CHAPTER 16 #2
I’ve known since—when, exactly? Our first date, when he mentioned Casablanca “when it first came out”?
The morning after, when I pressed my ear to his chest and heard the strangest thing—a heartbeat, but wrong.
So slow. Like one beat every few seconds.
It’s creepy and weirdly intimate at the same time?
I’ve been collecting evidence like a prosecutor building a case. The problem is, I don’t want to win. I want to be wrong. I want there to be a reasonable explanation for why my fake-turned-real-boyfriend doesn’t seem to follow the basic rules of human biology.
“Poppy?” Violet’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you disappear inside your head and leave your body behind to smile and nod. You’ve been doing it since we were twelve. It’s creepy.”
“I don’t do that.”
“You do. Ask Mom. She has documentation.”
I glance at Julian. He’s still engaged in conversation with Chris, but I catch the slight angle of his head that tells me he’s listening to us, too.
Of course he is. He’s probably listening to every conversation in the restaurant.
He probably knows what the couple by the window is arguing about and what the server is planning to order for her own dinner.
“Everything’s fine,” I tell Violet. “Better than fine.”
She scrutinizes me, her surgeon’s gaze dissecting my expression the way she would an heart. Then her face softens.
“Okay,” she says. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Not really, but I can tell you’re happy.” She glances at Julian, then back at me. “He looks at you like you’re the only one in the room, Pops. I don’t know where you found him or what kind of deal you made with the universe to deserve him—”
My breath catches.
“—but whatever this is? It’s the real deal this time. I can tell.”
I exhale slowly. “How can you tell?”
“Because I’ve seen you with fake.” Her voice drops.
“Preston was fake. All those guys before him—the finance bros, the startup founders, that actor who kept calling himself a ‘creative’—they were all fake. You performing happiness while they performed interest. Two people going through the motions of a relationship without having one.”
“That’s...” I trail off. She’s not wrong.
“This isn’t that.” Violet reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “This is something else.”
“It started as—” I stop myself. Choose my words. “It’s complicated, Vi.”
“Love usually is.” She smiles. “But complicated doesn’t mean bad. Sometimes complicated is just real life being messy and refusing to fit into the boxes we build for it.”
I want to tell her everything. About Spellbound Dates. About the thousands of dollars I paid for a professional faker who turned out to be something far stranger than any regular guy. About the things I’ve been googling at 3 AM that would make any rational person run screaming.
Instead, I say: “I really like him.”
“I know.”
“Like, really. Inconveniently. Against my better judgment and every survival instinct I possess.”
“The best ones always are.” She raises her glass. “To inconvenient men who make us question everything we thought we knew.”
“To inconvenient men.”
We clink glasses. Julian catches my eye. His expression is soft. Open. Almost human.
Whatever else he is, he’s here. He’s choosing to be here. That has to count for something.
When the check comes, Chris pays it before anyone can argue, waving off Julian’s black card with confidence.
“My treat,” he says. “Consider it a thank-you for being here. Both of you.”
“You’re thanking us for attending your wedding?” I raise an eyebrow. “That’s the bare minimum of sisterly duty. I’d have to be dead or actively incarcerated to miss it.”
“You know what I mean.” He stands, offering Violet his hand. “Hey babe, let’s take a walk on the beach. I want to catch the sunset before it’s gone.”
Violet practically glows. “That’s so romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy. You know it’s my thing, babe.”
Julian and I exchange a look. His says: They’re adorable. Mine says: Disgustingly so. But I’m smiling, because my sister is happy, and happiness looks good on her.
We follow them out of the restaurant, down the winding path through the resort’s manicured gardens toward the beach. The sun is sinking toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of amber and rose.
My fingers twitch toward my phone. It is absolutely beautiful, and would make an amazing picture.
Except, I leave it in my pocket—despite the five years of conditioning to take advantage of these moments.
Julian notices. “You don’t want to take a picture?”
“Of course, I do. But I also want to enjoy the moment with you.”
“Me, too.”
“And maybe I’m evolving.” I slip my hand into his—those cool, familiar fingers lacing through mine. “Or maybe some things should just be for us.”
He takes a breath. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I like that.”
“The evolution or the privacy?”
“Both. But mostly the ‘us.’”
We round a corner, following the stone path toward the beach club. I can hear music—something tropical and upbeat, louder than the usual resort entertainment.
And there are lights. Lots of lights. Fairy lights strung between palm trees. Tiki torches lining the sand. A full bar setup that wasn’t there this morning.
“What the—” I start.
“SURPRISE!” Everyone shouts with excitement.
Fifty people. Fifty people I recognize—Mom in a flowing caftan, our aunts and cousins I haven’t seen since the last family funeral, Chris’s parents beaming, friends from Boston, colleagues from the hospital.
All of them standing on the beach with glasses raised, faces bright with the satisfaction of having kept a secret.
Violet’s hands fly to her mouth. Tears are streaming. “Oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH! I can’t believe this!”
Chris is grinning like he just cured cancer and won the lottery in the same afternoon. “Surprise, babe.”
“You planned this?” She’s sobbing now, the happy kind that destroys mascara. “You planned a whole party?”
