If someone told you you’d be trapped in a house with Conrad’s brother and his girlfriend, who also happened to be Conrad’s ex-girlfriend, you probably would’ve laughed. Or said absolutely not. Or both.

But here you were.

You and Conrad met at Stanford. A random lab partner assignment that somehow became late-night study sessions, coffee runs and sarcastic banter. Quick friends. He told you everything, more than you expected from someone like him. About his mom, his brother, his complicated past.

You knew Conrad was… hesitant. A little closed-off, a little wary. And definitely apprehensive about going home for the Fourth of July. Everyone was going to be there. Sure, he'd be happy to see Laurel and Steven but he's also have to deal with Belly, Jeremiah, his dad. All of it.

“Then I’ll come with you,” you offered one night, casual but not really.

“Really?” he asked, like the idea hadn’t occurred to him, that someone might just choose to be there for him.

You shrugged. “What are friends for?”

You got here and instantly understood why Cousins Beach was so talked about. The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and maybe something a little more nostalgic. You’d heard about the magic of this place, about how his mom made it feel like a storybook. But since her passing, you could also feel the gap she left behind. It lingered in the hallways. In the way no one quite looked each other in the eye.

Conrad opens the door, quiet as always, and helps you carry your bag inside like it’s nothing. Like inviting someone into his childhood home isn't a big deal. But it is. You know it is.

Next thing you know, you’re sitting around the dining table, caught in a domestic fever dream. Across from you sit Belly and Jeremiah, her hand resting lightly on his knee under the table. She’s laughing at something Steven said, and Jeremiah’s looking at her like she’s the only girl who’s ever existed.

It’s killing Conrad.

He’s hiding it well and most people wouldn’t notice. But you know him well enough by now to catch the small giveaways. The tightness in his jaw. The way he picks at his food without really eating it. The way his fingers twitch like he needs to be doing something, anything else.

He’s halfway through a sentence—something light, something about a class of his—when his dad suddenly interrupts, voice loud and casual:

“So this is the girl that’s been keeping you in California?”

You and Conrad both open your mouths to correct him at the same time—

But he hesitates. And in that one breath of silence, you glance at him and see it—how tense his shoulders are, how he’s bracing for a conversation he doesn’t want to have, how much he’s hurting just sitting across from them.

So you say it for him.

“Yeah,” you blurt out, smiling like it doesn’t cost you anything. “Guess I am.”

Conrad’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide, but you don’t look at him. You just sip your water and focus on the flickering candle in the center of the table, like you’ve just lied about something small. Like it’s no big deal.

But your heart is pounding.

And apparently, you’re his fake girlfriend for however long you’re here.