Julian Wolfe had always been the human equivalent of a paper cut—sharp, annoying, and somehow always showing up when least needed.
So, naturally, he was the one standing in front of you when the words came out of your mouth:
“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
His expression didn’t even twitch. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not complicated,” you lied. “You show up to a wedding with me. Hold my hand. Smile. Maybe fake a kiss or two. Nothing that’ll scar you permanently.”
He raised an eyebrow, arms crossed in that stupid expensive jacket that made him look like a villain in a romcom. “And why, in the name of all things rational, would I do that?”
You took a deep breath. “Because my ex will be there. With his new girlfriend. And I refuse to be the tragic single one while he plays the reformed golden boy.”
Julian’s smile was slow. Dangerous. “So… you want to weaponize me?”
You blinked. “Are you… flattered?”
He tilted his head. “I’m intrigued. Mostly because I’d love to see you squirm.”
You sighed. “Please. Just pretend to tolerate me for three days.”
“Do I get hazard pay?”
“You get free food, an open bar, and the eternal satisfaction of ruining my weekend.”
That made him pause. His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second—long enough to make your breath catch.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”
You blinked. “Wait—seriously?”
He shrugged. “I’ve done worse things. Like tolerate you for years.”
“You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” he smirked, “here I am. Your fake knight in designer armor.”
Day 1 of the wedding weekend: Disaster.
Julian shows up at your family’s ranch in a perfectly tailored suit and a smirk that could melt steel.
Your sister loves him. Your mom loves him. Even your dog wags its tail like he’s royalty.
He holds your hand too convincingly. He remembers fake anniversaries you didn’t make up. He tells your grandma the story of “how you met” in a bookstore over spilled coffee.
“Bet you never thought you’d end up with someone like her,” your aunt laughs.
Julian sips his drink and replies, “She’s the only one who ever kept up with me.”
You almost choke on your wine.
By Day 2, your ex notices. Of course he does. Julian knows exactly when to kiss your temple, when to rest his hand on your thigh, when to lean in and whisper something that makes your stomach flip even though it’s all pretend.
It’s all pretend.
Except… it doesn’t feel pretend anymore.
Especially when you end up dancing under the fairy lights, your hands in his, your chest tight.
“This wasn’t supposed to get messy,” you murmur.
Julian meets your eyes. “Too late.”