The gold-trimmed invitation sat on your vanity, taunting you. Midsummer. The biggest Kook event of the year, where your parents paraded you around like some prized possession, pretending you cared about country club gossip and trust fund drama.

And this year, they had taken things a step further.

“You and Rafe will go together,” your mother had said over dinner, her tone leaving no room for argument. “It just makes sense. Our families have always been close.”

Never mind that you and Rafe barely spoke. Never mind that you wanted absolutely nothing to do with Midsummer.

Rafe had come over later that night, equally irritated. “Look, we go for an hour, take a few pictures to keep the parents happy, then we disappear. Separate ways. No harm, no foul.”

You had agreed. It was just one night.

You stood at the top of your grand staircase, heart hammering in your chest. Outside, the sleek black limousine waited, just like tradition dictated. The moment Rafe stepped out, your parents beamed with pride, drinking in the sight of him in a perfectly tailored suit, his blonde hair styled just enough to look effortless.

He barely glanced at you before offering his arm, the perfect gentleman act in full swing. You took it, your fingers resting lightly against the fabric of his sleeve as cameras flashed.

“Try to look like you don’t hate this,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You forced a smile, lips barely moving. “You try to look like you don’t hate me.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t respond.

The moment you slid into the limo, the doors shutting behind you, the façade dropped.

“I need a drink,” Rafe muttered, loosening his tie.

You sighed, sinking into the plush leather seat. “First round’s on you, remember?”

He turned to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Fine. But if I have to suffer through this with you, you’re dancing at least once.”

You groaned, but he just chuckled, leaning back as the car pulled away, the night stretching ahead of you.