“Pre-wedding celebration.” He wraps his arms around her, and she buries her face in his shoulder. “Everyone flew in early. I’ve been coordinating with your mom for weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“You deserved something special. Something that’s just for you, before all the wedding chaos takes over.”
“I love you,” Violet manages between sobs. “I love you so much, you ridiculous, wonderful man.”
“I love you, too. Now go hug your family before Aunt Martha starts crying and sets everyone else off.”
Violet dissolves into the crowd—hugging, laughing, exclaiming over and over how well everyone kept the secret. Chris watches her go with an expression that makes my chest tight.
This is what she deserves. Someone who plans surprises. Someone who looks at her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him.
Beside me, Julian has gone still.
I know that stillness. It’s the same coiled tension from the cocktail party when Damien appeared. The predator’s pause before fight or flight.
His eyes are scanning the crowd. Cataloging faces. Counting exits. I can see him mapping the terrain—where the shadows fall, where someone could hide and watch without being seen.
“Julian.” I squeeze his hand. “It’s a party. Just a party.”
“Fifty people.” His voice is controlled.
“Chris planned it. It’s a good surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“I’m getting that.”
He clenches his teeth and positions his shoulders to show he's ready to move at a moment's notice.
“Hey.” I step in front of him, blocking his view of the crowd. “Look at me.”
He does.
“It’s my sister’s party,” I say. “These are our people that they know and love. Nobody here is going to hurt us.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know that Aunt Martha’s biggest threat is her opinions about my biological clock.
I know that Chris’s college roommate Brad is mostly dangerous near an open bar and a conversation about CrossFit.
” I cup his face in my hands. “I need you to be here with me. Present. Not somewhere else in your head. Can you do that?”
He takes a breath—unnecessary, I’m almost certain—and his shoulders drop a fraction.
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?”
“I’ll try. For you.”
“That’s all I’m asking.” I rise on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Now come on. Time to be charming for the masses.”
The next hour is chaos.
Introductions. So many introductions. Relatives who remember me when I “was this tall.” Friends of Violet who want to know about my “little internet thing.” Chris’s family—warm and boisterous, nothing like my own clan.
And through it all, Julian stays close. A hand on my back when we move through the crowd. A steadying presence when Aunt Martha corners me about my “timeline.” A shield between me and the well-meaning relatives who want to know when I’m going to “settle down.”
“Poppy, darling!” My mother materializes in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and passive-aggressive commentary. “Isn’t this wonderful? Chris is such a thoughtful young man.”
Translation: Why can’t you find someone like this?
“It’s amazing,” I agree. “Very romantic.”
“And Julian.” Her eyes sweep him. “How are you enjoying the evening?”
“Very much, Catherine. Chris has outdone himself.”
“He has, hasn’t he? That’s what real love looks like.” A pause, loaded. “The kind that comes from knowing you’ve found your person.”
I brace for impact.
But Julian speaks first. “Poppy knows exactly what that feels like.”
Mom’s eyebrows rise. “Does she?”
“She does.” He looks at me, and something in his expression makes my heart skip a beat. “Whether she’s ready to admit it or not.”
For once, my mom has nothing to say. She looks between us—calculating, always calculating—and her expression shifts.
“Well,” she says. “We’ll see.”
She sweeps away. Julian’s hand finds mine.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say quietly.
“Do what?”
“Defend me. Deflect her.”
“I told the truth.” His thumb traces my knuckles. “Everything between us has been real, Poppy. Whatever questions linger about me—that part is true.”
The DJ kicks into something fierce. The beach fills with dancing bodies. Violet’s in the center, sandals abandoned, spinning with joy.
And near the edge—because of course—there’s Preston. With Serenity. Both holding phones at arm’s length, filming something that looks spontaneous, but probably required thirteen takes.
“He’s doing the thing,” I say, watching them.
“The director thing?”
“The ‘position you like a prop’ thing.” I take a long sip of champagne. “I used to think it meant he cared. Turns out he just cared about the image.”
“And you?”
“I was the frame. Interchangeable.”
Julian’s hand moves to my back. “You were never interchangeable. You were just with someone who couldn’t see what he had.”
“That’s a generous interpretation.”
“It’s the truth.” He turns me to face him. “You are remarkable. Not because of how you photograph or how many followers you have. Because of who you are when no one is watching.”
“You watch me when no one else is.”
“I watch you all the time.” He lifts up my chin. “It might be becoming a problem.”
The music pulses around us. Fairy lights dance in the breeze. My sister is laughing somewhere. Fifty people are celebrating love, and I’m standing in front of a man who may not exactly be a man, feeling more seen than I have in years.
“Dance with me,” I say.
“I’m afraid I don’t dance.”
“Everyone says that.”
“I genuinely don’t. Not in crowds.”
“Julian.” I take both his hands. “My mother is watching. My ex is filming content. I need you to be my shield. Please.”
He looks at the chaos. At the variables.
Then he looks at me.
“One song,” he says.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
He leads me into the crowd. Of course, I get him to stay out there for a few songs longer. He seems to enjoy himself, even if he’s constantly on guard.