Me:mysterious girlfriend?
Me:are you stepping out on me?
Me:what did you tell her?
Finn:Not the cheating type darlin. Told her Lou has a big mouth and yes I’m dating someone amazingwho makes me want to be better than I was before
The honesty made my breath catch. I stared at the message for a full minute before responding with a noncommittal thumbs-up emoji, not ready to examine why his words felt more like truth than pretend.
But his family’s interest created practical problems. His sister Elowyn had started asking pointed questions about what I did and when she’d get to meet me. His grandmother had begun making not-so-subtle hints about bringing me to Wyoming for a weekend.
“The thing is,” Finn said during one of our evening calls, “they’re asking about pictures of us. Actual couple photos, not just the group shots with our brothers or whatever else we happen to be at together. And Lou’s been... observant about thelack of romantic evidence on my social media.”
I was reorganizing my kitchen while we talked, a habit that had intensified since our arrangement began. “How observant?”
“She asked Dom if I was actually dating someone or just trying to get her to back off,” his voice carried dry humor. “Dom, being Dom, said he couldn’t comment on my romantic life without proper compensation.”
“What kind of compensation?”
“A video of me telling the internet that he’s the much cooler and better-looking brother. Apparently his ego can’t handle that your boyfriend is clearly the superior twin.”
The casual way he said “your boyfriend” made me pause mid-spice rack shuffling. We’d started using dating terms in conversations, testing how they felt in our mouths when nobody else was listening.
“We can probably pay him off with peanut M&Ms,” I joked, then added more seriously, “but the photo thing is a real issue. We should figure out a strategy before your family starts getting too suspicious.”
“Want to FaceTime about it tomorrow? I can show you some of the locations Dom’s been dragging me to. Might give us some ideas for believable couple shots.”
The suggestion made sense logically, but planning our fake relationship documentation over a video call felt more intimate than the casual daily texts.
“That works,” I agreed, then spent the rest of the call trying not to think about why the prospect of seeing him made my stomach flutter with excitement.
The next afternoon, Finn’s face filled my laptop screen from what looked like a coffee shop in West Hollywood, warm light streaming through large windows behind him.
“I was told this place has the best natural light,” he adjusted his position so the camera caught him at a flattering angle. “Dom’s been teaching me about ‘optimal selfie conditions’ whether I wanted to learn or not.”
“Hollywood’s corrupting you,” I teased, settling back in my office chair. Through the camera mounted on top of my monitor, I could see my own image in the corner, the professional lighting from my office setup, the soft ambient glow from windows now facing away from the afternoon sun.
“Completely. I know what golden hour is now. It’s tragic,” he grinned and then leaned in. “Hey, you wore your hair down.”
My brain short-circuited at his notice, and I touched a lock that had fallen over my shoulder, pulling gently and wrapping it around my fingers. My inability to leave it alone was the main reason I wore it up so much.
“So, strategy session?” He continued when I couldn’t think of how to respond.
We spent the next hour mapping out photo opportunities. Finn showed me several locations where Dom had dragged him for “expanding his cultural horizons.” Art galleries with interesting architecture, hiking trails with city views, restaurants with romantic ambiance. I pulled up my own calendar, noting family events and work-related functions where couple photos would be expected.
“The family engagement party is the big debut on my side,” I made notes on my phone. “Everyone’s going to expect us to look completely smitten with each other.”
“How hard can it be?” Finn’s voice was full of easy confidence. “We already look pretty comfortable together.”
“True,” I thought of the casual touches that were beginning to feel less like performance and more like preference. “But we should probably take some shots before the main event. Test lighting, figure out our best angles, make sure we can look convincingly romantic on command.”
“Your place or mine?” Finn asked, then seemed to realize how that sounded, his cheeks darkening. “For the photo session, I mean.”
“Mine probably makes more sense. Better light in the backyardif we need to control the environment.” I paused, then added, “plus it’ll give us a chance to work on our domestic bliss aesthetic.”
The phrase came out more loaded than I’d intended, and Finn’s expression shifted slightly. Like he was processing the same undercurrent I was trying to ignore.
“Domestic bliss,” he repeated, voice carefully neutral. “I can manage that.”
