4. Nathan - Faking it
Chapter Four
NATHAN - FAKING IT
D ana’s body feels both too close and too far away for my liking. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, but she’s pulling at my focus like a riptide, impossible to escape, dragging me under.
She’s still, her breathing steady. Asleep—or pretending to be.
The sheets carry her scent—vanilla and jasmine, warm and sweet. She’s curled on her side, facing away, hair spilling across the pillow in tangled waves. One hand rests between us, inches from mine. If I reached out, I could touch her.
I don’t.
Every inch of me feels off, like a string wound too tight, ready to snap if I move wrong. My fingers curl into the mattress.
“You’re fidgeting,” she mutters.
I shift to face her. “You’re awake.”
“Unfortunately,” she sighs, “What’s your excuse?”
“Too much on my mind.”
She snickers softly, turning toward me. In the faint moonlight, her outline is sharp and soft at once. “Like what?”
“You.” The word escapes before I can stop myself.
Her breath hitches. “Me?” she says, like she doesn’t believe it.
“You were incredible today,” I muse. “Harris and Eleanor loved you.”
She laughs softly, her gaze returning to the ceiling. “If this is your attempt at buttering me up, it’s not working.”
“I’m serious.” I hesitate, then add, "Am I not allowed to give you real compliments, even though we’re playing pretend?"
Her lips press together. She doesn’t answer right away.
“It’s called acting, Nathan. You should try it sometime.”
“Is that still all this is for you? An act?”
Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and dark. For a second, something flickers there—something unguarded—but then it’s gone.
“What else would it be?” she counters, her voice steady. Too steady.
I shift closer, my hand brushing against hers. Barely a touch, but enough to make her inhale sharply. I watch her chest rise and fall in sync with mine, smirking when the routine motion is disrupted as our skin connects.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. Her lips part.
“If you’re just acting,” I whisper, “you’re really damn good at it.”
For a second, I think she might close the distance. Her breath catches, her eyes dropping to my mouth.
“Maybe we should…” she whispers, her voice soft but uncertain. The thought dies in the air between us.
Her words snap me back to reality, my jaw tightening. The moment shatters. I pull my hand away, the loss of contact colder than it should be. “Goodnight, Dana.”
She blinks, then rolls onto her other side, putting her back to me. Her shoulders stay stiff, like she’s waiting for me to say more— do more.
I don’t.
The tension lingers as our morning begins. Dana moves through the suite with precise efficiency, her every motion controlled, practiced—except for the way her dress pulls across her curves as she reaches for something.
I shouldn’t notice. But I do.
“Stop staring,” she chides without looking at me.
“How do you know I’m staring?”
“Because you always are,” she mutters. Am I really?
I laugh incredulously. “Do I make you nervous?”
Her hands falter, just for a second. The fabric shifts with her, hugging her in a way that makes it impossible not to look.
“No,” she replies, a bit too quickly.
I smirk. “Liar.”
She turns, arms crossed, her eyes blazing. The dress does nothing to make her seem less intimidating, though the way it fits doesn’t help my self-control.
“If you’re done, we have breakfast with Harris in twenty minutes.”
I step closer, needing to close the gap between us. “You’re not as immune to me as you think.”
Her gaze shifts to my lips, and I watch the gears turn in her mind as she contemplates her options. For a second, it feels like she might kiss me. I allow myself to imagine what kissing her again would be like. Unfortunately, a knock at the door spoils the moment.
“Housekeeping!”
Dana stiffens as the spell between us breaks. “Convenient,” she says dryly, her voice just uneven enough to betray her.
“ In convenient,” I counter.
Her lips twitch like she might laugh, but she moves past me. Her shoulder grazes mine and my pulse thunders.
The door opens and a young maid wheels in a cart stacked with fresh towels and bottled water. She barely glances at me at first—until I flash her a slow, lazy smile.
“Ah, perfect timing,” I say, shifting to make my presence seem effortless, casual. The kind of presence people notice.
Dana crosses her arms, watching me with open suspicion.
The maid straightens under my gaze, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Clarke?”
“Not unless you can talk some sense into my fiancée,” I muse, letting the word linger. “She insists on keeping me on my toes.”
Dana barely holds back a scoff. The maid, however, lights up with interest, her eyes darting between us.
“Oh? That’s what keeps things fun, doesn’t it?” she says, laughing softly.
“That’s what I tell her,” I sigh, shaking my head fondly. I glance at Dana like she’s the best and worst thing that’s ever happened to me. “But you know how it is—she’s stubborn, but still the love of my life.”
Dana tilts her head, her expression sharp. I can feel her irritation like a second pulse in the room as I move into her space. I rest a hand low on her back, already feeling like it’s second nature. Casual. Possessive.
The maid giggles, looking at Dana now with something bordering on admiration. “Well, I think it’s sweet.”
“You hear that, sweetheart?”
“Oh, he’s something alright.”
