The Sweetest Revenge

Chapter 10 - The First Fake Date

I was rushing around my apartment, one heel on and the other still dangling from my hand, when a knock sounded at the door. I glanced at the clock—exactly 7:00 p.m.

Of course, Liam was on time. Again.

Why couldn't he forget something for once, just enough to give me an extra five minutes?

I quickly smoothed down my hair and took a calming breath before opening the door, trying to act as though I hadn't just run a marathon. "Good evening, Liam," I said, meeting his gaze.

He looked sharp, his tailored charcoal pants fitting him perfectly, with a crisp white shirt open at the collar, hinting at effortless style. He'd kept his hair in its usual neat mess, and I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered, slowly taking in my outfit.

I was wearing a sleek black dress that hugged my curvy figure, its fabric catching just enough light to look elegant without being flashy. Paired with simple gold earrings and a delicate bracelet, I'd kept the accessories minimal. My hair was loosely styled, framing my face in soft waves.

He blinked, a slight stumble in his words. "Uh, hey. You ready?"

"Just need to grab my purse," I replied, slipping on my second heel and heading back inside to retrieve my clutch.

I closed the door behind me and followed Liam down the stairs, only to stop dead in my tracks as we stepped outside.

"This... is your car?" I asked, my jaw nearly dropping as he walked over to open the passenger door.

Parked in front of me was a stunning vintage Mustang, painted a deep, glossy midnight blue. Its polished chrome details glinted under the streetlights, and the leather interior looked as though it had been meticulously cared for. I couldn't help but let my fingers trail along the sleek frame as I stepped closer.

Liam gave a small, awkward laugh. "Yeah... bought it a year ago. Did I mention I'm kind of into vintage cars?"

I shook my head, still in awe. "No, you didn't. It's really beautiful."

He smiled, holding the door open and gesturing for me to get in. "Thanks. Glad you think so."

I slid into the passenger seat, trying to play it cool even as I felt a rush of excitement. Little did he know just how much I loved vintage cars, the countless hours I'd spent admiring them with my dad at car shows, or the nostalgia they always brought back.

**********

The restaurant Liam and I settled on for our first "date" was a new spot downtown called Velvet Ivy. Walking in, I understood why it had quickly become the most-talked-about place in the city. It was sleek and dark, with dim lighting and potted plants hanging from the ceiling. Tables were made of rich mahogany, and there was a sense of exclusivity in the air, like it was designed for A-listers who wanted to eat in peace. I could picture Jake sitting here with Celine, laughing at one of his own jokes while she did her typical eye-roll-flirting routine. The thought made me clench my jaw.

Liam murmured as he took it all in. "You really picked a place, huh?"

"Yeah, well, I figured if we're doing this, might as well make an impression," I replied, shrugging as we were led to a table tucked away in the corner. Jake would probably never expect me here, of all places. That thought alone was oddly thrilling.

As we took our seats, an awkward silence settled between us, thick enough to cut with a knife. Both of us stared intently at the menus, as though they held the secrets of the universe, but for a fake date, it sure felt...pressured.

I could feel my nerves kicking in, and suddenly, everything around me became unbearably interesting. I stole glances at the couples nearby, watching how they laughed easily, leaning close as if the world around them didn't exist. My eyes darted to the waiters weaving between tables, carrying trays with effortless grace. I tried to mimic their calmness, but every shift, every little glance Liam gave me made me feel like I was under a spotlight. My fingers tapped a rhythm on the edge of the menu, and I caught myself adjusting my hair for the third time in a minute.

I didn't know how to act. Should I laugh at his jokes more? Should I keep it casual? Should I just... stare at the dessert menu and avoid eye contact?

"Emma." His voice was soft but steady, and I could feel his gaze on me even before I looked up. "Relax," he said, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. "Just pretend you're out with a friend."

I rolled my shoulders, easing out some tension. "Right. Friends. Totally."

"And besides," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I think we'd make great fake friends."

I laughed, already feeling the tension ease up. "Fake friends," I repeated. "I guess that's a step up from being real strangers."

As we glanced over the menu, Liam nodded toward the decor. "So why'd you pick this place?"

My heart dropped a little. I hadn't told him that this restaurant had been a big deal to Jake and me. We'd heard about it months ago, and he'd made a whole show of saying he couldn't wait to try it out. "Jake wanted to come here when it opened. It was supposed to be where we were planning on going for our 4-year anniversary."

