Chapter Five: Prove it!
1077 Words
"Oh, Helene, you should have heard her voice over the phone when she was speaking to him," Rosita Carter said with a chuckle, one hand holding the cordless phone and the other stirring her tea. "You could feel the butterflies fluttering in her words. I haven’t heard her this happy in years."
Helene giggled softly on the other end of the line. "Really? That’s wonderful news, Rosie. Maybe this blind date thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all."
Elena had just come downstairs, making her way past the kitchen to get a glass of water when she heard her mother’s words. She paused mid-step, her eyebrows lifting in mild disbelief. There it was again—her mother wasting no time spilling every single thing to Aunt Helene. It was almost as though the two sisters were joined at the tongue. Annoyance rushed through her for a split second, but she couldn't deny the little smirk tugging at her lips.
It was working. Their plan was working.
Her mother believed it.
She quickly retreated, tiptoeing back up the stairs with a sense of urgency bubbling in her chest. As soon as she got into her room, she grabbed her phone and flopped on her bed. Her fingers danced across the screen as she typed out a message.
Elena: You wouldn't believe what just happened.
She waited a few seconds, staring at her phone screen like it held the secrets of the universe. Then came the reply.
Noah: Tell me.
Elena: My mom is on the phone with her sister, ranting about how I'm in love. She believes everything.
Noah: That’s great. It means it’s working.
Elena: She said I sounded like I had butterflies in my stomach.
Noah: We need more of this. More proof. Just enough to make them believe so they can leave us the hell alone and let us live our different lives.
Elena: Exactly. Any ideas?
Noah: You free this weekend?
Elena: Yeah. What are you thinking?
Noah: Public appearance. Somewhere people can see us together. Photos. Laughter. Maybe a casual touch or two.
Elena: You mean PDA?
Noah: Just enough to sell the story. We’ll figure it out. Trust me.
Elena: Okay. Where?
Noah: I’ll plan something. I’ll let you know by Friday.
Elena: Sounds good. I’ll pretend to be looking forward to it.
Noah: Same here. Can’t wait to pretend to be in love again.
Elena chuckled to herself as she dropped the phone on her bed and rolled onto her back. Who would have thought pretending to be in love could actually be... fun? There was something thrilling about orchestrating this little charade with Noah. And he was good at it. Smooth. Controlled. Even over text, his words carried this quiet confidence that made the whole thing feel real—too real.
Meanwhile, across town, Noah was lounging on the balcony of his penthouse, phone in hand, a faint smirk playing on his lips. His sister Isabel walked out carrying a tray of juice.
"What’s got you smiling like that?" she asked, placing the tray down.
"Just business," he replied casually, taking a sip from the glass.
Isabel raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t press further. "Business seems more enjoyable these days."
"I guess," Noah replied.
He didn’t realize how easy it was becoming to fall into rhythm with Elena. She was witty, sharp, and had a way of reacting that made everything flow naturally. Even their awkward dinner date turned out to be surprisingly comfortable once they started talking. But still, this was fake. It had to be. That was the rule.
Back at the Carter residence, Rosita was still on the phone with Helene. "And then, she took the call right there in the hallway, all giggly and flustered. You should have seen her!"
"I told you, Rosie. Sometimes you just need to give love a little push," Helene replied proudly.
"You might have just saved my daughter’s love life," Rosita added with a grateful sigh.
Elena, upstairs in her room, was already imagining the upcoming weekend. A staged outing. Somewhere public. Somewhere their parents—or worse, family friends—might spot them and report back. She sighed deeply.
"What have I gotten myself into?" she muttered.
The weekend arrived faster than expected. By Thursday night, Noah sent the details.
Noah: Saturday. 3PM. Café Marlowe. It has a cozy outdoor patio. Perfect for being spotted.
Elena: Noted. I’ll wear something romantic. Any color preference?
Noah: Red. Sell the passion.
Elena: You have thought this through.
Noah: I’ve done deals less complicated than this fake relationship.
Elena: Tell me about it.
When Saturday came, the café was buzzing with soft jazz and the clinking of cutlery. Elena arrived in a red floral dress that hugged her in all the right places. She looked stunning, and her head turned when she walked in.
Noah was already there, seated with two glasses of wine. He stood up as soon as he saw her.
"You’re right on time," he said with a small smile.
"So are you," she replied, taking the seat opposite him.
The afternoon passed with staged laughter, careful hand touches and shared glances that looked far too real. Noah, ever the strategist, leaned in during their conversations, keeping the illusion alive. Elena, aware of the curious stares from nearby tables, played along like a seasoned actress.
They made sure to take selfies—one with their heads close together, another where she laughed at something he whispered.
"This one’s going on my i********:," she teased.
"Tag me. Make it count," he replied, adjusting his cuff.
By the time they left, they had solid evidence of a blossoming romance, captured in high-resolution.
On the drive back, Elena’s phone buzzed. It was her cousin, Dena.
Dena: Girl! I just saw your post. Noah Blake? You better spill.
She smiled faintly and glanced at Noah.
"You’re becoming quite the sensation," she said.
"Part of the job," he replied.
"This might just be the most convincing lie I’ve ever told," she murmured.
"That’s what makes us a good team," Noah replied with a wink.
They pulled over so she could get to her car, which she had parked nearby. As she stepped out, she turned back to face him.
"Thanks for today."
"Anytime, partner in crime."
And just like that, they parted ways again, each wondering—just a little—if the line between real and fake was beginning to blur.
- Writer