The woman quickly finishes up, but I keep my hand exactly where it is. When Dana moves, I move with her, like it’s instinct. She doesn’t shake me off.
I see the moment the maid files this away for later. Whatever she reports to Harris, she’ll tell him that Nathan Clarke is charming, his fiancée is sharp-witted, and they’re disgustingly in love.
Exactly as planned.
The moment the maid is gone, Dana shuts the door with more force than necessary. Then she rounds on me.
“Love of my life?” she asks, arching a brow.
The accusation in her tone is softened only slightly by the way she crosses her arms, hip cocked in annoyance.
I grin, adjusting the cuff of my shirt. “She was looking at you like you walked out of a romance novel. I figured I’d give her the full fantasy.”
Dana exhales, tilting her head toward the ceiling, clearly done with me already. “Nathan..”
“Dana,” I mimic, voice smooth.
The maid barely looked at me when she’d come in, but I’d caught the curious, approving glance she’d sent Dana’s way. The kind of look that said, “good for you, landing a man like that.” She had no idea that Dana was the one keeping my life together, that I was the lucky one here.
“Just selling the act.” I add with a smirk.
She snorts, without smoothing it over this time, and shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”
I’ve heard her scoff before, seen her roll her eyes, but this—this little snort of hers—is new. Unfiltered. A real reaction slipping past her usual control.
I could tease her for it. Point it out, make her glare at me like she always does.
But if I do, she might stop doing it.
So instead, I lean back, choosing not to push, just to see if I can get her to do it again.
“And you’re irresistible,” I counter, keeping my tone light so it doesn’t sound too real.
For a second, she’s frozen. Just watching me, eyes unreadable.
Then she shakes her head and storms out, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood.
I follow her, pulse still pounding.
Things just got so much more interesting.
The retreat’s Activity Center is alive with raucous chatter and laughter when we arrive. I watch curiously as couples bond over games and activities. A giant whiteboard announces the day’s main event: Couple’s Trivia Challenge. Dana pauses, her brow arching as she reads it.
“This should be fun,” I say, coming to a stop next to her, making sure to keep my tone light.
“For you or me?” she replies, her lips twitching in a smirk.
“We make a good team,” I state, tugging her gently toward the sign-up table. What’s the best way to convince her to do this? “Think of it as a way to keep up the act.”
Dana sighs dramatically, her shoulders sagging and her feet dragging, but doesn’t resist. A staff member hands us a small tablet, and we’re seated among a mix of couples—some young, some older, all watching the screen with amused competitiveness.
To our left, a couple in their sixties exchanges knowing glances, their hands already intertwined on the table. Across from us, a pair that looks newly in their honeymoon phase whisper conspiratorially, the woman giggling as her partner bumps her knee playfully against hers.
It’s a strange mix—some couples exuding decades of familiarity, others still in the giddy stage of discovery. I don’t know which category Dana and I fall into.
The first round of questions appear on the screen.
“What is your partner’s favorite dessert?” Dana reads aloud, glancing at me. “This should be easy.”
“Chocolate mousse,” I answer confidently. She arches a brow, but taps it in.
I challenge the reaction immediately. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” she admits grudgingly. “But don’t get cocky.”
The questions grow increasingly personal, testing our knowledge of each other’s habits and preferences. With every correct answer, Dana’s confidence seems to build. When the results flash on the screen, we’re in first place.
“Looks like we’re winning,” I whisper, leaning closer.
“We’re good at this,” she replies, her voice softer than usual.
As the final round begins, the host asks each couple to demonstrate a shared skill.
Dana signals the host to play music, and suddenly, a slow, elegant waltz spills from the speakers. I barely have time to react before her fingers lace through mine, pulling me forward.
“Trust me,” she says, her eyes sparkling.
She moves first, stepping smoothly into the rhythm, her body aligning with mine. I let her lead—for all of two steps.
My hand finds the small of her back, and I take over.
The shift is subtle, a change in control that makes her breath catch—but I hear it. I feel it.
She follows without hesitation, like she’s done this before. Like she trusts me.
The crowd fades into nothing.
It’s just us, the steady pull of the music guiding us in effortless, sweeping motions. The warmth of her pressed against me. The rhythm that keeps us moving as one.
Dana’s hand tightens on my shoulder. She’s holding on, whether she realizes it or not.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” she murmurs, her voice lower than before.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Her lips part, like she’s searching for something to say—but nothing comes.
I spin her—slowly, deliberately—watching the way her dress flares, the way she barely holds back a smile as I pull her back in.
She lands closer than before.
Her chest brushes mine.
For a second, I swear she leans in, like some part of her forgets we’re playing a game.
I can’t tell if it’s her breath or mine that speeds up first.
Then the music ends.
The applause is deafening. Dana’s cheeks are flushed, her smile wide.
And for a moment, I’m the one who forgets this is an act.
For a moment, it feels real .