Sophia spent the entire week acting like she was training me for an Olympic event. Except, instead of a gold medal, the prize was surviving dinner at the Cole mansion without embarrassing myself or our ancestors.
"Remember," she lectured, waving a makeup brush like a conductor's baton, "sit straight, don't slouch. Speak when spoken to. And for the love of puff-puff, Amara, don't use 'lit' to describe their food this time."
I groaned, covering my face with both hands. "That was one mistake! One tiny slip!"
"One tiny slip that almost made a billionaire's grandfather choke on laughter," she shot back. "You're lucky he found you amusing instead of shipping you back to your village."
By Saturday, Sophia had ironed my dress, polished my shoes, and even whispered prayers over my wig. If wigs could catch the Holy Spirit, mine would've been speaking in tongues by now.
When the driver arrived, Sophia clutched me like she was sending her daughter off to boarding school. "Represent us well," she sniffled dramatically. "And remember—smile, but not too much. We don't want them thinking you're hungry for their money."
I swatted her arm. "I am hungry. I just hope their food portion sizes are bigger than those fancy gala snacks. I nearly fainted last time."
The car pulled up in front of the Cole mansion, and my jaw almost dislocated. This wasn't a house. This was an entire continent with a roof. The gates alone looked like they'd been imported straight from heaven's pearly stockroom. The driveway stretched so far I felt like asking the driver for a bicycle halfway through.
When we finally stopped in front of the building, I stared at it with wide eyes. Chandeliers sparkled from the windows, marble pillars soared into the sky, and the front door looked big enough to swallow my entire compound back home.
Lord. Was this a house or an airport terminal?
The driver opened my door, and I nearly tripped on the first step. Not because of my heels this time, but because the house was so intimidating it deserved a standing ovation.
A butler greeted me at the door with the kind of politeness that made me straighten my wig automatically. "Welcome, Miss Amara. Mr. Cole and the family are expecting you."
Expecting me. As if I was royalty. God, don't let me faint.
Inside, the mansion was even worse—or better, depending on how you saw it. Gold accents. Polished floors. Paintings that probably cost more than my entire street. I was still gawking at a chandelier the size of my landlord's car when Adrian appeared at the end of the hallway.
He was wearing a dark suit, of course. Because apparently the man was allergic to casual clothing. His expression was calm, unreadable, but his eyes swept over me slowly, landing on my face like he was trying to see straight into my soul.
"You're quiet today," he said as I reached him.
"I'm mentally preparing myself not to disgrace my ancestors," I muttered.
The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a laugh. "You'll be fine."
Easy for him to say. He was born into this. I was just trying not to choke on invisible air.
The dining room was straight out of a movie. A long polished table stretched across the room, lined with candles and enough silverware to open a cutlery shop. My eyes widened. So many forks. Which one was the jollof fork?
Grandpa Cole was already seated at the head of the table, his cane propped neatly against the chair. His face lit up when he saw me. "Amara! Welcome, my dear."
He said it so warmly, my nerves melted just a little. He motioned for me to sit beside Adrian, who of course pulled out my chair like the gentleman he pretended not to be.
Dinner began, and immediately I realized this was going to be the performance of my life. Fancy food in tiny portions. Conversations filled with laughter and subtle shade. And me—trying not to use the wrong spoon to eat soup.
Grandpa Cole, however, made everything easier. He kept telling stories—about when he was young, about Adrian's childhood, about mistakes he made and lessons he learned. At one point, he even winked at me and said, "Adrian was a very serious child. Too serious. He needs someone lively around him. Someone like you."
I nearly dropped my fork. "Ah, sir, I'm just trying to eat my food without disgracing myself."
The table erupted in laughter. My cheeks burned, but Grandpa just chuckled, clearly amused by my honesty.
Halfway through dinner, he leaned forward. "So, Amara... when should I expect a wedding invitation?"
I choked on my drink. Adrian calmly patted my back while I wheezed like a faulty generator. "Sir!" I spluttered. "Wedding? We just—uh—we're still... you know..."
Grandpa only laughed harder. "Don't worry, I won't rush you. But I like you, my dear. You bring life into this house."
Cue my face turning redder than tomato stew.
After dinner, Adrian suggested a walk in the garden. I followed him outside, grateful for fresh air after the pressure cooker of family expectations.
The garden was breathtaking—roses blooming in neat rows, fairy lights strung along the hedges, a fountain trickling softly in the center. It looked like something out of a romance novel, which annoyed me because I wasn't supposed to be romancing anyone.
We sat on a stone bench, silence stretching between us. For once, Adrian wasn't his usual unreadable self. His gaze softened as he looked at the roses.
"My mother loved this garden," he said suddenly.
I blinked. "Your mother?"
"She passed away when I was young," he continued, voice quieter than usual. "But she loved flowers. She used to bring me here every evening. Said the roses reminded her of hope."
I didn't know what to say. For the first time, the mighty Adrian Cole sounded... human. Not billionaire. Not untouchable. Just a man remembering his mother.
"You remind me of her," he added after a pause.
My heart stopped. "Me? How?"
A small smile tugged at his lips. "The way you laugh. The way you speak your mind without filtering it. She was like that too. Honest. Bright. She made every room warmer."
For a second, I couldn't breathe. Compliments from Adrian were rare enough. But that? Comparing me to his mother? Lord, my heart wasn't ready.
I quickly looked away, pretending to admire a rose bush. "Well..." I didn't know what to say so I just fell silent.
Adrian looked at me with a small smile.
We sat in silence for a while. My chest ached in a way I didn't want to analyze. I wasn't supposed to get drawn in. I wasn't supposed to care.
But sitting there under the fairy lights, with Adrian watching me like I was some puzzle he wanted to figure out... I felt dangerously close to forgetting this whole thing was fake.
When it was time to leave, Adrian insisted on riding with me in the backseat while his chauffeur drove. My pulse skyrocketed the moment the car door shut behind us. The space suddenly felt too small. Too intimate.
I pressed my hands to my lap, staring out the window. Don't look at him. Don't inhale his cologne. Don't imagine what it would feel like if—
"Amara," he said softly.
I turned my head. He was watching me, those mysterious eyes unreadable, lips curved into a faint smirk.
"I'm going to enjoy being your boyfriend. Fake boyfriend."
My breath caught. I forced a laugh that sounded too high-pitched. "Glad one of us is enjoying it."
The car stopped in front of Sophia's building. My hands shook as I reached for the door handle. My legs trembled as I stepped out. My heart drummed so loudly I was surprised Adrian couldn't hear it.
"Goodnight, Amara," he called after me, that smirk still tugging at his lips.
I nodded quickly, unable to trust my voice, and fled inside.
Sophia was waiting, of course. Hands on her hips, eyes sparkling like floodlights. "Gist. Now. Everything."
But later that night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her voice faded. The laughter from dinner replayed in my mind. Adrian's words echoed in my ears.
And my heart... my foolish, unreliable heart... whispered that maybe I was getting too invested in this.
How do I solve this dilemma?