"So," he says, stretching to reach a high branch. "Tell me about your plans with Liv."
There it is. I knew this conversation was coming, but I still feel my stomach tighten. It’s a simple question, a father getting to know his daughter's girlfriend. But I'm lying to this nice man, taking advantage of his trust and hospitality while pretending to love someone I met two weeks ago.
"Well," I begin, testing the words as I speak, "I love her very much, of course. I'm hoping she'll move in with me at some point. We've talked about it, but she's got another nine months on her lease and she's a little funny about commitment."
It's exactly what Liv told me to say.
Bill chuckles. "That sounds like our Liv. Fiercely independent." He adjusts his position on the ladder, securing another string of lights. "Just hang in there. She doesn't do anything halfway, but when she commits to something—or someone—it's with everything she's got."
The guilt hits me harder now. Here's this man, sharing stories about his daughter's commitment and loyalty, while I'm deceiving him about the most basic facts of my existence. The entertainment value that drew me to this scheme is starting to look less and less appealing.
"I'm just glad she's found someone who appreciates her drive," he continues. "A lot of people would be intimidated by her success and her independence. But you two seem to be a good match."
13
LIV
Ihold up the pink wrap dress I packed for tonight's rehearsal dinner and lay it on the bed. The dress hits just above my knees with three-quarter sleeves and a low neckline that's flattering without being inappropriate for a family gathering. It's one of my favorites and makes me feel confident and put-together without trying too hard. Perfectly farm elegant, if there is such a thing.
Behind me, Blair is moving around, and when I glance in the mirror, I see she's emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around her chest.
Fuck.I quickly look away, my cheeks heating as I focus on smoothing invisible wrinkles from my dress. The memory of last night—her in her underwear—is still entirely too fresh in my mind and seeing her like this again isn't helping.
"Is this okay for the rehearsal dinner?" she asks, and I risk a glance over my shoulder to see her holding up a pink button-down shirt and black chinos.
"Um... Yeah, that's perfect."
She disappears back into the bathroom and leaves the door open while she combs her hair. It's strange getting readytogether. An everyday routine that real couples take for granted, and here we are, playing house so naturally that I'm almost forgetting it's all pretend.
"Liv?" Blair's voice carries from the bathroom.
"Yeah?" I plug in my straightening iron and start sectioning my hair.
She sticks her head around the corner and lowers her voice. "Do you feel bad about the lying?"
The question catches me off guard, but it's a valid one. The guilt has been gnawing at me since we arrived and I've been pushing it away.
"Yes," I admit, working on my hair. "I do feel bad about it. But I started this mess, and now I’ll have to see it through."
There's a pause, and then she asks, "Aren't you going to ask me ifIfeel bad about it?"
I frown, setting down the straightening iron. "Why would you? You're getting paid to do a job. You're just playing a role."
"Yeah, but your parents are lovely people, and they're so happy for us. I had a really nice time with your dad today and your mother keeps looking at us like we're the answer to her prayers."
"I'm sorry,” I say. “I didn't really think this through as well as I thought I did." I continue, picking up another section of hair. "But you'll never have to face them again after this weekend."
"That's not the point, though," she says with genuine frustration in her voice. "They're nice to me and I'm doing them wrong. It feels... it feels shitty, Liv."
It's sweet that she's so concerned with my parents' feelings, that she's taking this deception as seriously as I am—maybe even more so.
"So what's the plan for the breakup?" she continues. "Are you going to make me out to be the bad girl? Tell them I dumped you or broke your heart?"
I flinch because that was exactly my plan. Blame it on her. It seems like the obvious and easy way out.
"Please don't," she says when I don't answer. "I don't want them to hate me. I don't want to be that person."
I shake my head, looking down at my feet. "Okay, I won't," I lie. The truth is, it's not just my parents who will never see her again—I won't either. Well, unless I run into her at the coffee shop again, but I can always avoid that place, find a new one. So really, what does it matter what I tell my parents? It's not like Blair will ever find out. I just need to keep reminding myself that this is a transaction. We're not here to become besties. I just need to get through this weekend and then get on with my life. Preferably without staring at her too much.
