Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Eva
“Then let’s get our story straight. I wrote down some questions that we need to work on so we can be on the same page.” Esteban grabs a small notepad from the counter and hands it to me.
I take it, biting back a smile as I glance at the scribbled handwriting.
It's... rough. Bold and messy, like he wrote it in a rush or maybe that’s just how he always writes.
I kind of love it. It’s charming. Proof that this gorgeous man isn’t perfect.
Finally, something that makes him feel more human.
I skim through the list and nod. “These are good questions.”
“They are.” He grins, walking back to the stove. “The food’s ready. Let’s sit down, eat, and we can plan our love story.”
I follow him to the table, my stomach already growling as the smell of spices and garlic hits me full force.
Puerto Rican and Mexican food are my favorites, and there’s something magical about eating a homemade meal prepared by someone who clearly knows their way around a kitchen.
My mouth waters just looking at the plate.
I grab both of our plates and place them on the table while Esteban opens the fridge. “I’ve got water, sodas, and fruit juice. What do you want?”
“I’ll go with juice.”
He nods, pours some into two glasses, and joins me at the table. I glance at the colorful plate in front of me: white rice, saucy beans, perfectly browned chicken, and golden tostones. My heart actually skips a beat.
“This looks delicious,” I say, already reaching for my fork.
“I know,” he says with a cocky grin. “Try it. I need to see your face when you take that first bite of my food.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I scoop up a little bit of everything, blow on it gently, then take a bite.
And, oh my God.
The flavor hits me instantly. The rice is perfect, the beans are comforting and savory, and the chicken is juicy with just the right amount of crispy edges. I can’t help the sound that escapes me. “Mmm—oh my God.”
Esteban leans forward, eyes lit with amusement. “There it is. That’s the sound I was waiting for.”
I fan myself dramatically, mirroring the way I reacted to the tostones earlier. “Okay, seriously? This is so good it’s disrespectful.”
He laughs, clearly proud. “Cooking is my love language. Consider this our first official fake-date meal.”
I glance at him over my fork. “If all our fake dates come with food like this, I might fall for you for real.”
He doesn’t flinch. He just holds my gaze and quietly says, “Maybe that’s part of my plan.”
Something flips in my stomach, and it’s not the food.
But I can’t let myself get carried away.
Noah warned me about this, told me more than once that Esteban is a natural flirt, that half the things he says don’t mean anything.
Still, it’s hard to remember that when he looks at me like this, like maybe I’m not imagining the spark.
I wish—God, I wish—it was more than just his charm.
That he actually meant it. That he wanted me the way I want him.
I try to shake it off, focusing instead on the notepad next to me. “Okay, Mr. Casanova. Let’s talk details. These questions are pretty straightforward first date questions: favorite movies, pet peeves, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah,” he says, taking a bite of his food. “We need to get our stories straight. How we met, how long we’ve been together, what we like about each other. Stuff people ask when they’re nosy.”
“Got it.” I nod.
“So… how did we meet?” I ask, grabbing the notepad and twirling my fork like it’s a mic.
“I think it’s easier if we stay close to the truth,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to pitch a blockbuster.
“We’ve known each other forever. You came to town one summer while you were in college, I saw you, fell hopelessly in love—obviously—and we’ve been secretly dating ever since.
Now that you’re back for good, we decided to make it official and plan the wedding of the decade. ”
“Wow.” I blink. “Look at you building the romance novel timeline.”
“Thank you, thank you.” He bows slightly.
I tap my finger against my lips. “Okay, but what about the proposal? Who did it?”
“I guess we can say that you proposed to me. You know, progressive woman and all that.” He flashes a smug grin.
I give him a look. “Absolutely not. I would never propose to a man. I’m all for women’s rights, but I draw the line at getting on one knee.”
“Ouch.” Esteban dramatically clutches his chest. “My dreams of being swept off my feet just died.”
“You’ll survive,” I say, smirking. “You proposed to me. I want a good story though. Something romantic.”
