet. Wait until we see if we can actually pull this off without completely embarrassing ourselves."
"Speaking of which," I say, stepping back slightly but keeping hold of his hand, "we probably need to coordinate our story. How long have we been 'dating'? How did our relationship change from friendship to romance? What are our future plans?"
"Good point. And we should probably practice some more basic couple behaviors. Dancing, for instance."
"Dancing?" The word comes out higher than I intended.
"It's a ball, Belle. There will definitely be dancing. And if we're supposed to be a couple, we'll need to dance together without looking like we're afraid to touch each other."
"I can't dance,” I confess.
"What do you mean you can't dance?" Adam asks. “How am I your best friend and I don’t know that you can’t dance? We’ve danced together at parties, haven’t we?”
"I mean I literally do not know how to do ballroom dancing, formal dancing, any kind of dancing that requires coordination with another person."
Adam stares at me in disbelief. “Oh! I was thinking of course you know how to dance, but formal dancing. Yeah, that’s an issue.”
"When exactly would I have learned? I've never been to an event that required formal dancing skills."
"Okay," Adam says, clearly recalibrating our practice session. "Dancing lessons. We definitely need dancing lessons."
"From who?"
"I... don't know. YouTube?" Adam asks.
"You want to learn ballroom dancing from YouTube?"
"Do you have a better suggestion?"
I consider this for a moment. "Mrs. Patterson taught dance classes when she was younger. Maybe she'd be willing to give us a crash course."
"Mrs. Patterson from the historical society? She's got to be eighty years old."
"Exactly. Which means she learned proper ballroom dancing when it was actually a standard social skill. Plus, she's discreet. She won't ask too many questions about why we suddenly need to learn to dance together.”
"We're a couple, so she should ask questions. We're messing up before we've even begun!" Adam chuckles as he waves our hands in the air. The hands that we're still holding, I forgot about that. Maybe this will work.
"That's... actually not a bad idea," Adam admits. "Though I feel like we're getting in way over our heads here."
"Probably. But we're committed now."
"Are we? Because we could still back out. Send our regrets, stay home, pretend this never happened."
For a moment, I'm tempted. The safe option would be to avoid the ball entirely, to maintain our comfortable status quo without risking exposure or complications.
But then I think about Felix Romano's visit to the library yesterday, about the way my suppressants failed when I was near him, about the constant vigilance required to maintain my hidden identity.
Maybe the ball represents an opportunity to experience something extraordinary without having to risk everything I've worked to protect.
"I don't want to back out," I say firmly. "I want to go. I want to see what all the fuss is about, experience something magical, wear a beautiful dress and dance and feel like I'm part of something special."
"Even if it means fake-dating your best friend?" Adam asks.
"Especially if it means fake-dating my best friend. Because you're the only person I trust enough to share something like this with."
Adam's smile is soft and genuine. "In that case, we're really doing this."
"We're really doing this."
"God help us both."
We spend the next hour planning our fake relationship backstory, laughing at our own awkwardness and marveling at the complexity of what we're attempting.
By the time we're ready to leave the library, we've established that we've been "secretly dating" for three months, that our transition from friendship to romance was gradual and natural, and that we're taking things slow because we value our friendship too much to rush into anything serious.
It's a believable story, partly because it contains enough truth to be sustainable and partly because we know each other well enough to maintain consistency.
"One more thing," Adam says as we gather our things and prepare to leave. "What are we going to wear?"
"I have no idea. I've never shopped for formal ball attire."
"Neither have I. Though I assume it involves more than the suit I wore to my cousin's wedding,” Adam says.
"Definitely more than that. We'll need to coordinate our outfits so we look like an actual couple."
"Shopping trip?" Adam asks. “On me!” He confirms, because he knows that all my money gets tied up in rent and a little bit more for the odd treat in the cafe.
"Shopping trip. This weekend?"
"This weekend," Adam agrees. "And Belle? Thank you. For trusting me with this."
"Thank you for agreeing to help me avoid social catastrophe."
"Always happy to enable your schemes."
As we leave the library together, walking out into the crisp autumn night, I feel a mix of excitement and terror about what we're planning.
In less than two weeks, Adam and I will walk into Thornfield Palace as a fake couple, pretending to be in love while navigating one of the most exclusive social events in the region.
It's either going to be the adventure of a lifetime or the most spectacular disaster in the history of fake relationships.
Possibly both.
But as Adam walks me to my car and gives me a hug goodnight that feels just slightly different than usual, I find myself looking forward to finding out.
Because maybe, just maybe, pretending to be in love with my best friend will teach me something about what I actually want from life.
And maybe that knowledge will be worth whatever complications come with it.