12. Belle
BELLE
W e could have gone to Adam's house to do some more practice runs of being a fake couple, but when we were there yesterday, his mom brought out a wedding dress catalog and said that maybe with my skin tone, cream would be a better color than white.
Then she came back with her laptop and started telling me about all the wedding planners in the neighboring areas, and how I wouldn't have to lift a finger, because they will do it all for me.
So much pressure, and we haven't even been on one date.
So today we decided the best place to practice is in my flat, but the issue is that there isn't much room for one person, let alone two.
"This feels ridiculous," Adam mutters as we stand in the middle of my cramped studio apartment, attempting what we've optimistically termed "couple practice.
" The space is so small that we're practically on top of each other anyway, which should theoretically make practicing intimacy easier.
Instead, it just makes everything feel more awkward.
"It's supposed to feel ridiculous at first," I insist, though I'm not entirely convinced of this myself. "We just need to get comfortable with... couple-y things."
"Couple-y things," Adam repeats dubiously. "Is that the technical term?"
"Shut up and put your arm around me."
Adam dutifully drapes his arm around my shoulders, but it feels exactly like what it is, a friend giving a friendly hug rather than a romantic gesture. We both know it, and the knowing makes everything worse.
"This isn't working," I sigh, stepping away from him and nearly bumping into my tiny kitchen counter. "We look like siblings posing for a family photo."
"Uncomfortable siblings," Adam adds helpfully. "The kind who don't really like each other."
"We need to watch some movies or something. Study how couples actually behave."
"Or," Adam suggests with the tone of someone who's about to propose something he knows is a bad idea, "we could just accept that we're terrible at this and hope that formal wear and good lighting will hide our complete lack of romantic chemistry."
The phrase "complete lack of romantic chemistry" hits me harder than it should. Not because it's inaccurate, but because part of me had been hoping that possibly, we'd discover some latent attraction that would make this whole charade easier.
"We're not giving up after one practice session," I declare with determination that's mostly genuine. "We just need to approach this differently."
"How differently?"
"More... naturally. Instead of trying to force romantic gestures, let's just practice being more affectionate versions of ourselves."
To demonstrate, I move closer to Adam again, but this time I focus on relaxing rather than trying to manufacture chemistry. When I take his hand, I don't overthink the contact, but just let myself enjoy the familiar comfort of his touch.
"Better?" I ask.
"Actually, yeah," Adam says, sounding surprised. "When you're not concentrating so hard on being romantic, you just feel like... you."
"Charming. Really selling the fantasy there, Chen,” I say.
"I mean it in a good way! You feel like Belle, just... more."
"More what?" I ask.
"More present. More focused on me specifically instead of on the concept of romance in general."
His observation is more perceptive than I expected. He's right, because when I stop trying to perform romance and just focus on Adam as a person, everything feels more natural.
"Okay, let's try walking," I suggest. "Couples walk differently than friends."
We spend the next ten minutes attempting to walk around my apartment like we're romantically involved rather than just sharing space.
It's harder than it sounds, partly because there's barely room for two people to walk side by side, and we keep reverting to our usual pattern of Adam automatically adjusting his longer stride to accommodate my shorter legs.
"We're overthinking this," Adam finally declares, stopping in front of my tiny bathroom and narrowly avoiding collision with the door frame. "Real couples don't think about how they walk together. They just do it."
"Real couples also probably practiced being couples gradually over time, instead of cramming twenty years of friendship into romantic mode in one weekend,” I point out.
"Fair enough.” Adam surveys my apartment with the expression of someone reassessing a challenging architectural project. "Maybe we need a bigger practice space."
"This is all the space I have,” I say wondering where he expects to find more space.
"I know. I just meant..." He trails off, apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to suggest.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's not important" he sighs.
"Adam."
"I was just going to say we could practice at my place, but then I remembered what happened only yesterday.”
His place is spacious, well-appointed, decorated with the kind of careful attention that comes from having both good taste and unlimited budget. Everything about it screams comfortable wealth in ways that always make me slightly self-conscious about my own circumstances.
