She leaned in across the dinner table, fork poised like she was about to deliver a top-secret mission.
"I need you to be extra romantic tomorrow," she whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief.
He blinked. "Romantic like… flowers? Or romantic like I pretend I write poetry in my free time?"
She grinned. "Romantic like a full-blown rom-com. Sparkles. Hand-holding. Forehead kisses in public. You look at me like I hung the stars. That kind of romantic."
He raised an eyebrow. "So we're talking Disney prince levels of delusion."
"Exactly," she nodded, pleased. "And maybe… wear that shirt that makes your jawline look illegal."
He gave her a suspicious look. "Why do I feel like there's a trap waiting on the other side of this romance?"
She took a casual sip of her drink. "Oh, no trap. It's just… your actual girlfriend is flying in tomorrow. So maybe give her a heads up?"
He choked. "Wait—what?"
"She's coming to the event, right?" Fiona tilted her head innocently. "I figured a little show would spice things up."
He slowly pulled out his phone. The screen lit up.
28 missed calls.
And a single, all-caps message:
"WHO TF IS THAT GIRL U FED A STRAWBERRY TO???"
Fiona lost it. Nearly fell off her chair laughing.
"This is going perfectly," she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
"I swear, you're gonna get me murdered," he muttered, scrolling through more unread texts.
"Oh please," she said, smug. "She should thank me. I'm improving your acting skills and your fashion sense."
He gave her a flat look. "When I'm sleeping on your couch after she dumps me, I'm stealing all your snacks."
She smirked. "Joke's on you. I already hide the good ones."