He thinks for a second. “Fine. We’ll say I did it in front of your family at the Ross Christmas dinner.”
I narrow my eyes. “With the whole Ross clan there? My aunt Karen would’ve started crying before you even opened the ring box. She’s a sucker for proposals.”
“Exactly,” he says, proud. “I got on one knee, made a heartfelt speech about how I’ve loved you since forever, and your dad tried to act tough but had tears in his eyes. Your mom filmed the whole thing on her phone and accidentally had the camera in selfie mode the entire time.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that’s way too accurate. This is sounding suspiciously like it actually happened.”
“Maybe in another life,” he says with a shrug.
I ignore the weird little flip that statement gives my stomach and glance down at the next question on the list. “Okay, when’s our anniversary?”
Esteban leans over to look. “Let’s pick something easy to remember. Valentine’s Day?”
“Too cliché.”
“April Fool’s Day?”
I blink at him. “Really?”
“It would explain so much.” He grins.
I laugh. “Let’s go with June third. It’s random, not too close to any holidays, and easy to remember.”
He nods. “Deal. June third, the day I tricked you into loving me.”
I make a face. “Please. I’d never fall for a man who writes like a serial killer.”
“You’re holding my handwriting against me?” His face full of false shock.
“Yes. It’s chaos. That notepad looks like a ransom note.”
Esteban chuckles, then points at the list. “Okay, next one, favorite thing about each other. This is where you swoon and say something like, ‘Esteban’s eyes are so dreamy, and he cooks like a sexy Gordon Ramsay.’”
I pretend to think. “Hmm. No, I’ll say your cooking’s okay, your eyes are… acceptable, but my favorite thing about you is how you look when you’re concentrating. Like when you were making the tostones and your tongue did that little thing—”
“What thing?” His eyes widen.
I smirk. “The thing. I won’t say more. Let it haunt you.”
“You’re evil,” he mutters, grinning.
“And what’s your favorite thing about me?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Your laugh.”
That throws me. For a second, I just sit there blinking at him.
He leans forward, grinning now like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You laugh with your whole face. It’s loud and real. It makes other people want to laugh too.”
I blink again. “Wow. That was… surprisingly sweet.”
“I have my moments.” He shrugs.
Shaking my head, I try to hide my smile as I write all the answers down. “Okay. Last one, pet peeves.”
Esteban immediately says, “People who scrape their fork on their plate.”
I freeze mid-bite. “Like… this?” I slowly drag my fork along the ceramic, wincing at the sound.
He winces harder. “You’re a monster.”
“I know.” I grin. “Mine is people who don’t use coasters.”
He gasps and looks at the glass he just set directly on the wooden table. “Shit.”
I point triumphantly. “Gotcha.”
“Now you’re just making rules to mess with me.”
“Obviously.”
He grins again, and this time it lingers. For a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then he softly says, “We make a good team, Ross.”
I look down at the notepad, our fake love story all mapped out, and say quietly, “Yeah. We really do.”
I’m still grinning at our ridiculous pet peeves when Esteban takes the notepad and flips to the back and clears his throat like he’s about to read a contract.
“Alright, next question’s important. What are your thoughts on PDA?”
I raise an eyebrow. “PDA as in public displays of affection?”
He nods, suddenly looking all serious, which only makes it worse.
“When we go to Key West in two weeks, people will be watching us, especially McNeal and his wife. So…” He pauses, looking me dead in the eye. “What are we thinking? Hand holding? A kiss on the cheek? Maybe… a few on the mouth?”
I blink. “A few on the—? Are you asking me how often you can kiss me in public, Esteban?”
He shrugs, but there’s a playful gleam in his eyes. “Hey, I’m just trying to be a respectful fake fiancé. You tell me the boundaries.”
I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm. Hand holding is fine. Kisses on the cheek, also fine. But mouth kisses?” I squint at him. “Only if they’re quick. None of that slow, smoldering, TV-drama kind of stuff.”
He leans forward, elbow on the table, resting his chin on his fist. “So you’re saying I have to sneak them in before you have time to protest?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m saying we keep it PG-13.”
