Chapter4
1078 Words
Emma woke up warm.
Too warm.
Her initial blurry thought was that the inn’s heater had broken. Her second was that she hadn’t slept this well for months. But then she recognized the source of the warmth: an arm, heavy and strong, draped across her waist, a steady heartbeat thudding against her back and the scent of aftershave, minty.
Jake.
At some point in the night, they’d shifted. Or rather, he had. Or maybe she had, too — because her body clicked up against his in a way that wasn’t all innocent.
Emma stiffened.
Jake remained still, but his arm closed around her reflexively, pulling her in. His breath fluttered across the back of her neck.
“Jake,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Heaving herself gently up, she sank her way free of his arm and tiptoed into the bathroom before her heart could beat its way up through her chest.
It was just a slip. A cuddle. It meant nothing.
Right?
⸻
When she finally came out, Jake was sitting up, shirtless, tousle-haired, scrolling through his phone as if waking up in a woman’s bed was the most normal thing in the world.
He looked up. “Morning.”
She attempted to sound blase. “You cuddle in your sleep.”
He smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind.”
“I minded. Internally.”
He rose, stretching, all long appendages and casual confidence. “Want coffee?”
She hesitated. “Jake…”
His brows lifted. “Uh-oh. I know that tone.”
“We need to be careful. People are already asking questions, and I can’t afford to let go.”
“Neither can I,” he said, lightheartedly pouring her a cup of coffee.
She accepted it, unwillingly grateful.
“But,” he continued, “I also think that we’re doing pretty well. Your mom loves me. Your dad’s offered — offered to let me shadow him at the hardware store.”
Emma gave him a sharp look.
He shrugged. “Okay, not the last part. But it’s going better than I thought.”
She took a sip. “Too smooth.”
Jake perched on the edge of the bed. “You want for us to go at it in public? I can feign a debate about your choice of throw pillows.”
Emma fought a smile. “No one argues about throw pillows.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” His grin was dangerous. You have not had enough interior designers as dates.
⸻
Downstairs, bedlam was already flowering.
Rachel was screaming at the florist about a missing peony arch. Their mother was in an argument with the venue manager over chair covers. Emma and Jake slipped past the madness into the breakfast room, where some cousins were already eating and whispering out of both sides of their mouths.
Jake got them two plates and took her to a small table by the window.
“Can I just say,” he muttered, “I get now why people elope.”
Emma stabbed her eggs. “Welcome to my family.”
He watched her for a moment. “You okay?”
She looked up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jake tilted his head. “Because your jaw’s set like you’re picturing strangling someone with a satin sash.”
She sighed. “It’s always like this. Rachel gets a free pass for a meltdown because she’s what? ‘The bride?’ I feel like I can’t even move; but if I roll my eyes a little bit, I’m the difficult one.”
Jake said nothing. I just put my hand across the table and grabbed it.
It startled her.
His thumb lightly grazed her knuckles. “Let’s get through today. Together.”
And somehow, this small gesture made her want to cry.
⸻
The rest of the day unfolded like a montage of chaos.
Jake met some more distant relatives — one of whom asked when he was going to propose. Emma almost spit out her water, but Jake just laughed and said, “When she stops beating me at Scrabble.”
By then, they were posing for photos, sitting through the pre-wedding dinner, and spending hours turning aside well-meaning inquiries about their “future.”
At one point, Rachel took Emma aside by the balcony.
“I mean he’s good,” Rachel said, crossing her arms. “Too good.”
Emma bristled. “What’s your point?”
“My point is… he’s not just putting on an act. And I don’t think you are, either.”
Emma looked away. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Rachel softened. “You know, I was terrible to you when you were growing up. I get it. But I’m not attempting to undermine it. I’m just… concerned.”
“Don’t look,” Emma said tightly. “It’s a fake relationship. It ends after the wedding.”
Rachel studied her. “Does he know that?”
⸻
That night, Emma sat at the edge of the bed in the room, quiet.
From the sofa, Jake watched her.
“You okay?” he asked again.
She nodded. “Just tired.”
He waited.
“People keep asking when we’re getting married finally,” she said. If we’re in love.”
Jake sat up straighter. “What do you tell them?”
“That we’re taking it slow.”
He smiled faintly. “Safe answer.”
Emma turned to him. “But it’s not true. We’re not slowing things down. We’re not real.”
Jake didn’t flinch. “I know.”
“So why does it feel…”
She trailed off.
Jake got up, walked toward her, and sat next to her.
“Because we’re good at this,” he said gently.
“Too good.”
Jake brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “We can stop, you know. Right now. Tell your family we broke up. Fake a fight. Say I cheated.”
Emma stared at him. “You’d do that?”
He nodded. “If it’s what you want.”
Her heart was pounding again.
But all she could manage was, “No. Let’s just… get through tomorrow.”
Jake searched her face. “Okay.”
Then he leaned in and kissed her forehead — gentle, unhurried, and with devastating sincerity.
Emma closed her eyes.
This was supposed to be fake.
So why did it suddenly seem like the most real thing she’d ever known?
- Writer
