Five
Showtime
MIA
Saturday night
AS I STAND IN front of the mirror, my reflection stares back at me—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a restless energy buzzing under my skin.
My heart pounds against my ribcage, each beat louder than the last, as the question that’s been haunting me all week resurfaces for the hundredth time: Am I completely insane?
My phone buzzes on the counter, the screen lighting up with a message from Austin.
Austin: Ready to play house?
I exhale sharply, the words making my chest tighten. Play house. As if this whole charade is some harmless game. But it’s not harmless. It’s dangerous.
Because the more time I spend with Austin—the more his smirks, his teasing, his rare moments of sincerity burrow under my skin—the less I feel like I’m acting.
God help me.
I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles turning white as I steady myself.
My reflection doesn’t offer any answers—just the same nervous woman who is in way over her head.
My hair is perfectly styled, my makeup flawless, and the dress Austin insisted I wear hugs my body in all the right ways.
On the outside, I look the part. But inside? I’m a wreck.
Another buzz from my phone snaps me out of my thoughts.
Austin: Don’t chicken out, fiancée. We’ve got this??
Fiancée. That stupid word sends a shiver down my spine. How did I end up here, agreeing to this ridiculous scheme with a man who knows exactly how to get under my skin? He’s infuriating, cocky, and far too charming for his own good—or mine.
Oh wait, it was my fault. You dummy.
I swipe up the phone and stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Part of me wants to reply with something sharp, something that reminds him this is all pretend.
But the other part of me—the part I’m desperately trying to ignore—likes the way he says it.
Likes the way it feels to be his, even if it’s a lie.
Get a grip, Mia.
I finally type my reply, hitting send before I can second-guess myself.
I grab my keys, and glance around my flat one last time like it’s a safe haven I’m about to leave behind.
My mind races with questions I can’t seem to shake.
How far is too far? When does the line between fake and real blur completely?
And, more terrifyingly, what happens if I lose myself in the act?
The hallway is eerily quiet as I slip out of my flat, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead doing nothing to calm my nerves. My heart thuds against my ribs, and I’m clutching my clutch bag like it’s a lifeline.
And then I see him.
Austin is leaning against the wall opposite my door, hands shoved casually into his jean pockets.
He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone just enough to show a hint of tanned skin, his sleeves rolled up in that effortlessly sexy way he does.
The dim hallway lighting casts soft shadows over his sharp jawline, and for a moment, I’m struck by how ridiculously good he looks.
Of course, he notices me staring.
His eyes sweep over me slowly, his lips curving into that maddening smirk that both irritates me and makes my stomach flip. “Took you long enough, Jameson. I was starting to think you’d bailed on me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter, locking my door with more force than necessary.
He chuckles, pushing off the wall and sauntering toward me. The air between us shifts as he stops just inches away, his gaze lingering on my face for a beat too long.
“You look . . . incredible,” he says, his voice softer than I expect.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest. “Flattery won’t make this any less of a disaster.”
“Good thing it’s not flattery, then,” he replies smoothly, his lips twitching in amusement.
I roll my eyes, brushing past him toward the lift. His footsteps echo behind me, unhurried and confident, until he falls into step beside me. The tension crackles in the air between us, unspoken but impossible to ignore.
When we reach the lift, I press the button and fold my arms, trying to focus on anything but the way his arm brushes against mine.
“You nervous?” he asks, tilting his head to study me.
I shoot him a sharp look. “Why would I be nervous? It’s just a party. With Amber. And all her bitches who are probably betting on how quickly we’ll fall apart.”
He grins, completely unfazed. “Relax. We’ve got this.”
“You mean I’ve got this,” I correct, stepping into the lift when the doors slide open.
Austin follows me inside, leaning casually against the mirrored wall. His reflection smirks at me as I jab the button for the third floor with more force than necessary.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says, his voice low and teasing.
I glare at him, but it lacks real heat. My nerves are too shot, and the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing in the world worth his attention—is too distracting.
The lift hums softly as it descends, the silence between us thick and charged. When it dings and the doors slide open, I take a steadying breath.