He smirks. “Define PG-13, Ross. Some PG-13 movies get spicy.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You still haven’t said no.”
I pick up my glass and take a slow sip of juice just to stall. “Fine,” I say eventually, trying to sound stern. “You can kiss me, occasionally. But you better act like a man in love, not a man trying to win an Oscar for best on-screen kiss.”
“Got it.” Esteban laughs. “Devoted fiancé mode: activated. But just so you know, I’m a great kisser.”
I give him a look. “That sounds like something a mediocre kisser would say. And I bet you’ve had a los of practice”
He clutches his chest. “Ouch. That’s a personal attack.”
“Prove me wrong,” I tease, then instantly regret the words when his eyebrows shoot up.
His gaze drops to my lips for a half-second before he smirks. “Don’t tempt me, Ross.”
I toss a piece of tostone at him. “Back to the list, Romeo.”
He catches it mid-air and pops it in his mouth. “Fair. Okay, next, do we sleep in the same bed while we’re there, or do I have to sleep on the floor?”
I narrow my eyes. “What kind of fake engagement is this? Are you trying to get me in your bed?”
He raises his hands innocently. “I’m just saying, if we’re staying with his family, it might be weird if we ask for two rooms. We’ll have to figure that out based on the situation.”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine. We can share a bed. But you stay on your side.”
“My side just so happens to be the middle.” He grins, smug as ever.
“You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re so into it.” He catches the napkin I throw at him.
We’re both laughing when Esteban leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.
“Okay, so we got our story straight,” he says, still grinning.
“Now I need to know a little bit more about you. I mean, I know you studied chemistry, want to launch your own skincare line, and you’re Instafamous or whatever—”
I snort. “I’m not Instafamous.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Your brother said people stop you in the mall.”
“That happened once. Maybe twice.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.
He smirks like he doesn’t believe me, but lets it go. “Alright, fine. You’re a humble celebrity. So what’s next?”
“Well…” I sit up straighter, kind of excited to talk about it. “Ashton offered me a spot at his salon downtown. I was planning on launching an online store to sell the products I already promote, and once I’m done developing my own line, I’d sell that there too.”
His eyes widen a bit. “That’s badass.”
“Right? And having a physical space means I can meet clients, give mini-consultations, talk to people about their skin. It’s not just about selling. It’s about educating.”
“Like skincare therapy?”
“Exactly. Obviously, I’ll keep creating content because that’s what’s bringing in steady money right now, but yeah, that’s my plan.”
Esteban nods, clearly impressed. “Damn. You really have your shit together.”
“Fake engagement or not, I don’t play when it comes to my goals.”
“I can see that.” He gives me a crooked grin. “So now I have a question: what kind of product should I be using? Do men even need skincare?”
My jaw drops in mock offense. “Do men need—Esteban! Your face is literally your first impression!”
He chuckles, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay! School me, Ross.”
“Everyone needs skincare,” I say, launching into teacher mode. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just a good cleanser, a hydrating moisturizer, and SPF. Always SPF.”
“What about the fancy dropper bottles?”
“You mean serums? Depends on your skin type, but yes, some serums can work wonders. In fact—” I pause, a new idea clicking into place. “I’m testing a new line for men. You should be my model.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to put my face on the Internet?”
“Yup. You’re my fiancé, remember?” I smirk. “It’s totally normal that you show up on my socials.”
“Touché.” He laughs and I’m distracted by how much I like hearing it. “Alright, I’m in. I’ll be your skincare guinea pig.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring some products tomorrow and we can film a little intro video. I’ll explain the routine, you’ll try it out, and you’ll get glowing skin in the process.”
“You’re saying this could be even hotter?” He points at his face.
“I’m saying you’ll be radiant, Esteban.”
He grins at me and there’s something really genuine in the way his eyes soften. “Cool. Tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow.” I nod, smiling back.
And just like that, we have a plan for fake love, flawless skin, and a little social media magic. Totally normal for an engaged couple, right?