The Slip-Up
993 Words
By Monday morning, Zara had perfected the art of denial.
No, she didn’t almost kiss Julian.
No, she didn’t dream about him last night.
No, her heart didn’t leap every time her phone lit up with his name.
She was fine. Totally fine.
That was, until she opened her phone and saw the headline.
“HAYES HEIR AND HIS ‘FAKE’ FIANCÉE? BALCONY MOMENT SAYS OTHERWISE!”
Her coffee nearly flew out of her hands.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Zara’s POV
She clicked on the article and groaned. There it was — a zoomed-in paparazzi shot of the balcony moment.
Julian, leaning in.
Her, looking up at him like she’d forgotten the concept of breathing.
The city lights framing them like a romantic movie poster.
The caption read:
“Friends since childhood or something more? Sources close to the pair say the chemistry between them was anything but fake.”
“Oh no, no, no…” she muttered, pacing across her apartment. “My mother’s going to see this. His mother’s going to throw a brunch about this.”
Right on cue, her phone buzzed again.
Vivienne Hayes.
She didn’t answer. She just texted one word to Julian:
Z: WE’RE SCREWED.
Julian’s POV
Julian stared at his own phone, the same photo splashed across the screen.
He’d seen worse scandals. But this one? This one made something in his chest twist — not because of the press, but because of how right that picture looked.
Her face tilted up to his.
His hand almost touching her cheek.
It looked… real.
His phone buzzed again — this time, from his mother.
Vivienne: “Darling, you and Zara are trending! Isn’t that fabulous? We’ve scheduled a TV interview for tomorrow morning. Be charming!”
Julian blinked. “You’ve got to be joking.”
He called Zara immediately.
Phone Call Scene
“Do you have any idea what your mother just did?” she hissed the second she picked up.
“Good morning to you, too, fiancée.”
“Don’t you fiancée me!”
He chuckled. “Relax, Zee. It’s just an interview.”
“It’s national television, Julian! They’ll ask us everything!”
“I’m good at lying,” he teased.
“You’re terrible at lying. You blush when you drink water too fast!”
“That’s called hydration,” he said smoothly.
She groaned. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied softly, and the quiet between them turned dangerous again.
Her voice dropped. “Stop saying things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she said, “you make it sound like it’s not fake.”
He hesitated. “Maybe it isn’t.”
“Julian—”
He cut in, gentler this time. “Let’s just get through the interview, okay? Then we’ll figure the rest out.”
The Interview chaos
The next morning, the entire nation tuned in.
Bright studio lights, two mugs of coffee, matching smiles. The host, a too-curious journalist named Clara Monroe, grinned at them like a cat ready to pounce.
“So,” Clara said cheerfully, “you two have been friends since childhood. How did this… romance blossom?”
Zara smiled professionally. “Oh, you know, years of mutual blackmail and emotional trauma.”
The audience laughed. Julian chuckled, resting his hand on her knee — casual to anyone watching, but his thumb brushed the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate.
Zara’s voice caught. “We, uh, just… clicked.”
Clara raised an eyebrow. “Clicked? That balcony photo looked more like sparked.”
Julian smirked. “Can you blame me?”
The audience swooned. Zara froze, glaring sideways at him.
“Julian,” she whispered through her smile, “stop flirting on live TV.”
“Can’t help it,” he murmured. “You’re too good at playing the part.”
She kicked him under the table. He didn’t flinch — just smiled wider.
Mid-interview, Clara pulled out a card. “We have a little game for you two — How Well Do You Know Your Fiancé?”
Zara groaned. Julian grinned. “Oh, this will be fun.”
“Favorite food?” Clara asked.
“In-N-Out burger,” they said in unison.
“Favorite movie?”
“The Princess Bride,” Zara said.
Julian nodded. “Because she has terrible taste.”
“Excuse me?”
Clara laughed. “Wow, that’s some chemistry! Okay, last one — describe each other in one word.”
Zara hesitated. “Annoying.”
Julian didn’t miss a beat. “Irreplaceable.”
The studio went silent.
Zara blinked, caught completely off guard. “Julian…”
He met her eyes, smile softening. “What? It’s true.”
The host grinned. “I think we just got our headline.”
When the cameras finally stopped rolling, Zara grabbed Julian by the sleeve backstage. “What was that?”
“What was what?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“Irreplaceable?” she hissed. “Do you want them to think it’s real?”
His voice dropped, rough and sincere. “Maybe I do.”
Her breath caught.
“Because the more we fake it,” he said, “the less it feels like pretending.”
She stared at him — wide-eyed, breathless, fighting every instinct screaming to run and to stay all at once.
“Julian, if you keep this up…”
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. “Then what?”
Her pulse raced. “Then I might forget it’s fake, too.”
Later that night, social media exploded with clips from the interview.
#JulianAndZaraForever trended worldwide.
And somewhere, alone in her apartment, Zara watched the video — watched him look at her like she was the only person in the world — and whispered to herself,
This isn’t supposed to happen.
But her reflection in the darkened screen didn’t look like someone pretending anymore.
- Writer
