Dinner and Deception
893 Words
Zara Bennett has been through many stressful situations in her life.
But nothing — nothing — compared to sitting across from her mother and Julian’s parents at a candlelit restaurant pretending to be engaged to her best friend.
The private dining room at La Maison Éclat looked like it had been pulled straight from a magazine spread — marble floors, gold accents, a single chandelier casting soft light over their table. The waiter poured champagne while Zara mentally composed her escape plan.
Julian sat beside her, perfectly calm, as if this were just another Thursday night. His navy suit was immaculate, his cuff-links gleamed, and that confident, infuriatingly charming smile stayed fixed on his face.
She, on the other hand, was seconds away from faking a fainting spell.
“So,” Vivienne began, eyes glittering with excitement. “How did it happen? The proposal, I mean.”
Zara froze, her brain going blank. She glanced at Julian — help me, now.
He didn’t miss a beat. “I proposed in Paris,” he said smoothly. “On the Pont Alexandre III bridge. Sunset. It was raining a little.”
Zara blinked. “Rain?”
Julian nodded, gazing warm and steady. “Yeah. You were complaining about your hair, remember?”
The table chuckled politely.
Zara plastered on a smile. “Oh… yes, because you forgot the umbrella.”
“Which I claim was romantic,” he said, smirking. “She called it irresponsible.”
“You left it in a cab, Julian.”
“And yet,” he said softly, turning to her, “you still said yes.”
Her breath caught for half a second — because the way he said it, low and sincere, didn’t sound fake at all.
Mrs. Hayes dabbed at her lips delicately. “How very… spontaneous.”
“Spontaneous?” Richard Hayes scoffed. “Sounds reckless. But I suppose you’ve always been impulsive, Julian.”
Julian’s jaw tightened slightly, but his tone stayed calm. “Sometimes the best things in life come from a little recklessness.”
Zara reached under the table and squeezed his hand — just enough to say Breath, I’ve got you.
He looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his composed expression.
“Oh, look at that,” Vivienne gushed, clasping her hands. “They’re already so in sync!”
Zara almost choked on her champagne.
The rest of the dinner was a balancing act between comedy and torture.
Vivienne asked about wedding themes, Mrs. Hayes offered to “recommend a planner from her circle,” and Zara found herself nodding so much her neck ached.
Halfway through the meal, Julian leaned closer, his voice low enough only she could hear.
“Still think the fake dating idea would’ve been enough?”
She shot him a death glare. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her hand for the briefest second — a gesture that made her pulse skip like a broken record.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
It wasn’t real.
But her heart didn’t seem to care about logic tonight.
The table broke into laughter at something Vivienne said, and for once, Zara relaxed.
Then Mrs. Hayes spoke.
“So, when’s the wedding?”
Zara froze. Julian blinked.
“Well—” he began, clearly stalling.
Vivienne clapped her hands. “Oh! I know the perfect month — next June! The gardens will be in full bloom, and the Bennetts can host the ceremony at our estate!”
Zara’s fork nearly slipped. “Mom—”
“June sounds perfect,” Mrs. Hayes said, a touch too smoothly. “Of course, we’ll host the rehearsal dinner at our hotel.”
The mothers shared a polite, competitive smile — the kind that could start wars.
Julian leaned closer again, whispering with a grin. “Looks like we’re planning a wedding.”
She pinched his thigh under the table. Hard.
He didn’t even flinch — just smirked wider.
After dessert, the parents finally left to “let the lovebirds enjoy a quiet moment.” The second the door shut, Zara exhaled loudly, slumping in her seat.
“Congratulations,” she said flatly. “You just got us fake-married.”
Julian chuckled. “You have to admit — we make a convincing couple.”
She turned to him, eyes narrowing. “You enjoy this way too much.”
“Maybe,” he said, leaning back. “But admit it, Zee — part of you loves the drama.”
“I love my sanity,” she snapped. “And this? This is chaos wrapped in Armani.”
He smiled lazily. “You look good in chaos.”
Her mouth fell open. “Did you just—? Oh my God, you’re flirting now?”
“Just staying in character,” he said innocently.
She stared at him, speechless — because his tone was teasing, but his gaze wasn’t. It lingered too long, too soft, too real.
And when the waiter came to refill their glasses, she swore Julian’s hand and brushed hers again — deliberate, confident, as if testing just how far their little lie could stretch.
For the first time since the gala, Zara realized something dangerous.
Pretending to be in love with Julian Hayes wasn’t the hard part.
It was pretending not to be.
- Writer
