"James is protective. With good reason."
She sighs, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her perfectly tailored dress. "Caleb, darling, you know I only want what's best. Christopher's family is important to your father's campaign."
"I don't care. He's not coming near me again, and please tell Father that I'm not attending any events with him. If that's a problem for the campaign, maybe Father should reconsider taking money from people who raised a predator."
Her eyes widen at my bluntness. "That's a severe accusation."
"It's the truth." I’m beyond caring about diplomatic phrasing. "And you know it. You were there when I came back from that guest house. You saw the bruises on my wrists."
She looks away, the only tell in her otherwise perfect composure. "That was a long time ago."
"Not to me." Spotting James waiting patiently a few feet away, he’s watching me with quiet concern. "We're leaving now. Thank you for the lovely evening, Mother."
Walking away before she can respond, I return to James's side with as much composure as I can muster.
"Ready to go?" he asks.
"More than ready."
The ride back to campus is quiet. James leaves his hand on the seat between us, palm up, an open invitation. After hesitating for a second, I put my hand in his, letting myself have this small bit of comfort.
"Your mother seemed upset when you spoke to her." He misses nothing.
"I said some things she didn't want to hear again. About Christopher and about my father's campaign priorities."
"Good," he says simply. "It's about time someone did."
Look at him. When did James Hunter become, whatever this is?
"This wasn't what you signed up for." My voice is quiet. "Fake dating was supposed to be about avoiding fraternity activities, not family drama and political minefields."
He shrugs, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. "I don't mind."
"You should." My voice cracks. "This is a mess. I'm a mess."
"You're not a mess, Caleb," he says firmly. "You're someone who's been dealing with incredibly difficult things and somehow remained true to yourself despite it all. That's not a mess. That's strength."
His words sink into places long neglected, warming cracks I've tried to ignore. "When did you get so insightful, Hunter?"
"I've always been insightful," he says with a small smile. "You were too busy being grumpy to notice."
Laughing helps ease the tension gripping my core slightly. "Pot, kettle."
His smile widens, and I find myself cataloging the sight, the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the slight asymmetry that makes it more charming than perfect. When did I start noticing these details? When did James Hunter become someone whose smile I want to memorize?
"Thank you. For tonight. For everything."
"You don't need to thank me," he says, squeezing my hand gently. "That's what boyfriends are for, right?"
Boyfriends. The word hangs between us, loaded with implications. This is still pretend. A fake relationship that's gotten messier, maybe, but still not real at its core.
Except it doesn't seem fake when he looks at me like that, his dark eyes soft with concern, it doesn't feel fake when his hand holds mine, warm and steady. It's like the first real thing I've experienced in years.
Eventually, this will end. It has to. And when it does, I'll need to remember that it was never meant to be real in the first place.
This is fine. Everything's fine. Just casually wanting my fake boyfriend to be real. Totally normal.
Chapter 14
