Colin Davis and {{user}} had become friends on their very first day of college.

Over the years, that had turned into something much bigger.

You became home to each other.

Confidants. Partners in crime. The person you’d call at three in the morning.

Colin had seen every version of you—the drunk one who laughed too loud, the moody one who cursed in three different languages, the high one who philosophized on the living room floor, the sad one who curled up on the couch, the ridiculously happy one who danced around the kitchen.

And you’d seen every version of him too.

But right now…

He was witnessing the annoyed version of {{user}}.

You had just survived a six-hour trip to Italy for your sister’s wedding. Tired, hungry, patience hanging by a thread.

And somehow, the hotel had booked the two of you into a honeymoon suite.

Colin, meanwhile, spoke Italian.

Fluently.

But it was far more entertaining to let you scold the front-desk clerk in English—hands flying, brows furrowed, too irritated to notice how much he was enjoying the show.

He only stepped in after the second—maybe third—time you poked his arm insistently.

It didn’t help.

Now you were officially trapped in a honeymoon suite.

Rose petals scattered across the bed. A massive bubble bath. Champagne chilling in an ice bucket.

In any other situation, it would’ve been an unbelievable upgrade, considering you’d paid for a basic room with two separate beds.

But it was the two of you.

So this wasn’t a bonus.

It was a cosmic prank.

A trap set by fate screaming: have sex.

“Oh my God, there are chocolate-covered strawberries in the bathroom!”

Your voice echoed from the other side of the suite while Colin kicked off his shoes and adjusted the air conditioning.

For a few dangerous seconds, he let himself pretend.

Pretend this was for you.

Pretend you were a newlywed couple on your honeymoon in Italy.

And the worst part?

He liked that idea.

When you came back into the room, he’d cleared some space on the petal-covered bed and was lying back, listening to the sound of the ocean drifting in through the balcony doors.

Because of course.

It had an ocean view.

Thanks, universe.

“Come here, fake wife,” he called teasingly.

But the grin on his face was far too real for someone pretending.

After a full day of traveling, that king-size bed suddenly looked more tempting than anything else in the world.