Picture Perfect Lies
1048 Words
Zara Bennett had been many things in her life — artist, friend, professional caffeine addict.
But “fake fiancée featured on the cover of Society Luxe Weekly”?
That was new.
She stared at her phone in disbelief, scrolling through the glossy article that had dropped at dawn:
“Inside Zara Bennett and Julian Hayes’ Whirlwind Paris Proposal — Love Beyond Legacy.”
Below it was a full-page photo of them from last night — her laughing, Julian looking at her like she was the only person in the room.
It was… intimate. Too intimate.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, tossing the phone onto her couch.
As if on cue, it buzzed again — Julian.
She answered without a hello.
“I hate you.”
“Good morning to you, too, fiancée,” came his amused voice. “You’ve seen the article?”
“Oh, I’ve seen it,” she said, pacing her living room. “Apparently, we had a romantic picnic under the Eiffel Tower, you recited poetry, and we slow-danced to jazz.”
“Well,” he said lightly, “it’s not inaccurate. I’ve done at least one of those things.”
“Julian.”
“Okay, fine. Two.”
She groaned. “This is out of control. My mom’s already texted me asking for our engagement photos.”
“Funny,” he said, “so did mine.”
Her steps halted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Julian continued, “my parents think it would ‘strengthen the narrative’ if we did an official shoot. You know — engagement photos for the press.”
Zara blinked. “You mean fake engagement photos for a fake engagement for fake families who think we’re in real love?”
“Exactly,” he said cheerfully. “Saturday, noon. My friend owns a studio downtown.”
“Julian—”
“I’ll send a car.”
Click.
He hung up before she could even start yelling.
Saturday — The Studio
Zara regretted everything the second she walked in.
Soft music played through hidden speakers, sunlight streamed in through tall windows, and a dozen pastel backdrops hung neatly along the wall. A stylist was arranging bouquets. A makeup artist approached her with the precision of a surgeon.
Julian, of course, was already there — looking like he’d been born in a suit and a smirk.
He turned when she entered, his gaze running over her in slow, appreciative detail. “You clean up nice, Zee.”
“Don’t call me that in public,” she warned. “People might think you actually like me.”
He grinned. “Wouldn’t want that.”
The photographer — a bubbly woman named Serena — clapped her hands. “Okay, lovebirds! Let’s get started! The goal is natural chemistry, so just be yourselves.”
Zara muttered under her breath, “If we’re being ourselves, I’ll probably strangle him.”
“Great!” Serena said brightly. “Channel that passion!”
Julian chuckled, sliding an arm around Zara’s waist. “Ready, fiancée?”
“Touch me like that again and you’ll lose the arm.”
The flash went off.
And the picture was stunning.
The Shot
At first, it was torture — fake smiles, awkward poses, Zara rolling her eyes while Julian whispered ridiculous comments in her ear to make her laugh.
But then… something shifted.
“Alright,” Serena said, adjusting the camera. “Now I want something softer. Intimate. Like he’s your safe place.”
Zara snorted. “Oh, that’s funny.”
Julian turned her gently on the shoulders until she faced him. “Come on. Let’s just get it over with.”
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her cheek, his hand resting lightly at her jaw. The world seemed to narrow down to the scent of his cologne and the weight of his touch.
“Zee,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “Pretend I’m not your annoying best friend for five seconds.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s a big ask.”
He smirked. “Try.”
The photographer snapped the shot right as Zara looked up — her eyes caught in his, her lips parted in surprise. The image was magnetic. Real.
Serena gasped softly. “Beautiful. Do that again.”
And they did. Again. And again.
Every photo looked less fake, more dangerous.
By the time Serena called for a break, Zara’s heart was pounding, and Julian was smiling that quiet, unreadable smile that always made her nervous.
“Are you okay?” he asked, handing her a bottle of water.
“Fine,” she lied, taking a sip. “Just… pretending.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re good at that.”
Something in his tone made her look up — but before she could ask, Serena waved them over for the final shot.
“Alright, last one,” the photographer chirped. “Julian, hold her like you don’t ever want to let go. Zara, look at him like he’s home.”
Zara froze. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just a metaphor,” Serena said, oblivious.
Julian’s arm slipped around her waist again, drawing her in. She tried to laugh it off, but his gaze wasn’t teasing anymore. It was warm. Steady. Honest.
And for a split second, she forgot everything — the lies, the parents, the fake engagement. All she felt was him.
The camera clicked.
Serena beamed. “Perfect! You two are magic together.”
Zara stepped back quickly, breaking the spell. “Okay, that’s enough romance for one day.”
Julian smiled faintly. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer.
Because the truth was — she wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
Later That Night
Zara scrolled through the photos Serena had sent over — laughing, blushing, pressed too close. Every image looked painfully, ridiculously real.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Julian.
The pictures turned out good. Almost like we meant it.
She stared at the message for a long time, her pulse fluttering. Then she typed back.
Don’t get used to it, fiancé.
But her fingers hesitated before hitting send — because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if it was still just a joke.
- Writer
