Chapter 22
TARA
“So, let me get this straight,” Becky says, restocking glasses while I prep garnishes. She eyes me like I’ve completely lost it. “You’re fake dating your brother’s best friend to help him avoid an arranged marriage? And tomorrow you’re going to some fancy dinner at the school keeping this up?”
I slice a lime—probably with too much force. “When you say it like that, it sounds insane.”
Becky snorts. “Girl, it is insane.” But she’s grinning. “Though honestly? I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he comes to pick you up. That doesn’t look fake to me.”
I freeze for half a second before I focus very intently on the lemons. “It’s just an act.”
“Mmm.” Becky leans against the counter, arms crossed. “And who exactly are you trying to convince with that sentence? Me? Or yourself?”
I glare at her. “This is strictly business.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Business where you make out sometimes?”
“We were drunk.”
“You literally just sighed dreamily when you said ‘drunk.’”
“I did not.”
Becky slurps her drink, completely unbothered. “You’re already in deep, aren’t you?”
“No.” I snort, way too loud, way too defensive. “This is all part of the plan. A flawless, foolproof plan.”
She hums, unimpressed. “So what happens when you start catching feelings?”
I drop the knife.
It clatters onto the cutting board, and I pretend that my pulse didn’t just skyrocket. “I—I’m not. That’s not happening.”
“Oh, babe.” Becky sighs dramatically, “You’re so screwed.”
I let out a forced laugh. “This is not some rom-com, okay? There’s no genuine feelings here. We flirt, we kiss when necessary, and when his family finally backs off? We will shake hands like respectable adults and go back to normal.”
Becky’s unimpressed. “Yeah? And how exactly do you go back to normal after this? You are in L-O-V-E, girl.”
I grab a cherry and throw it at her. “You’re making stuff up.”
“L-O-V-E. It’s a beautiful thingggg…” she singsongs.
I throw another cherry. “I hate you.”
“No, you hate how much I’m right.”
I hate that she’s sort of right, actually.
Because the truth is—I don’t know what’s real anymore.
“Well, well.” James’s voice makes me jump. “Some girl talk going on?”
Becky’s smile fades. “I should check the stock room.”
“Oh, it’s ok I checked that earlier—” But she’s already gone, leaving me with James and the sudden urge to be anywhere else.
“Sounds complicated,” he says, leaning against the bar. “Maybe you need a distraction. Dinner after this shift?”
I smile, even as my stomach twists. Between Mrs. Spencer’s offer and whatever’s happening with Alfie, another guy is the last thing I need. “Thanks James, that’s sweet, but I’m good.”
His smile doesn’t waver. “Come on, T. Get your mind off all this drama. I know this great little place downtown...”
“Really, I shouldn’t—”
“I’ve got all night to convince you.” He winks. “And you look like you could use a break from whatever is going on.”
For a moment, I actually consider it. A normal date with a normal guy. No Spencer family drama, no pretending, no complicated feelings I’m not supposed to have. Just dinner with someone uncomplicated, someone available.
Then I remember Alfie’s laugh in the dark of his lab, how he traces constellations on my palm when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
The way he remembers which fossils I like best, how I take my tea, when I need quiet.
The way he sees me - not as something to fix or protect, but as someone to understand.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say finally, “but I can’t.”
“Because of him?” James’s smile turns sharp. “The rich boy who keeps showing up? Trust me, I’ve seen how this ends.”
My stomach twists. “What do you mean?”
“These trust fund types - they always go back to their own kind.” His voice drips with false sympathy.
“They might slum it with the help for a while, maybe even convince themselves it’s real.
But in the end?” He shrugs. “They marry the girl Mommy and Daddy picked out, and we become another story they tell at country club parties. Happens plenty of times with silly girls here, thinking he chose them.”
The words hit like a punch, too close to every fear that keeps me up at night. But hearing it from James - watching him try to use my insecurities against me - makes something harden in my chest.
“I need to check the ice well,” I say, instead of defending Alfie. “People will start coming in soon.”
I hand over the wrong drink, and instead of my stomach dropping, I just laugh.
“Whoops, my bad!” I grab the correct one and slide it over. “You’d think I’d have this down by now.”
The guy shrugs, unfazed, and I realize—so am I. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel like I need to prove I belong here. I just…do.
