Fifteen
Sienna
I spot the sign before I even fully clear baggage claim, and I swear my soul exits my body for the second time today.
My name—SIENNA BLAKE, WELCOME HOME!—is scrawled across a piece of poster board in bold, black Sharpie, held aloft by none other than my father.
Oh. My. God.
I halt mid-step, causing Nathan to nearly collide with my back. He steadies himself, his hand gently gripping my waist as he peers over my shoulder.
“Something wrong?”
“Do you see that?”
I hiss under my breath.
He follows my line of sight, his expression betraying only a flicker of surprise before quickly settling into smug amusement. “Ah. That's subtle.”
“Subtle? I want to die.”
“Dramatic.”
“But true.”
He chuckles, the sound too warm, too comforting given the situation. “I assume that's a relative?”
“It’s my father. He likes to torture me,”
I deadpan, resisting the urge to hide behind him.
“Still dramatic.”
“Shut up.”
I inhale deeply, squaring my shoulders. “Okay. We’ve got this.”
His brow lifts in question. “We?”
“Yes. We. You’re my fake boyfriend, remember? Time to put your acting skills to work, Mr. Calloway.”
Nathan’s eyes glint with something dangerously close to mischief. “You sure you’re ready for my A-game?”
Oh no.
That look is going to get us both killed.
Before I can brace myself, my father spots me. His face splits into a beaming grin, and he waves the embarrassing sign even higher.
“Kiddo!”
my father booms, voice loud enough to make heads turn.
I muster the brightest smile I can manage. “Hi, Dad.”
He closes the distance in three swift strides, wrapping me in a hug tight enough to rearrange my spine. “Missed you, kid,”
he says gruffly into my hair. “Too long since you've been home.”
“Missed you too,”
I say, squeezing him back. Despite the embarrassment, warmth blooms in my chest.
When he finally pulls away, his gaze shifts immediately to Nathan, narrowing in a fatherly threat-assessment kind of way.
“And you must be the boyfriend,”
he says bluntly.
Nathan steps forward, his hand extended confidently. “Nathan Calloway, sir. Pleasure to meet you.”
Sir?
Of course he’d pull out the manners.
Dad takes his hand, clearly sizing him up. “Tim Blake. Sienna’s father.”
Dad's stare hardens. “You know, I thought for a while there you might've been imaginary.”
Yep, I’m going to pass out. Maybe it might distract him from the oncoming interrogation.
Nathan doesn’t miss a beat. “I assure you, I’m very real. She's not getting rid of me that easily.”
Dad laughs. “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”
Oh, shit. We didn’t rehearse this part.
Before I can craft a plausible lie, Nathan slides an arm around my waist with an ease that momentarily robs me of coherent thought. “Funny story. She stole my seat at a bar.”
I snap my gaze up to him, mouth falling open. “I did not—”
“Oh, she absolutely did,”
Nathan interrupts, eyes dancing with humor. “I got up for one second to take a call, and when I returned, she was perched there, sipping my whiskey.”
My dad throws his head back with a deep laugh while I shoot Nathan a glare hot enough to melt glaciers.
“He’s exaggerating,”
I insist, nudging him sharply in the ribs.
Nathan grins wider. “Barely, but it was worth it.”
“Was it?”
I arch a brow at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth spreading through me at his playful tone.
“Definitely.”
He winks, squeezing my side gently, and I feel my face flush.
Dad watches the exchange, his eyes darting between us before he chuckles again and nods. “Well, Calloway, seems like you've got your hands full.”
“You have no idea, sir.”
God help me.
My father picks up my suitcase, giving Nathan a meaningful look, finally satisfied with whatever silent alpha-male assessment he just conducted, and then claps a hand on my back so hard I'm surprised my lungs stay intact. “Alright, lovebirds. Let’s get moving.”
I'd forgotten this part.
Normal couples typically leave the airport together, and since I’m staying at my parents' house, logic dictates that Nathan should come with me.
Nathan, who has absolutely no reason to come home with me.
Just as panic threatens to consume me, Nathan smoothly steps in.
“I've arranged a rental,”
he says, effortlessly calm. “Didn’t realize Sienna’s dad was picking her up. Besides, I know how excited she’s been to catch up with family.”
I blink up at him, speechless.
Nathan Calloway: master improviser.
“Smart move. Gives me more time with my girl.”
Just as relief washes over me, Dad turns back to Nathan with a terrifying gleam in his eyes. “You’re welcome to the spare room, son. Plenty of space.”
I nearly choke on my spit.
Nathan? Staying in my childhood home?
Absolutely fucking not.
But Nathan doesn't even hesitate. “I appreciate the offer, but I've already booked a hotel. Business meetings, late calls. I wouldn't want to impose.”
Dad nods. “Fair enough, but you're coming to dinner tonight. No excuses.”
My heart sinks like a rock. Nathan’s face remains flawlessly neutral.
“Oh, Dad, Nathan’s schedule is so packed,”
I interject. “Meetings, investors, you know. Super important finance-guy stuff.”
Nathan barely misses a beat. “Dinner sounds great. Wouldn't miss it.”
I shoot him a murderous glare.
In return, he flashes a devastating smile.
My dad beams. “Excellent. See you at seven. Nothing fancy, just family.”
“I look forward to it.”
He’s going to pay for this.
As Dad hauls my suitcase away, I can’t shake the memory of Daniel’s smug face the last time I came home. Will Dad compare Nathan to Daniel? Will Mom bring out the old photo albums?
I swallow hard.
As my dad heads toward the exit, Nathan’s hand lightly catches my elbow. “Sienna, one sec?”
I inhale, forcing calm, then smile at my dad, hoping he won’t see the panic attack clawing to get out of my chest. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
The moment my father is out of earshot, I whirl around, arms folded tightly. “What the hell was that?”
“You seemed to need rescuing.”
“Not like that,” I hiss.
He leans in, lowering his voice. “Oh, come on. You vanished this morning without even a goodbye or, ‘Hey, thanks for ruining me for all other men.’”
My cheeks instantly heat. Bastard.
“Maybe it wasn't worth mentioning,”
I counter weakly.
He raises a skeptical eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across his face.
“Fine,”
I relent, heart hammering traitorously in my chest. “It was great. Happy now?”
“Almost.”
He holds out his phone.
I blink at it. “What now?”
“Your number,”
he says. “Considering your disappearing act this morning, I prefer to take fate out of the equation this time. Plus, we have a fake relationship to maintain.”
My stomach flutters—stupid, traitorous organ—as I grab his phone, reluctantly entering my number.
He accepts it back with an annoyingly triumphant smirk.
“See you at dinner, sweetheart,”
he drawls, stepping away like he hasn’t just dropped a grenade into my week.
I can’t even be mad at him. It was my stupid idea.
I watch his broad back retreat through the crowd, every confident step making it clear that I am way out of my depth.
This fake dating thing?
Definitely going to kill me.