Page 43 of Fake it for Keeps

“Relax,” he murmured near my ear. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

“I am about to bolt,” I whispered back.

“Please don’t. I’d have to chase you, and these shoes are new.”

Despite myself, I almost smiled.

The waiter appeared with menus and wine recommendations. Colt ordered for both of us without asking what I wanted, which should have annoyed me but somehow didn’t. He’d chosen well, the salmon I’d been eyeing and a wine that sounded perfect.

As the waiter left, a couple at the next table leaned over.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” the woman said, beaming at us. “We saw the announcement online. You two make such a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you,” Colt said smoothly, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb traced circles on my palm. “When you find the right one, you just know.”

I had to remind myself it was all for show.

A waiter passing by did a double-take when he saw me.

“Oh my god,” he said, his eyes widening. “Are you—I’m sorry, this is so unprofessional, but are you a Kardashian? I could swear I’ve seen you on TV.”

Colt’s eyebrows shot up. I could see him about to correct the poor guy, but something made me lean into it. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the absurdity of the whole situation.

“Yes,” I said seriously. “I’m the plus-size Kardashian. They keep me hidden. Family secret.”

The waiter’s eyes got even wider. “I knew it! I knew there had to be⁠—”

Colt made a choking sound. I glanced over to see him desperately trying not to spit his wine out, his hand pressed to his mouth.

“I’m kidding,” I told the waiter quickly. “I’m not a Kardashian. Sorry. I was just having a bit of fun with it.”

He laughed, embarrassed but good-natured. “Right, of course. My mistake. Enjoy your dinner.”

As soon as he was gone, Colt let out the laugh he’d been holding in. It was genuine and unguarded, transforming his entire face. He looked younger when he laughed like that. More human.

More like the boy I’d known in high school.

“The plus-size Kardashian,” he repeated, shaking his head. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“Clearly.” He took a sip of wine, his eyes still dancing with amusement. “You’re full of surprises.”

The moment felt easy. Natural. Almost real.

Then I remembered where we were. Who we were pretending to be. And the easy feeling evaporated.

“Is it always like this?” I asked, looking around at all the people still sneaking glances at us, phones held not-so-subtly under tables as they snapped pictures. “The attention?”

His expression sobered. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I thought you’d love it. The whole celebrity thing.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Why would you think that?”

I shrugged. “Because you have an ego the size of Texas.”

Colt didn’t dispute it, which I appreciated. He rotated his wine glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “I liked the attention once. When I was younger and stupider. Now it just feels… invasive.”