Not that Adam has ever made me feel bad about the disparity between our living situations. If anything, he goes out of his way to spend time at my place, probably because he understands that I'm more comfortable on my own territory.
"It's not weird," I lie. “I mean we could sneak in when your mom’s not around or sleeping. It is just that your place just feels too... fancy for practicing fake romance."
"Fancy?" He asks while lifting his eyebrow.
"You know what I mean. All that space and nice furniture and proper lighting. It would feel like performing instead of practicing."
Adam considers this for a moment, then nods. "Okay, but we definitely need to practice somewhere with enough room to actually dance. Mrs. Patterson agreed to give us lessons tomorrow afternoon, but I'd rather not go in completely blind."
"The library?" I ask.
"Perfect. After hours, plenty of space, and we already know all the good hiding spots in case someone sees us making fools of ourselves."
The plan settled, we spend the rest of the afternoon working on basic couple behaviors: hand-holding that looks intentional rather than accidental, standing close enough to appear intimate without invading each other's personal space, and what Adam terms "meaningful eye contact."
By evening, we've made progress. Not great, but enough improvement that we no longer look like strangers forced to share personal space against their will.
"I think we're ready for public practice," I announce as we're gathering our things to leave.
"Public practice?" He asks.
"Tomorrow we're going shopping for outfits. That means sales associates, other customers, people who will assume we're actually a couple. It'll be good practice for the real thing."
Adam looks slightly terrified by this prospect, but he nods gamely. "Baptism by fire. I like it."
T he next day, we’re standing outside Enchanted Elegance, an upscale formal wear boutique in the city that specializes in what their website calls "fairy tale fashion for life's most magical moments.
" The name alone makes me want to turn around and find somewhere less aggressively romantic, but Adam researched extensively and insists this is our best option for ball-appropriate attire.
"Remember," I tell him as we approach the entrance, "we're a couple who's been secretly dating for three months. We're excited about attending our first formal event together. We're looking for coordinating outfits that will make us look like we belong at an exclusive ball."
"Got it. Excited, coordinated, belonging." Adam takes my hand as we reach the door, and I'm pleased to note that the gesture feels more natural than yesterday's attempts. "Ready to spend an embarrassing amount of money on clothes we'll probably never wear again?"
"So ready."
The interior of Enchanted Elegance is exactly what you'd expect from the name with soft lighting, classical music, and displays arranged to look like scenes from a romantic fairy tale. Everything is designed to make customers feel like they're shopping for their own happily ever after.
"Good morning!" A saleswoman approaches us with the kind of bright smile that suggests commission-based compensation.
She's in her early thirties with perfectly styled blonde hair swept into an elegant updo, wearing a sophisticated black dress that probably costs more than my monthly rent.
Her makeup is flawless, and she moves with the practiced grace of someone who's spent years helping nervous customers find their perfect look.
"I'm Julia, and I'd be delighted to help you find the perfect looks for your special event. "
"We're attending a masquerade ball," I explain, immediately slipping into the role we've rehearsed. "It's our first formal event together, so we want to coordinate our outfits without being too matchy-matchy."
"Oh, the Thornfield Palace Masquerade Ball!
" Julia’s eyes light up with genuine excitement.
"How absolutely thrilling! We've been preparing for weeks, it's the most prestigious event of the year.
And may I say, you two make such a lovely couple.
There's something special about the way you look at each other. "
Adam and I exchange glances, and I'm surprised to realize that we actually do look at each other differently than we did yesterday. Not romantically, exactly, but with a heightened awareness that reads as intimacy to outside observers.
"Thank you," Adam says, squeezing my hand. "We're pretty excited about it."
For the next hour, Julia guides us through the process of selecting formal wear with the expertise of someone who's dressed hundreds of couples for important events.
She explains color coordination, fabric compatibility, and the subtle details that distinguish expensive formal wear from rental-quality approximations.