It started with one word.
Love.
He said it once as a joke, and now it was apparently part of his daily vocabulary.
"Morning, love."
"Coffee's ready, love."
"Pass the files, love."
Every single time, he said it with that calm, measured voice like he was reading the news.
And every single time, my brain short-circuited for two seconds before I pretended I didn't hear it.
It had been a week since my grandmother's lawyer visit, and I was convinced he was doing it just to mess with me.
I was halfway through buttering my toast when he walked into the kitchen, white shirt on, looking like a coffee commercial.
"Good morning, love," he said casually, as if he hadn't just set off my internal alarms.
"Stop calling me that," I muttered without looking up.
He poured his coffee. "Why?"
"Because it sounds weird."
"We're married. It's appropriate."
"We're fake married," I said.
"Big difference."
He stirred his coffee like I hadn't spoken. "Still counts."
I glared. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
A small smile tugged at his lips. "A little."
I wanted to throw my toast at him. Instead, I grabbed my bag.
"I'm going to the store."
"I'll come with you," he said.
"You don't have to."
"Neighbors talk," he said. "It'll look better if we go together."
I sighed. "Fine. But you're pushing the cart."
"Of course, love."
I groaned. "Unbelievable."
He followed me like he owned the building. Which, technically, he did.
The elevator ride was quiet except for soft jazz from the speaker.
In the lobby, the old lady from the third floor watered her plants.
She looked up, smiled, and waved.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Maxim," she said warmly.
My brain froze. "Oh, hi! Yes, morning."
She beamed. "You two make such a lovely couple. Newlyweds, right?"
I laughed too loudly.
"What? No. I mean, yes… kind of. Sort of. Newly wed-ish."
Callisto didn't blink. "We got married recently," he said smoothly.
"Still adjusting."
"Oh, how wonderful," the old lady said, clasping her hands.
"You must come by for tea sometime."
"Of course," Callisto said politely.
"We'd love to."
I smiled too, because apparently that's what polite fake wives do.
"We'd love to."
In the car, I exhaled so hard my lungs hurt.
"You didn't have to agree to tea," I said.
"It's neighborly," he said.
"She thinks we're actually married."
"She's supposed to."
"She'll start giving us marriage advice next."
"Then you'll have someone to talk to," he said.
I turned to him. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Just keeping up appearances."
"At my expense."
He didn't reply, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
At the grocery store, things didn't get better.
Every aisle made us look like an actual couple. He pushed the cart, I grabbed items. People smiled. A cashier even said, "You two are so cute together."
I almost corrected her, but Callisto beat me to it.
"Thank you," he said, resting his hand briefly on my back.
It wasn't natural. It was calculated.
And yet my heart did that stupid jump thing I hated.
Back home, I dumped the bags on the counter. "You didn't need to touch me."
"It looked convincing," he said.
"It looked unnecessary."
He leaned against the counter.
"You're flustered."
"I'm annoyed."
"Same thing."
I threw a bag of chips at him. He caught it one-handed, of course.
"You're annoying."
He set the chips aside neatly.
"You're dramatic."
"Better than robotic," I shot back.
He raised an eyebrow. "You always have to get the last word, don't you?"
"Yes," I said proudly. "It's a skill."
He shook his head and walked away.
The rest of the day passed quietly.
I worked from the living room and he took calls in his office.
Occasionally, he'd say,
"Lunch, love?"
Or "Need help, love?"
Every time, my brain screamed.
Later, there was a knock at the door. The same old lady from earlier stood there with a small basket.
"Just some muffins," she said kindly.
"For the newlyweds."
"Oh, thank you," I said, panicking a little.
Callisto appeared behind me, naturally, because timing hates me.
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Cruz. Thank you."
She beamed. "You're welcome. You two are such a beautiful couple. Enjoy the muffins, lovebirds."
"Lovebirds," I muttered after she left.
"She's sweet," he said, closing the door.
"She's spreading rumors," I said.
He shrugged. "They'll believe what they see."
I crossed my arms. "And what they see is a fake couple pretending not to hate each other."
"You don't hate me," he said calmly.
"I tolerate you."
He smiled faintly. "Progress."
I was too tired to argue. I grabbed a muffin and sat on the couch.
"Fine. You win. But stop calling me 'love' in public."
"No promises."
I looked at him. "You're serious?"
He walked past me to the kitchen. "Habit."
"Habit?"
He glanced back, that teasing glint in his eyes. "You get used to pretending long enough, it starts feeling natural."
For a second, I didn't know what to say.
He disappeared into his office, and I sat with a half-eaten muffin and too many thoughts.
Pretending was supposed to be easy. A simple performance.
But lately, it felt like I was forgetting where the act ended and real reactions began.
It was just business. I reminded myself at least ten times a day.
Yet somehow, hearing him call me 'love' didn't feel like part of the job anymore.