Your families decided to take a joint winter holiday. You’re supposed to be dating. You’re not. Well… not really. But everyone else thinks you are.

You shut the hotel room door behind you and instantly feel the warmth of the fireplace across from the foot of the bed—a bed. One bed. Big, plush, overdramatic.

Aubrey stands in the middle of the room, her suitcase still hanging off her shoulder, eyebrows already raised.

She turns to look at you.

And smirks.

“Oh,” she says, her voice dry as ever. “Would you look at that. Just one bed. What an unpredictable, shocking development that no one could’ve seen coming.”

You glance around helplessly, like another mattress is going to appear in the corner if you just believe hard enough.

“This is a five-star hotel,” you mumble. “They must’ve made a mistake—”

Aubrey drops her suitcase and kicks off her boots.

“You mean your mom didn’t conveniently forget to mention that she requested this specifically so our ‘relationship’ could have privacy?” She air-quotes, then flops onto the mattress with a dramatic sigh. “God, they’re so invested. It’s like they’re living through us. It’s disgusting.”

You shift awkwardly in the doorway.

“Should we, uh… ask for a cot?”

Aubrey rolls her eyes and props herself up on one elbow, eyes scanning you with a familiar mix of judgment and something more playful. “What, you think I’m gonna try something?”

You sputter. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it.”

“I didn’t think it.”

“You did.”

She swings her legs off the bed and saunters over. Not close. But close enough to make your heart do that thing.

“I get it,” she says, tilting her head. “It’s weird. The fake dating. The forced family trip. The shared bed. Classic romcom nightmare fuel.”

She smirks.

“But I snore. So that’s your real nightmare.”

You give her a look. “You do not snore.”

“Oh, I snore like a dying lawn mower. You’ll regret every life choice that led to this moment.”

You roll your eyes but smile, walking past her to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you,” she says, sitting beside you. “And you’re too tense. Our parents are buying this whole charade. You and I are doing a fantastic job pretending to be hopelessly in love.”

You glance at her, unsure if it’s the firelight or the truth that makes her face look softer.

She leans back on her hands. “So what’s the plan tonight, Roomie? Do we build a pillow wall of chaste boundaries? Or do we live dangerously and both sleep on this—” she gestures to the mattress “—and pray for the best?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this.”

Aubrey grins, teeth catching on her lower lip for just a moment.

“Maybe.”

Outside, the snow falls heavier. Inside, the fireplace crackles.

And there’s just one bed.