Austin places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. The warmth of his touch seeps through the fabric of my dress, and I have to fight to keep my breathing steady.
“Ready, fiancée?” he murmurs, his voice brushing against my ear.
“Not remotely,” I admit, my stomach flipping as we step into the hallway where Amber’s party is in full swing. The sound of Amber’s laugh rings out from inside.
His hand stays steady on my back as he leans in closer, his breath warm against my temple. “Good. That makes two of us.”
Before I can reply, he opens the door and guides me inside. The buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses envelop us immediately, and Amber’s sharp eyes lock onto us like a predator spotting prey.
This is it.
The moment feels bigger than I expected, heavier, like the start of something I’m not ready to face.
God help me. This isn’t just a disaster waiting to happen.
It’s the beginning of something I don’t think either of us can control.
Music pumps through the air, bass-heavy and a little too loud, and the scent of something overly floral—probably Amber’s signature room spray—hits me like a cloud. The place is packed, every surface covered in a mix of people, cocktails, and what I assume is Amber’s idea of gourmet hors d’oeuvres.
And, of course, everything is beige. The walls, the furniture, even the rugs—it’s like stepping into a sandcastle.
The only splash of colour is the overly garnished cocktails that people are clutching like lifelines.
Amber’s beige-on-beige living room stands out like a Pinterest board gone wrong.
Seriously, even her cushions are beige. It’s like Fifty Shades of Beige in here, but without any of the excitement—just an endless parade of neutral tones threatening to swallow me whole.
“Smile,” Austin murmurs beside me, his hand still resting possessively on the small of my back. “Amber’s already clocked us.”
Ugh.
He leans in, his lips grazing my ear. “Showtime, babe.”
Amber sashays toward us with her fiancé, Jason, in tow. She’s wearing a glittering gold dress that clings to her like a second skin, and the smug look on her face makes my stomach twist. I force a smile, clutching my clutch bag tight.
“Well, don’t you two look cosy,” she purrs, her gaze flitting between us. “I still can’t believe it. You and Austin.”
I manage a tight smile, praying the flush creeping up my neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. “Yep. Us.”
Austin, of course, takes it all in stride. “What can I say?” he drawls, his voice dripping with charm. “When you know, you know.” Austin pulls me a fraction closer. His grin is dazzling, his tone just smug enough to make me want to either kiss him or punch him.
Possibly both.
Amber's eyes linger on me, sharp and assessing. “Mia, you look . . . different. Doesn’t she, Jason?”
Jason, bless him, barely looks up from his beer. “Sure.”
Jason is your typical puppy dog. I can imagine when Amber shouts jump, he asks how high.
“Different good,” Austin interjects, his voice laced with amusement. He looks down at me, his eyes warm and steady.
Amber’s smile tightens, and I fight the urge to smirk.
Score one for Team Fake Fiancé.
“Anyway, I’m the one who is different,” Austin continues. “Mia’s changed me. Tamed me, even.”
I nearly choke on air. “Tamed you?” I repeat, shooting him a glare.
“Completely,” he says, turning that ridiculous grin on me. “She’s got this whole bossy, no-nonsense thing going on. Very sexy.”
“How . . . lovely.” Amber says.
Before I can respond—or kill Austin—Amber is whisked away by another guest, followed by poor Jason, leaving us standing there in the middle of her immaculate living room.
“Bossy and sexy?” I hiss, rounding on Austin the second she’s out of earshot.
He shrugs, unrepentant. “What? It’s believable. Plus, you are bossy. And, let’s be honest, very sexy.”
I smack his arm, but it’s like hitting a brick wall. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says, smirking.
Before I can argue, another couple approaches, and we’re dragged into a conversation about the wine selection and Amber’s newly redecorated flat.
Austin plays the role of doting fiancé to perfection, laughing at all the right moments and occasionally dropping little details about “our life together” that make me want to crawl into a hole.
“Mia always makes the best coffee in the mornings,” he says at one point, his arm slung casually around my shoulders.
