Chapter Fourteen The Beard Ultimatum
Linda
IT WAS SUPPOSED to be harmless.
Just brunch. Just the parents. Just a casual “this is the guy I’m totally not really dating but absolutely fake dating so has to meet my parents and who brings me pancakes and has weapon-grade cheekbones” kind of thing.
But nooooo .
Linda’s mom had brought out The Fancy Plates?. Her dad was already calling Rhys “son” before the appetizer. And Sir Stumps-a-Lot had immediately betrayed her by sitting in Mom’s lap like he’d been raised in a gated community .
Rhys, the arrogant bastard, was being absolutely perfect .
He laughed at her dad’s terrible jokes. He helped set the table. He complimented her mom’s ridiculous ceramic frog collection like he meant it. He even brought flowers that matched the living room décor.
“How,” Linda hissed at him in the hallway, “do you know my mom’s favorite color scheme?!”
He blinked, innocent. “I scrolled back far enough on your Instagram.”
“ You stalked me?! ”
“It’s called research. I had a lot of time on my hands last night—since you never called me back. I was meeting the parents. I came prepared.”
Linda stared at him.
He smiled.
It was too much.
She panicked.
Her brain short-circuited again. Her mom was smiling like she was already imagining matching Christmas sweaters. Her dad said “son.” The dog was in her mom’s lap. And Rhys was perfect. Too perfect. It felt like drowning in sunlight.
And then, because her brain short-circuited from the sheer domesticity of it all, she didn’t want her parents to love him too much, she blurted it out at the dinner table between green beans and passive-aggressive family gossip .
“Oh! Yeah. I lied. We’re not dating. I’m just his beard.”
Her mom’s eyes widened. Her dad blinked. Silence stretched like hot sidewalk taffy.
Oh God. Maybe that came out wrong?
But no—it was technically the truth, wasn’t it? She wasn’t really dating him. And he was… well. You know. Too polished. Too charming. Too beard-needing. Even if in the last few months it had started feeling real. It all tracked.
She was saving them. Sparing everyone the heartbreak. Controlling the narrative, for once.
Sir Stumps-a-Lot made a small, offended honk noise.
Rhys… did not flinch .
Linda blinked rapidly. “I—I mean—uh, not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously. And obviously I’m the world’s most supportive pretend girlfriend because, you know, allyship and brunch. But, um, yes. He’s, uh… super gay. Very. Can’t walk past a sequin. The whole thing.”
Her mother, bless her, immediately gasped and clutched her pearls (real ones—Linda checked).
“Oh, sweetheart, why didn’t you say so?” she said to Rhys, patting his hand. “We support you fully . Always. Love is love.”
Her dad nodded solemnly. “I watch Queer Eye. ”
Sir Stumps-a-Lot rolled dramatically onto his side like he couldn’t even deal .
Rhys, still unbothered, smiled graciously. “Thank you. It means a lot to feel so welcomed.”
Linda choked on her wine. “WHAT.”
Rhys turned to her, eyes twinkling. “You started it, sweetheart. I’m just following your lead. I get wanting to be honest with your parents.”
Her mom beamed. “You two are just so comfortable together. It’s like you’ve known each other forever. Like platonic soulmates. I love it.”
Linda gave him a look —one that said: I will murder you with a corn cob.
Rhys winked.
It didn’t help.
Later, as they were leaving and Linda was contemplating just walking into traffic out of sheer secondhand embarrassment, her mom hugged her tightly.
“You’ve always needed someone steady. I’m glad you have each other—even if it’s just as soulmates with excellent taste in brunch,” she whispered.
Linda nodded stiffly. “Mmhm. Yep. Platonic soulmates.” Now was not the time to mention she’d started to wonder how his lips would taste.
Once they were in the car, Linda turned to him.
“You are the worst person I have ever met. ”
“I was being nice. ”
“You brought my mom peach-colored roses.”
“I also made your dad laugh. Twice.”
Sir Stumps-a-Lot whined from the backseat like he needed them to get it together.
Linda groaned. “They’re going to invite you to Thanksgiving, aren’t they?”
“I hope so,” Rhys said. “I make a mean cranberry sauce.”
Linda slapped a hand over her face. “I hate you.”
He looked over, annoyingly sincere. “No, you don’t.”
She sighed. “I really don’t. I’m sorry the being your beard thing didn’t work out—sorry I ruined it.”
Rhys froze. “What?”
“There’s no point now. My parents know and my mom is a talker —”
“I—Uh.” He fidgeted in the driver’s seat. More nervous than she had ever seen him. With a wry laugh, he continued. “My ex reached out,” he said softly, eyes on the road. “Wants to get back together.”
Linda blinked. “And you said...?”
“I told him I’m with you now. Like with with. Seriously with. Long term with. ”
“So you’re saying you need a fake girlfriend for your ex, and still need a beard girlfriend for your family?”
“About that—I’ve uh also told my family that we are serious. My mom was on my case about kids and—”
“I hate you twice as much now.”
Sir Stumps-a-Lot barked once, smug.
Rhys offered her a gummy peach ring from the cupholder stash.
She took it.
And maybe— maybe —she could forgive him.