When I left, I cut my ties pretty thoroughly. I don’t have anyone here who can serve as a liaison, to ease me back into my parents’ social circle. And I need someone like that before I can start the process.”
I dipped a piece of pear in the pool of chocolate sauce at the center of the plate. “I hate to sound like a broken record. But if you are serious about reuniting with your family—and you must be to have moved three thousand miles—you can just pick up the phone.”
For a long moment he said nothing. Then, “I can’t.”
Something about those two words, a certain rawness, perhaps, made my chest constrict.
But your mother is waiting for you to call , I almost answered. Then I remembered what Zelda had said: The real rupture is between the boy and his father. For all that Frances Somerset had been open about her own desire to hear from her prodigal son, she’d been resolutely silent on her husband’s sentiments.
Now the purpose of the liaison was clear. “So you want a reconciliation, but you want it on your own terms—no apologies, no olive branches held out, no appearing at all as if you actually came to make amends.”
He exhaled. “It’s scary how accurately you’re reading me, but yes, exactly. I want everything to seem organic.”
“And that’s where Zelda comes in?”
“No, that’s where you come in.”
I stared at him, a forkful of pear hovering before me.
“For me to cultivate friendships that have been dormant for fifteen years would be both too obvious and too cynical. A girlfriend is a much better idea: A brand-new girlfriend is still a legitimate girlfriend.”
I set down my fork and took a swig of the dessert wine. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
But did he want me to be?
He looked at me, his gaze clear yet…impersonal. It struck me just how much I’d deluded myself with my Munich fantasy. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know him at all.
Then his expression softened—and something came over me, a sense of sweetness and wonder. But only for a fraction of a second. When he spoke again, he was all business.
“We don’t need to apply labels if that’ll trip you up.”
What did that even mean ?
He leaned forward an inch. “Don’t you see? There’s something remarkably perfect about how everything has come together. Zelda is my mom’s friend, so there’s an overlap between your social circle and my parents’. As your plus-one, I’m bound to bump into them at various events. And since we were neighbors for a whole summer, which is God’s truth, it wouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that we’ve hooked up.”
He wanted me to be his pretend girlfriend. My disappointment was so sharp it took a second before I could respond. “I can see your logic. But you have to understand—no matter how much I might look like a socialite in my ‘princess’ picture, I’m not one, and I hardly ever attend events on the social calendar.”
“But that’s part of what makes you such a good fit. My parents would be impressed by your accomplishments. It would also make our ‘relationship’ seem more genuine.”
“That’s crazy. I’m not an actress either. I can’t keep pretending to be what I’m not.”
“But together we don’t have to. When I’m standing next to you, anybody with eyes can tell that I want to sleep with you—and that you won’t mind. With that in place, how much more do we need to pretend? We’re two busy people with no plans for the long-term future. We’re just enjoying ourselves in the present tense.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s insane.”
“Explain to me why it’s insane.”
“Because…”
Because it would be like throwing someone with an alcohol problem into a sea of hard liquor .
It was bad enough that I succumbed at his touch. Now, on top of our already ill-defined association, he wanted to add the complications of a fake relationship. Maybe he’d be able to keep track of what was real and what wasn’t; I didn’t trust
I dipped a piece of pear in the pool of chocolate sauce at the center of the plate. “I hate to sound like a broken record. But if you are serious about reuniting with your family—and you must be to have moved three thousand miles—you can just pick up the phone.”
For a long moment he said nothing. Then, “I can’t.”
Something about those two words, a certain rawness, perhaps, made my chest constrict.
But your mother is waiting for you to call , I almost answered. Then I remembered what Zelda had said: The real rupture is between the boy and his father. For all that Frances Somerset had been open about her own desire to hear from her prodigal son, she’d been resolutely silent on her husband’s sentiments.
Now the purpose of the liaison was clear. “So you want a reconciliation, but you want it on your own terms—no apologies, no olive branches held out, no appearing at all as if you actually came to make amends.”
He exhaled. “It’s scary how accurately you’re reading me, but yes, exactly. I want everything to seem organic.”
“And that’s where Zelda comes in?”
“No, that’s where you come in.”
I stared at him, a forkful of pear hovering before me.
“For me to cultivate friendships that have been dormant for fifteen years would be both too obvious and too cynical. A girlfriend is a much better idea: A brand-new girlfriend is still a legitimate girlfriend.”
I set down my fork and took a swig of the dessert wine. “I’m not your girlfriend.”
But did he want me to be?
He looked at me, his gaze clear yet…impersonal. It struck me just how much I’d deluded myself with my Munich fantasy. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know him at all.
Then his expression softened—and something came over me, a sense of sweetness and wonder. But only for a fraction of a second. When he spoke again, he was all business.
“We don’t need to apply labels if that’ll trip you up.”
What did that even mean ?
He leaned forward an inch. “Don’t you see? There’s something remarkably perfect about how everything has come together. Zelda is my mom’s friend, so there’s an overlap between your social circle and my parents’. As your plus-one, I’m bound to bump into them at various events. And since we were neighbors for a whole summer, which is God’s truth, it wouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that we’ve hooked up.”
He wanted me to be his pretend girlfriend. My disappointment was so sharp it took a second before I could respond. “I can see your logic. But you have to understand—no matter how much I might look like a socialite in my ‘princess’ picture, I’m not one, and I hardly ever attend events on the social calendar.”
“But that’s part of what makes you such a good fit. My parents would be impressed by your accomplishments. It would also make our ‘relationship’ seem more genuine.”
“That’s crazy. I’m not an actress either. I can’t keep pretending to be what I’m not.”
“But together we don’t have to. When I’m standing next to you, anybody with eyes can tell that I want to sleep with you—and that you won’t mind. With that in place, how much more do we need to pretend? We’re two busy people with no plans for the long-term future. We’re just enjoying ourselves in the present tense.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s insane.”
“Explain to me why it’s insane.”
“Because…”
Because it would be like throwing someone with an alcohol problem into a sea of hard liquor .
It was bad enough that I succumbed at his touch. Now, on top of our already ill-defined association, he wanted to add the complications of a fake relationship. Maybe he’d be able to keep track of what was real and what wasn’t; I didn’t trust
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