Four #3
Dammit. Why hadn’t I considered more people finding out? On one hand, it might be easier to fake romance on a double date
with our friends Serafina and Joe. But we’ve known them since college—they’re expecting their first child after years of trying
to conceive and already asked Gavin and me to be godparents. Involving them would make things way more complicated.
Same with Gavin’s family, but no worries over them finding out—they all live out of state.
His brother and sister-in-law do spend about a month at Gavin’s dad’s tree farm every summer with their kids, but while Wisconsin is a lot closer than Colorado, the chances of them surprising Gavin with a visit are slim.
My sister and Ted, though, they’re the wild cards. I wouldn’t be shocked if they somehow caught us in the act. Kim has a knack
for getting in my business. When I was sixteen and I finally worked up the nerve to tell my crush I liked him as we were leaving
the homecoming dance, she interrupted us by pulling up to the curb and laying on the horn.
But even if she saw me and Gavin together, what would possibly give her the wrong idea? Unless we were holding hands or something...
2. No touching.
“No touching ?” Evie uses her hot-pink pen to cross that off. “How else will they sell it?” Her expression shifts, a gleam appearing in
her golden-brown eyes. “Unless you want them to build up some serious tension that they need to work off with a sexy interlude.”
My writer brain jumps to the challenge and supplies images of all the ways the characters could work off tension. I rip my
mind away before visions of Gavin slip in to replace Victor in that scenario. An overactive imagination is usually a blessing
in my profession, but not in this case.
“Nope, you’re right.” I frantically scribble through that item on the list. “An embargo on touching would only make them want
to touch more.” Exactly what we’d want for a romance novel, and exactly what I need to avoid with Gavin.
She narrows her eyes, and I realize how suspicious I’m acting. Not only is Evie really smart, she invents bonkers plots for
a living, and I can’t have her turning her powers of speculation on me.
“They’re just doing it for a work thing,” I say, circling back to her question about their goals. After all, this is for my work, indirectly. Quickly, I add another point to the list:
2. Friends and family can’t find out.
“It’s going to be so wonderfully awkward when they get caught.” Evie’s gleeful words send a chill through me. Even if we manage
to keep it a secret, this whole situation screams risky. Complicated, even with rules. With that in mind I write:
3. Nothing that happens on the date is real.
Evie is biting her lip, like she’s considering all the loopholes. Seeing the words inked on the page highlights the pitfalls
of this plan in stark clarity. Nothing is real? What if we start talking about family drama, or what’s going on with work? Some things will inevitably be real,
and how are we supposed to decide what to believe? It’s too ambiguous.
An idea begins to form. A way forward, when all I’ve seen for months are brick walls.
“What if it’s not a date?” I roll the possibility around in my mind, seeing it take shape. My original plan, courtesy of Kim’s
pestering, was to shake up my routine by going on dates, but there are other ways. The same goes for my characters. If I can’t
maneuver Victor and Sydney on a date, can I do the next best thing and have them fake romance another way?
I realize Evie is waiting on me to elaborate and I say, “Victor wants to break out and start getting contracts for big, sweeping
novels with lots of characters. He needs to be able to narrate compelling scenes that run the gamut of human emotion. Everything
from grief to elation to passion.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly, clearly not following.
“Even though he went to acting school and did a few commercials and small TV roles, he’s rusty after years of narrating self-help books and how-to manuals.”
She makes a go-on gesture. “And?”
“What if Sydney acts out some scenes with him?” I can picture it unfolding, both of them tentative at first, then getting
into character the more they practice. “It would be a safe space for him to get back into the swing of portraying hard-hitting,
emotional moments. Romantic ones, too,” I add. “Fake dating, under the pretense of acting.”
Evie is nodding along like she’s starting to see my point, but like always, she doesn’t let me off easy. “Why couldn’t he
just enroll in acting classes?”
“Because people are roasting him on social media for the celebrity impressions that were supposed to be for Sydney’s ears
only,” I offer, seeing things fall into place. “Remixes are popping up, people commenting that he wasn’t even close and not
to quit his day job, that sort of thing. His confidence is at an all-time low. Sydney wants to boost his spirits and get him
back on track, and this is her solution.”
“You’re onto something,” she says. “If they’re acting then they can justify whatever romantic situation comes up. Sydney won’t
be as worried about the potential repercussions to their friendship.”
“This could work, Evie. This could be my breakthrough.”
She’s grinning at me. “Told you it was only a matter of time.”
What would my relationship with Gavin look like, if there was no chance of getting hurt? I ignore that unhelpful train of
thought.
Technically, I have the solution to my plot problems. An excuse to cancel the date. But part of me is worried I only got here
because the stakes were high. Did trying to solve a real-world problem unlock a hidden well of creativity?
Role-playing. I write it down, and the word sends a delicious thrill down my spine, like sanctioned rule-breaking—pretty appealing as someone
who’s always played it safe. But how could Gavin and I get into character without the excuse of acting out a scene? Fake dating
is a trope, but it isn’t the only one. I begin to jot down ideas, pen flying across the paper. Is this risky? Yes, but I’m
also feeling more inspired than I have since I signed the contract, and it’s all because I agreed to date my best friend.