I’ve always thought they were secretly together. You can’t fake that kind of connection.
Forget the book, I just want to watch them stare at each other for hours.
My husband looked at the photos and even HE said, ‘those two are definitely fucking.’ And he doesn’t even read romance!
I snort, trying to laugh it off. It’s absurd. These people don’t know him. They don’t know us. They’re romantics projecting their fantasies onto two people doing a job.
But the comments keep coming. Post after post. The same refrain:You can’t fake chemistry like that.
My phone buzzes. Nico.
Stop reading social media. It’s just his job. You know this.
I lock my phone and shove it under a couch cushion. She’s right. I know she’s right.
The third day is worse. I wake to another message from Wyatt.
Miss you. Can’t wait to be home. Love you so damn much.
I try to work, but I can’t focus. I try to read, but the words blur. I end up back on social media, scrolling through the growing frenzy of posts about Wyatt and Jade’s “undeniable connection” and sending screenshots to Nico.
My phone buzzes throughout the day with messages from Nico.
Snow, seriously, log off.
Don’t do this to yourself.
It’s. His. Job.
I’m coming over if you don’t answer me.
I finally text her back:I’m fine. Just working. Promise.
But I’m not fine. The social media chatter is a constant hum in the back of my mind.
That night, I barely sleep. I lie in the dark, my phone on the nightstand, willing it to buzz with a message from him. Something more than a brief, impersonal “thinking of you.” Something that proves I’m not going crazy, that what we have is real.
By the morning, I’m barely holding on. I wake to a text from Nico, sent at 3 AM.
Don’t check social media. It’s just work. Remember that.
The text sends ice through my veins. Why would she send that in the middle of the night? What has she seen?
My hands are shaking as I open my social media apps. And there it is. Everywhere. A major gossip site has an “exclusive,” and every romance blog, every reader group, every fan page has shared it.
The headline is a punch to the gut:“Co-stars or Couple? Wyatt Ford and Jade Nelson’s Intimate Island Dinner.”
The article is a masterpiece of suggestive speculation. It’s a gallery of photos of their dinner on the pier, the candlelight creating an atmosphere of undeniable romance. They are laughing, leaning in close, their body language a perfect picture of intimacy. The article quotes an “anonymous source” who gushes about their “undeniable off-screen connection” and how they “couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.”
My hands are shaking so badly that I have to put my phone down. This feels different. This isn’t a photoshoot with costumes and props. This is them, in regular clothes, having dinner. This looks like a date.
I force myself to get up, to make coffee, to pretend I can handle this. But my hands are trembling so badly I nearly drop the mug.
I try to eat breakfast. Toast. Something simple. But every bite tastes like ash. I stare at the cooling coffee, at the untouched toast, and I feel my world tilting on its axis.
I shouldn’t Google his name. I know I shouldn’t. But my fingers are moving before I can stop them, typing his name into the search bar.
The results load, and the top headline makes my stomach drop. A new “exclusive” was just posted a few minutes ago.
