I Swear I’m Not Falling

CHAPTER 3: The Gala

~CASSIE

Relief floods through me so hard I almost smile. I actually pulled it off. Liam Carter—campus king, notorious bachelor—has never had a girlfriend. Until now. And the fact that it’s me? Noah is gonna lose his freaking mind.

“Thank you,” I say, setting my books down.

“I hope you’ll be a great girlfriend,” he says smoothly, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Because I’m going to take this seriously. Just a heads up though—I’m a handsy guy.”

My stomach does this weird little flip I don’t appreciate. I force a scoff. “Wow. Warning label included. How considerate.”

His mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh, but when our eyes meet again, the air between us shifts—heavier now, more aware. I look away first, scratching my arm like it will reset my brain. It doesn’t.

“So…” I clear my throat, searching desperately for safer territory. “Maybe we should talk about boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” he echoes, one dark brow lifting.

Before I can answer, he closes the small distance between us. His hand settles lightly on my shoulder—not restraining, not demanding, simply there. But my entire body locks up anyway.

“You know,” he murmurs, “if you tense up every time I touch you, we’re not going to fool anyone.”

“I didn’t tense up.”

“You absolutely did.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “And why exactly do you need to keep touching me?” I ask.

He studies me for a second before answering, like the response is painfully obvious.

“Because I’m supposed to be your boyfriend, Brooks.”

The word makes my pulse stutter.

“Can’t you convince people without all that?” I gesture vaguely between us. “We can just hold hands or something.”

“Was your relationship with Noah PG-12 or something?”

“No,” I snap before I can stop myself. My voice falters. “We had s*x plenty of times. The difference is, I thought I was his girlfriend.”

“We just made a deal,” he says softly. “And the way I see it, that makes you my girlfriend now. If we’re going to pull this off, it has to feel effortless.”

As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. If I want Noah to choke on this, I have to play the part.

“Alright,” he says lightly. “Let’s go slow then.”

Something in my chest unclenches.

“Slow?” I repeat.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “We’ve got cameras on us tonight,” he says.

“If we build this naturally now, it’ll look natural later. That’s the whole point.”

“…Fine,” I mutter. “We practice. Just… keep it normal.”

“Define normal.”

I shoot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

He guides me toward the couch with a strange stiffness, then sits down beside me.

After a moment, he holds out his hand. My throat goes dry. Slowly, I place mine in his. The second our skin meets, a sharp jolt runs through me and I pull back instinctively. He must feel it too—because instead of teasing me, he just licks his lips and watches me a little too closely.

“Try again,” he says quietly. “Put your hand back.”

I swallow hard and do as he says. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers lace through mine, firm and warm, and my heart starts pounding so loudly I’m sure it should give me away. His thumb moves lightly over my skin, sending a fresh wave of shivers down my spine, and I hate how much I react to something so simple.

“See?” he murmurs. “Not so difficult.”

I nod too fast, trying to ignore the heat building in my chest as he leans in closer.

“Next,” he says, “comes the part where we’re comfortable with physical contact.”

His gaze searches mine before he adds quietly, “Only if you’re okay with it.”

The words barely register before instinct takes over.

I jerk my hand out of his grasp. “Are you seriously insane?”

He blinks once.

“I literally said if you’re okay with it.”

“…Oh.”

I cross my arms, refusing to admit I’d reacted before listening.

He huffs a laugh.

“But answer me this.” He folds his arms. “Do you actually want Noah to believe we’re dating?”

“What does that have to do with my lips?”

He stares at me for a beat, looking genuinely baffled.

“Brooks… What exactly do you think couples do? Compare lecture notes?”

Then he leans in just slightly, enough that I instinctively lean back, my pulse kicking up. “People in relationships touch each other. They hold hands. They hug. They steal quick kisses without thinking about it.”

I swallow.

“It’s normal.”

My thoughts immediately begin spiraling.

Maybe this was a terrible idea.

Maybe asking Liam to fake-date me ranked somewhere between “catastrophic” and “life-ending.”

I square my shoulders.

“It’s fake dating,” I argue. “Not an excuse to turn this into some romcom.”

“Fair enough. I won’t push you.”

There isn’t even the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice.

Relief loosens something inside my chest.

“But…” he continues, “what’s your plan when we’re out together?”

“What do you mean?”

“The bars. Hockey games.” He pauses. “The alumni gala tonight.”

I blink.

“The… what?”

“The gala.”

My stomach drops.

“…That’s tonight?”

He nods.

“Wait.”

Realization crashes over me.

“I actually have to go?”

A grin tugs at one corner of his mouth. “Well… yeah.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His grin softens into something more resigned. “I know I sound like an arrogant ass, but if we look awkward, Noah’s not gonna buy any of this.”

And I hate that he’s right. Being seen with him—stepping into his world—would convince anyone. Especially Noah. So me showing up at a polished gala on Liam’s arm would probably send him spiraling.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll go. But no kissing.”

His mouth twitches. “Why are you so against kissing me? Afraid you’d be bad at it?”

I scowl. “I’m a great kisser!”

“Yeah?” He leans in. “Then prove it.”

“Why do I have to prove anything to you?” I snap. “I know I’m a good kisser.”

“I see fear in your eyes. I get it.”

“Wh—” The sound sputters out of me. “Why would I be scared to kiss you?”

A smug grin spreads across his face. “I mean, I’m Liam Carter after all.”

My entire body goes rigid.

“Fine!” The word bursts out before I can stop it. “Let’s do it.”

