Saturday afternoon. Isabelle stood in front of her closet, arms crossed, staring at her clothes like they personally offended her.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "Why am I even overthinking this?"
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Hey, fake girlfriend," Marco's voice called from outside. "Ready ka na ba?"
Isabelle rolled her eyes but felt her heart skip a beat. "Give me five minutes!"
When she finally stepped out, Marco was leaning casually against the wall, wearing a simple black polo and jeans. Effortless. Annoyingly attractive.
"Well…" he said, looking her up and down. "You clean up nice."
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I always look nice."
"Hmm… fair point," he chuckled. "Pero today, you look extra nice. Must be because of me."
"Wow. Confidence mo, ha," she shot back, grabbing her bag. "Let's go before I change my mind."
They arrived at a small family gathering—Ethan and Lara were already there, along with a few relatives. The moment Isabelle stepped in with Marco beside her, all eyes turned to them.
"Isabelle!" Lara greeted warmly, then glanced at Marco with a knowing smile. "And this must be the boyfriend?"
"Fake boyfriend," Isabelle corrected quickly.
Marco slipped an arm casually around her waist. "Boyfriend," he said smoothly, giving Lara a playful wink.
Isabelle froze. Boyfriend. The word felt heavier than it should.
"Wow," Ethan chimed in, crossing his arms with a smirk. "Mukhang seryoso na 'to, ah."
"Kuya, stop it," Isabelle groaned, cheeks slightly pink.
As the afternoon went on, things became… complicated.
Marco stayed close—too close. His hand would brush against hers, his arm would linger around her shoulders, and every time someone asked about them, he answered with ease, as if none of it was fake.
"Come on," he whispered at one point, pulling her gently toward the balcony. "You're too stiff. Relax. We're supposed to look convincing, remember?"
"I know," she whispered back, trying to ignore how close he was. "But you don't have to be so… touchy."
He smirked. "What? You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that," she said quickly—too quickly.
Marco's grin widened. "Hmm… interesting."
Before she could respond, someone called them back inside.
Later, during dinner, Isabelle reached for a glass at the same time Marco did. Their hands brushed, and both of them froze for a second.
"Sorry," she murmured, pulling back slightly.
"No… it's okay," he said softly, his tone suddenly different—less teasing, more… real.
For a brief moment, the noise around them faded. It was just the two of them, standing too close, looking at each other like they were trying to figure something out.
Something unspoken.
Something dangerous.
Isabelle quickly looked away, clearing her throat. "We should… go back."
"Yeah," Marco nodded, but his eyes lingered on her a second longer than necessary.
As the night ended, they walked home side by side, silence hanging between them—not awkward, but filled with something neither of them wanted to admit.
Finally, Isabelle spoke. "You were… good today."
Marco chuckled softly. "Good? That's it?"
She smirked. "Don't push it."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping slightly. "You know… for something fake, that felt pretty real."
Her heart skipped. "It's still fake, Marco."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That's what you keep saying."
And as they stood there, just outside her door, Isabelle realized something she wasn't ready to face—
Maybe the problem wasn't that it felt real.
Maybe the problem was… she was starting to want it to be.