It was supposed to be simple.

One dinner a month with her family. Some hand-holding at school events. A few whispered jokes across crowded rooms to sell the illusion. Easy. Strategic. Necessary.

But nothing had ever been simple with her.

She sat across from him in the backseat of his black Audi, legs tucked up under her, head leaning against the window. Her dress shimmered in the low light—something soft and silver that made her look like a dream someone forgot to wake up from.

They were leaving the Winter Gala. Her mother had insisted they arrive together, as always. And Will had smiled, like he always did, hand on the small of her back, playing his role. The perfect fake boyfriend.

She yawned, barely covering it with the back of her hand. “God, I hate those things.”

Will smirked. “You hate everything your parents love.”

“That’s not true. I love French toast and they love French toast.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then. A breakthrough.”

Silence slipped in again, warm and familiar. The kind that didn’t need filling.

She glanced at him then. Really looked. Her eyes were soft, searching. “You’re quiet tonight.”

He shrugged, turning his gaze out the window. “Tired.”

But that wasn’t it.

It was the way she touched his arm when she laughed. The way she always saved him the last chocolate croissant from her favorite bakery. The way she stood up for him at school even when he was a sarcastic bastard who didn’t deserve it.

Will Grayson III—the one with the trust fund and the reputation and the cold smile—had fallen. Hard. Quietly. Completely.

She reached over and touched his hand, just briefly. A gentle squeeze.

“Thanks for doing this,” she whispered. “For being here.”

He almost said it. Right then. Almost told her that he wasn’t doing this for her parents. That he didn’t care about the whispers or the photos or what anyone thought.

That it wasn’t fake anymore. Not for him.

But instead, he gave her a crooked smile and said, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Because if he told her now, she might pull away. And he wasn’t ready to lose the only thing that had ever felt real.

Not yet.