cook,” he said simply.
“You’re kidding.”
“What else does an insomniac do in the early morning hours?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I usually just curl into the fetal position hoping I’ll magically fall asleep. But hey, that’s me.”
Amie began piling food onto her plate and licked her finger after dipping it into the hummus. “Let me get this straight,” she said with some suspicion, “You guys have pickles… for breakfast ?”
“It’s a wild world we live in,” he mocked.
“Clearly.” She hopped atop the counter and set her plate on her lap, hungrily devouring the food she had chosen as Malik snacked on a hardboiled egg and grabbed a spoonful of fruit. “That’s all you’re having?!”
He raised his brows and gave an absent-minded nod, leaving his breakfast momentarily to grab Amie a cup of coffee. “There’s tea, if you prefer.”
“Coffee’s great,” she said, accepting the mug from him. “So what’s the plan for today? Any more relatives to draw into our web of lies?”
“I was thinking maybe a tour?”
Her eyes beamed. “Yes!”
“I didn’t even tell you where the tour is.” He laughed. “We’ll start with a tour of the house.”
***
The two of them sat through their breakfast in comfort, Amie firing questions at Malik about his childhood in the Middle East, including the weather, what it was like growing up there, as well as the schooling he had received. She asked as many questions as she could, hoping to avoid being at a loss, as she had been so many times the previous evening.
He was so patient; never once did he seem annoyed or puzzled, and eventually he began to reciprocate question for question. When she asked him about his friends growing up, he asked her about her high school days in Indiana. When she asked him why he put up with her annoying questions he simply shrugged, and with no small amount of charm said, “We’re supposed to be married soon. We should probably get to know one another.”
With that said, Amie was under no delusion that her research was helping. After all, she was playing a role, not herself. Her middle-class high school experience was probably nothing compared to the character Amie Shaw’s life, growing up in prep-schools, with a multi-millionaire father. Fake Amie probably never had to work at a chicken restaurant, didn’t get dumped the day before junior prom, and had never had braces. Fake Amie was perfect; the dream girl next door, perfectly suitable for meeting the parents.
So that’s who she would be.
After breakfast, Malik began the tour of the house. They moved from the kitchen into the massive living area. It had three large antique sofas centered around a coffee table. A grand, marble fireplace sat in front of the set-up, only overshadowed by the ornately-carved ceiling. While Amie wasn’t exactly well-versed in home decor, she knew that marble meant money.
A sleek piano sat near the seating area and Amie asked Malik if he knew how to play. He laughed at that, saying he’d had a tutor for 16 years and couldn’t remember so much as a chord—he’d never liked sitting still as a child.
Nobody likes a show-off, Amie. Her mother’s words rang in her ear, but still, she couldn’t help slide onto the piano bench and begin playing a classical piece. “I took piano lessons on the internet.”
“Very impressive,” he said and came to sit next to her on the bench. “Did you have a tutor?”
“Nope, I just watched free videos online. Whatever I could get my hands on. I have a small keyboard at my apartment.” She shrugged. “Not as snazzy as what you’ve got going on here, but it does the job.”
“Well look at you, Amie,” he said, sounding impressed.
She raised her eyebrow and shrugged.
They dabbled at the piano for a while until realizing the only music they were making together was noise. Laughing,
“You’re kidding.”
“What else does an insomniac do in the early morning hours?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I usually just curl into the fetal position hoping I’ll magically fall asleep. But hey, that’s me.”
Amie began piling food onto her plate and licked her finger after dipping it into the hummus. “Let me get this straight,” she said with some suspicion, “You guys have pickles… for breakfast ?”
“It’s a wild world we live in,” he mocked.
“Clearly.” She hopped atop the counter and set her plate on her lap, hungrily devouring the food she had chosen as Malik snacked on a hardboiled egg and grabbed a spoonful of fruit. “That’s all you’re having?!”
He raised his brows and gave an absent-minded nod, leaving his breakfast momentarily to grab Amie a cup of coffee. “There’s tea, if you prefer.”
“Coffee’s great,” she said, accepting the mug from him. “So what’s the plan for today? Any more relatives to draw into our web of lies?”
“I was thinking maybe a tour?”
Her eyes beamed. “Yes!”
“I didn’t even tell you where the tour is.” He laughed. “We’ll start with a tour of the house.”
***
The two of them sat through their breakfast in comfort, Amie firing questions at Malik about his childhood in the Middle East, including the weather, what it was like growing up there, as well as the schooling he had received. She asked as many questions as she could, hoping to avoid being at a loss, as she had been so many times the previous evening.
He was so patient; never once did he seem annoyed or puzzled, and eventually he began to reciprocate question for question. When she asked him about his friends growing up, he asked her about her high school days in Indiana. When she asked him why he put up with her annoying questions he simply shrugged, and with no small amount of charm said, “We’re supposed to be married soon. We should probably get to know one another.”
With that said, Amie was under no delusion that her research was helping. After all, she was playing a role, not herself. Her middle-class high school experience was probably nothing compared to the character Amie Shaw’s life, growing up in prep-schools, with a multi-millionaire father. Fake Amie probably never had to work at a chicken restaurant, didn’t get dumped the day before junior prom, and had never had braces. Fake Amie was perfect; the dream girl next door, perfectly suitable for meeting the parents.
So that’s who she would be.
After breakfast, Malik began the tour of the house. They moved from the kitchen into the massive living area. It had three large antique sofas centered around a coffee table. A grand, marble fireplace sat in front of the set-up, only overshadowed by the ornately-carved ceiling. While Amie wasn’t exactly well-versed in home decor, she knew that marble meant money.
A sleek piano sat near the seating area and Amie asked Malik if he knew how to play. He laughed at that, saying he’d had a tutor for 16 years and couldn’t remember so much as a chord—he’d never liked sitting still as a child.
Nobody likes a show-off, Amie. Her mother’s words rang in her ear, but still, she couldn’t help slide onto the piano bench and begin playing a classical piece. “I took piano lessons on the internet.”
“Very impressive,” he said and came to sit next to her on the bench. “Did you have a tutor?”
“Nope, I just watched free videos online. Whatever I could get my hands on. I have a small keyboard at my apartment.” She shrugged. “Not as snazzy as what you’ve got going on here, but it does the job.”
“Well look at you, Amie,” he said, sounding impressed.
She raised her eyebrow and shrugged.
They dabbled at the piano for a while until realizing the only music they were making together was noise. Laughing,
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