I glance up at him, incredulous. “You don’t even drink coffee.”
“True,” he says, grinning down at me. “But if I did, I’m sure yours would be amazing.”
The couple laughs, clearly charmed, while I contemplate whether it’s socially acceptable to pour a glass of red wine over his head.
As the night wears on, I catch Amber watching us from across the room, her expression a mix of suspicion and annoyance. Austin notices too, leaning in close to whisper, “She’s not buying it yet. Time for the big guns.”
“What big guns?” I ask, alarmed.
But before I can stop him, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me.
It’s soft at first, almost tentative, but then his thumb brushes my cheek, and he tilts his head just so, and suddenly it’s not a performance anymore.
My pulse spikes, my stomach flips, and for a second, the world narrows to just him—the warmth of his lips, the faint scent of his aftershave, the way his hands feel so steady and sure.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my mind spinning.
“Big guns,” he says, smirking like he hasn’t just upended my entire existence.
Amber looks absolutely livid.
I, on the other hand, have no idea if I want to scream, cry, or kiss him again.
The night wears on, and Austin is deep into a conversation about football with Jason, gesturing animatedly while I nod along, doing my best to look engaged. I’m mid-eye-roll when Amber strikes again, sweeping in like a predator who smells blood—or gossip.
“So,” she chirps, sidling up beside me, her glass of wine teetering dangerously in her hand, “how did he propose? Must have been quite the spectacle. I mean, I’ve only known Austin for five minutes, but he screams grand gesture, doesn’t he?”
My brain flatlines, every rehearsed line evaporating into the ether. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Of course, Austin steps in, smooth as ever.
“It was Christmas Eve,” he begins, his voice dripping with nostalgia. He slides his arm around my shoulders, his grip firm but annoyingly comforting. “We were at her family’s place. Snow falling, fairy lights twinkling—it was perfect.”
“Romantic,” Amber coos, her eyes narrowing as she sips her wine. “Did he get down on one knee?”
“Of course,” Austin replies, his grin widening as he gazes down at me like I’m the love of his life. “Had to make it memorable for her.”
I force a smile, even as my cheeks burn red hot like a bonfire. The way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only woman in the room—should be illegal. It’s almost convincing enough to make me believe it.
But, Amber isn’t buying it. She tilts her head, studying us with the intensity of a hawk watching its prey. “Well, I can’t wait to see the wedding. Any plans yet?”
Austin’s hand slides to my waist, giving it a subtle squeeze. “One step at a time, right, babe?”
“Right,” I echo, my voice an octave higher than usual. My smile feels about as real as my engagement.
Amber gives us one last scrutinising look before her face breaks into a saccharine smile. “Well, you two are just too adorable.” She raises her phone and before I can react she shouts, “Smile!”
The flash goes off, blinding me for a second. “Wait, what—”
“Oh, don’t worry.” Amber’s fingers are already flying over her screen, her smile turning devilish. “Just a quick post for the socials. You know how it is.”
My stomach plummets. “Amber, no—”
“Too late,” she sings, holding up her phone like it’s Excalibur. “It’s live. Honestly, Mia, you should thank me. Everyone’s going to be so happy for you two.”
I turn to Austin, panicked. He, of course, looks completely unfazed. He smirks at me like this is all some grand joke.
I glare at him. “This is not funny.”
“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips twitching as if he’s trying not to laugh.
“Relax? Amber just announced our fake engagement to half the city,” I hiss.
Austin shrugs, pulling me a little closer. “All part of the plan, babe. Besides, you look gorgeous in that picture. It’ll make Amber’s followers jealous.”
I resist the urge to strangle him, but just barely. As Amber flounces off, I mentally calculate how quickly I can deactivate my social media accounts before my mum sees this—and possibly faints.
Austin leans down, his voice low and teasing in my ear. “Don’t worry. If anyone asks, I’ll handle it.”
“You better,” I mutter, my heart pounding in my chest. Because if Amber’s post doesn’t send my life into a spiral, Austin’s infuriating charm just might.