Liam's eyes softened, but he didn't pity me. Instead, he simply nodded. "Then it's a perfect choice. Because tonight, this place is yours."

For the first time, I allowed myself to enjoy the ambiance without thinking about Jake. The restaurant hummed with quiet conversations and soft jazz playing in the background. It felt like a scene from a movie, something surreal and separate from my normal life.

"So, Emma Collins, what's your story?" Liam leaned forward, giving me a serious look.

"My story?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, let's see," he mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "We've covered ex-boyfriends, weird fake dating agreements, and a few short sentences about ourselves and our families. How about college? Did you study art? I remember you saying you wanted to be a full-time artist."

I laughed, genuinely surprised. "Yeah, actually. I majored in fine arts and took a minor in graphic design. And now I freelance for a couple of companies. It's been...a journey." I gestured, almost knocking over my glass of water in the process.

He chuckled, reaching to steady it. "So you being an artist definitely explains the paint splatters on your bag."

I blushed, shrugging. "I'm kind of a mess when I work. But yeah, I've always wanted to make a living off my art. And graphic design pays the bills, so it works out."

Liam's expression grew thoughtful. "It's cool, though, having a career that's also your passion. I respect that."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I planned it all perfectly or anything. But what about you? I mean, you're a chef, so I take it you went to a culinary school?" I laughed.

He leaned back, grinning. "Actually, no. I studied business economics."

I raised my eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "Oh. So, if cooking's your thing, why...?"

"Well, my dream is to open my own chain of restaurants," he explained, his voice dropping to a more earnest tone. "So I figured a business background couldn't hurt. One day, I want to do this-" he gestured around the restaurant, "-on my own terms."

"Plus, my parents weren't exactly thrilled with me wanting to become a chef. They wanted my sister and me to take over the family business when it was our time. They thought being a chef was more of... a hobby." He shrugged.

I've definitely heard a similar phrase many times.

"Some people also say the same thing about being an artist." We shared a small smile, the understanding comfortable and quiet.

Here I was, faking a relationship with a guy who seemed to have it all figured out.

I wish it was that simple though.

***** *****

We chatted as the night unfolded, and I found myself laughing more than I had in months.

Liam had this way of making me forget all the reasons I'd been miserable. It was like he was pulling me out of this funk, one joke, one story at a time. He shared ridiculous stories from his early days in the kitchen, like the time he accidentally set off the fire alarm during a lunch rush.

"Oh my gosh," I gasped between laughs. "So did they fire you on the spot?"

"Miraculously, no," he replied with a grin. "Though I think my boss regretted that decision a few times. The fire alarm incident was just one of many."

By the time dessert came, I'd almost forgotten the original purpose of this dinner. It felt normal, natural even. Liam reached across the table and brushed a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and I felt my heart give a small, unexpected flutter.

"Sorry," he murmured, his hand lingering a second longer than necessary.

I cleared my throat, suddenly self-conscious. "So...what now?"

He looked at me thoughtfully, a small smile on his face. "Now, we take a photo."

"A photo?"

"Yeah," he said, pulling out his phone. "For social media. Isn't that part of the plan?"

I felt a mix of excitement and nerves at the thought. I'd been so focused on pretending that I'd almost forgotten we'd have to document it.

"Good idea," I said, leaning in. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. My heart stuttered at his closeness, his hand steady on my shoulder as if we'd done this a thousand times before. He snapped the picture, perfectly capturing the restaurant's name in the background.

"Wait," I said, holding his phone before he could post it. "Can you send it to me?"

He obliged, and I posted the picture on my own account, tagging him. "Thank you for this," I said once it was done. "Really."

"No need to thank me," he replied, his voice soft. "You're kinda fun to be around, Emma. Even if this is all... make-believe."

"Who knows, maybe when this is all over, we can go from fake-relationship to real friends." I said with a laugh, trying to brush off the growing warmth in my chest.

Real friends. Somehow, that thought didn't feel nearly as easy as it should.

We shared a smile that lingered, an unspoken understanding passing between us, and as we left the restaurant, I couldn't help but picture Jake's reaction to the photo. It was satisfying to imagine his face, but even more satisfying was realizing how little I'd thought of him tonight.