His eyes flare wide with surprise before a slow, dangerous smile takes over. Those deep ocean-blue eyes grow darker. I fist his shirt, tug him down, and crush my mouth against his. The kiss is fierce, scorching, and far too addictive—his fingers dig into my waist, pulling me closer until there’s barely an inch between us.

His tongue dances with mine, drawing a soft whimper from my throat. For one dizzying moment, I forget why I’m supposed to despise him.

Then my eyes snap open.

Wait.

Tonight.

The gala.

Oh God.

I shove gently against his chest, breaking the kiss so abruptly we both stumble back half a step.

He blinks at me, clearly caught off guard.

“What?”

“The gala!” I blurt, running a frantic hand through my hair. “It’s tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“…Yes.”

Panic crashes over me all at once.

“I’m not ready—I don’t have anything to wear!”

For a second, he simply watches me spiral.

Then the corner of his mouth lifts.

“So that’s why you pulled away.”

I glare at him.

“I’m having a crisis.”

He slips both hands into his pockets, infuriatingly calm for someone whose fake girlfriend is seconds away from a full-blown meltdown.

“Go home,” he says, completely unfazed. “I’ll get everything covered.”

I stare at him.

“What?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

My jaw drops.

“Seven?” I squeak. “Liam, that’s literally two hours from now!”

He doesn’t even blink.

“Exactly.”

I throw my hands in the air. “How are you supposed to get everything covered in two hours? I don’t have a dress, jewelry—nothing! This is an alumni gala, not a last-minute coffee run!”

“As I said…Trust me.”

My stomach betrays me with an annoying little flip.

"One more thing. At the gala, look at me like you're completely obsessed. I know that's a tall order for someone who insists she hates me, but Noah has to believe every second of it."

"I've got it."

Clutching my books to my chest, I hurry toward the door before I can embarrass myself any further.

"Seven sharp, Brooks," he calls after me.

"I know!"

"And try not to overthink it."

I mutter something under my breath that sounds suspiciously like, "Too late."

….

The black SUV stops outside the grand alumni hall and the night explodes.

Liam steps out first. The second his shoe hits the red carpet.

A wall of screams crashes over us. Camera flashes explode in rapid succession. Students surge against the barricades, phones raised high, desperate for a picture. Someone shouts his name. Then another. Within seconds, hundreds of voices are chanting it.

“Captain Carter!”

“Ice king!”

“I love you!”

Puck bunnies wave homemade signs with his number splashed across them. Alumni clap him on from the sidelines. Even faculty members can’t hide their excitement.

I grip the leather seat, suddenly wondering if I should’ve stayed home.

Liam barely acknowledges the chaos.

He gives the crowd that effortless, cocky smile—the one that’s landed on magazine covers more times than I can count—before circling the SUV.

He opens the door with deliberate chivalry.

His large, warm hand reaches for mine. The moment I step out in the emerald gown Liam left at my doorstep, the cheers falter, then turn into stunned murmurs.

“Isn’t that the scholarship girl?”

“Cassie Brooks? The bartender?”

“The freaking nerd?”

Their whispers multiply faster than the camera flashes.

“What the f**k is Liam Carter doing with her?”

Before I can shrink into myself, Liam gently folds my hand into the crook of his arm and draws me against his side as though I belong there.

“Keep your head up, Brooks,” he murmurs, “They’re not judging you. They’re wondering how I got so lucky.”

Together, we walk inside. The ballroom is breathtaking—crystal chandeliers raining light over polished marble floors, orchestral music floating through conversations worth millions.

The instant Liam and I enter, heads turn.

Conversations stop.

People part instinctively, creating a path through the center of the room.

Towering banners of Liam in his Manchester jersey line the walls, his captain’s smile staring down from every corner. Sponsors surround his display. Alumni stop to take photos beside it.

Noah’s banners are sparse, almost an afterthought. No wonder the rivalry burns Noah so hot.

Liam isn’t just the captain. He is the face of Manchester Hockey—exactly why it would burn Noah to see me standing beside his brother tonight.

My stomach knots as we move through the crowd. “I’m nervous,” I whisper, fingers digging into his arm. “Where’s Noah?”

“He’ll find us.”

He says it with such certainty that I stop searching the room.

He already knows.

We’re barely halfway toward the head table when Liam’s gaze lifts over my shoulder.

Across the ballroom, Noah is laughing with a group of donors, whiskey balanced loosely in one hand. Then he sees us. Everything stops.

His smile is the first thing to disappear. The glass in his hand freezes halfway to his mouth as his eyes lock onto mine. Slowly, almost unwillingly, his gaze drifts lower, taking in the emerald gown, the diamonds at my throat, Liam’s arm wrapped securely around my waist, and our fingers intertwined.

His jaw tightens until it looks painful. A muscle in his cheek ticks once. Then again.

Someone beside him says something, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even blink.

His grip on the whiskey glass becomes so tight I’m half convinced it’s about to shatter.

For one deeply satisfying moment, he looks like I’ve personally driven a knife straight through him.

Then his eyes shift to Liam and pure murder takes over.

It must be humiliating, knowing your ex has moved on with your rival. Oops…your own half-brother—must feel like a knife twisting in the gut.

Liam notices immediately and lets out a low, satisfied chuckle. “Now he sees you.”

Without hesitation, he spins me into him. One hand cups my jaw, the other presses firm against my lower back, right above the slit of my dress. He kisses me hard—deep, all tongue and heat. The kind of kiss that makes my knees weak and my body forget this is fake.

For a second, I forget it’s staged.

I kiss him back. Because Noah is still watching.