Chapter 5:-A View With No Esacpes
686 Words
"Just pretend we're in love. That's all you have to do."
That's what he said when we boarded the plane.
But how do you pretend when every glance, every accidental touch, starts to feel less and less like a lie?
Day 1 – Arrival: Amalfi Coast, Italy
I didn't realize until we landed how real this fake honeymoon would feel. It wasn't just a weekend getaway—it was a five-day PR circus on the most romantic coastline in Europe.
The moment we stepped off the private jet, flashbulbs greeted us like fireworks. Jungkook's hand found my waist, firm and practiced. To the world, we looked like newlyweds. Picture perfect.
Inside, I was a wildfire of nerves and resentment.
"Keep smiling," he murmured, lips close to my ear. "You're glowing. Almost convincing."
I clenched my jaw but smiled wider for the cameras. "Careful, Jeon. Someone might think you actually like me."
He chuckled, low and warm. "That would be a scandal."
We were escorted to a villa overlooking the sea. Everything smelled like citrus and salt. The villa was absurdly romantic—white walls, arched balconies, one enormous canopy bed in the center.
One bed.
I blinked. "Where's the other room?"
Jungkook tossed our key card on the marble counter. "There isn't one. They expect a real honeymoon. Two rooms would raise questions."
Of course.
Of course the room would be the size of a small palace, but still have only one bed.
"I'll sleep on the couch," he offered, already loosening his shirt collar. "Relax."
But relaxing around him was impossible.
Especially when he was undoing his buttons like it was nothing. Like he didn't just make oxygen illegal in the room.
At Night
Jungkook lay shirtless on the couch, flipping through some business proposal on his tablet like it was any regular work night. Meanwhile, I was on the bed, tossing and turning.
It wasn't the mattress. It was him.
Everything about him.
His presence buzzed through the villa like a current. His voice from the phone calls. The soft groan when he stretched. The sound of water running when he showered with the door barely shut.
This was a dangerous game.
I got up to get water.
He looked up as I passed. "Can't sleep?"
"Not with your ego in the room."
A faint smirk. "Should I take it outside?"
"Maybe throw it off the cliff."
We stared at each other for a beat too long.
Then I turned back to the kitchen, pulse thudding in places it shouldn't.
Next Day
We had a full day of scheduled photos and PR events. Wine tastings. Beach walks. Couple spa treatments.
His hand never left mine.
And worse?
He was good at this.
He knew how to touch just the right way—fingers brushing lower back, hand guiding me through a crowd, leaning in to whisper inside jokes we didn't have.
Sometimes I caught him watching me. Not with amusement. With... something else. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
Or maybe trying not to.
At the candlelit dinner, a reporter asked how we fell in love.
I choked on my wine. Jungkook didn't miss a beat.
"She hated me at first," he said, eyes twinkling. "Said I was emotionally constipated."
The table laughed.
"And now?" the reporter asked.
He turned to me.
That look. Deep. Intense.
"She still says it," he replied, smirking. "But now she holds my hand when she does."
The reporter cooed.
And my heart? It betrayed me.
Thudded in a way no contract could explain.
At Night
We lay on opposite sides of the bed, a polite ocean of space between us. He faced the ceiling. I faced the wall.
"I know this is fake," I whispered into the dark. "But... sometimes you make it hard to remember."
Silence.
Then—
"Good," he said softly. "Because that's the point, right?"
I turned, just enough to see him watching me through the shadows.
The tension in the room thickened like rainclouds.
His hand shifted. Not touching. Just close.
We didn't move.
But the space between us never felt smaller.
- Writer