The shift goes fast. One margarita please, no ice. One soda and lime, oh, and is that definitely sugar free soda? Yes, thanks sweetie. One Moscow mule, and do we have copper mugs? No? Oh god no, I’ll have a martini instead then.
It’s almost closing when Alfie appears in his usual spot at the end of the bar. Still wearing his lab clothes, hair slightly messy and stuck up in strange angles in several places.
“The usual?” I ask, already reaching for water with lime.
“Long shift?” He notices something in my expression.
“Just busy.” I start my closing routine - a dance I’ve perfected over the past few weeks. He’ll sit there with his water, sometimes telling me about his research, sometimes just watching while I ramble about my shift. It’s become so natural that I try not to think about what it means.
“You missed Gran asking about you at dinner.”
“Yeah? How is she?”
“Still terrorizing Mother with inappropriate stories about Grandpa.”
I’m about to respond when James appears behind me. “Tara, sweetheart, could you help me with something in the back before you go?”
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. I catch Alfie straightening slightly, his fingers tensing around his glass.
“Actually, I need to finish closing,” I say.
“It’ll just take a minute.” James’ hand brushes my lower back as he passes, lingering just long enough to be deliberate. “Unless you’re too busy with your... friend.”
The way he says ‘friend’ carries weight. When I glance at Alfie, his expression is carefully blank, but I recognize that look. He’s holding himself very still, very controlled.
“She’s fine,” Alfie says. I glare at him; I hate it when he speaks for me.
“Whatever. I’ll handle closing.” James huffs. “You can head out now.”
He heads toward his office, but not before throwing one last look at Alfie.
We wait until his door closes to walk out. I stalk ahead of Alfie.
“Tara—” Alfie starts.
“Don’t.” I know that tone. “I can handle James.”
“I know you can.” His voice is careful, measured. “But he’s...”
“My harmless manager who sometimes tries too hard?” I stop outside the door. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Is he always so douchey?” His mouth sneers in disgust. James really isn’t that bad.
Yeah, it’s a little odd but I mean, I’m friendly with him so it’s not like I put him off.
But I just don’t want a hostile work environment.
I think I’d rather this than if I shut him down too hard and then he was equally hard on me.
“Alfie. I can handle it. It’s fine.”
He holds up his hands. “I respect your judgment. Just...” He chooses his words carefully. “Something about him feels off.”
“I know.” I soften slightly. “But I need to deal with this my way. Promise me you won’t get involved?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I promise. As long as he doesn’t hurt you.”
“Alfie.”
“That’s the best you’re getting, Tink.”
He slings an arm around me as we head to his car, and despite myself, I lean into his warmth. There’s no one around to pretend for, no audience to convince. Just us, walking in comfortable silence, both pretending this isn’t starting to feel real.
My phone buzzes while I’m getting ready for the donor dinner the next evening. I open an email from Mrs. Spencer with “gentle suggestions” about appropriate attire.
How on earth did she even get my email? This woman is seriously scary.
Plus, it’s not like the lilac dress I bought specifically for tonight might somehow embarrass her precious family name.
I’d almost backed out twice already. But Alfie needs me there - his mother has made that clear enough.
Basically, the subtext was: show up and play my part, or watch his funding disappear.
So here I am, trying to make my hair behave while remembering all the donor names Alfie told me about.
My hands shake slightly as I apply my lipstick. James’ words from last night echo in my head: “These rich types - they always choose their own kind in the end.”
“Shut up,” I tell my reflection. “This is different. He’s different.”
But the confidence in my voice sounds forced even to me. I want to believe it so bad. Standing here in this dress that cost more than my rent, trying to fit into his world... I'm not so sure.
The University Grand Hall looms ahead. I adjust my lilac dress for the tenth time, mentally rehearsing responses to any Spencer family jabs about my “bartending career.” But as I round the corner, I stop dead.
Alfie and Marcie stand near the entrance, backlit by golden light spilling from the windows.
They look... perfect.
Like they belong in this world together.
Marcie in her gorgeous dress, laughing at something Alfie’s saying, her hand resting on his arm with easy familiarity. And Alfie, God, he looks exactly like the heir he’s supposed to be in his perfectly tailored suit.
Something sharp twists beneath my sternum as an unwanted memory surfaces.
Different parking lot, different perfect couple.
Me at seventeen, watching Liam with Grace outside homecoming.
They’d looked just as right together, both focused, ambitious, destined for ivy league futures. Not scattered and wild like me.