“Lucas, I can’t just show up at a gala.”
“You can and you will.” He was already digging through the shopping bags, pulling out a pair of strappy and very sparkling heels. Another bag contained jewelry that was also sparkly, and I hoped fake. I could not be walking around wearing that much wealth. “We have exactly ninety minutes to transform you into the woman who’s going to make every person in that ballroom jealous.’”
“This is insane. Dane doesn’t want me there. He would have asked me if he did.”
“Dane is an idiot.” Lucas said it so matter-of-factly that I almost laughed again. “He’s so busy trying to protect you and maintain professional boundaries and do the ‘right thing’ that he’s completely missing the obvious solution.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Stop pretending this is fake and just be together.” He gestured at me, like he was shooing me away. “Look, I know thisseems crazy. And it is crazy. But I’ve known Dane since we were kids.”
“Wait, really?”
Lucas paused in his whirlwind of activity. “Yep. Dane and I met when we were eleven. He’d just moved here from Ireland, and you could barely understand him with that thick accent. He was getting his ass kicked by some older kids outside our building. I helped him out. Well, I ran and got my dad, who was a cop, but still. We’ve been friends ever since.”
I sat down on the couch because my legs simply refused to hold me up. “He said you were friends for a while, but I thought he meant high school or college.”
“Nope. I was there from the beginning. Watched him teach himself to hide his accent, watched him transform from this scared, confused kid into the person he thought he needed to be to survive in New York.” Lucas started setting up what appeared to be a full makeup station on my coffee table. “And don’t get me wrong. He’s a genius at the business stuff. The man built an incredible company, made more money than either of us ever dreamed of when we were kids sharing comic books and stealing candy from the bodega.”
I frowned. “I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming?”
“But somewhere along the way, he convinced himself that love wasn’t real. That it was just a necessary lie people tell themselves to enter into a transactional relationship.”
“Ugh,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Dane has told me about that theory before.”
“He decided love was just a product he could package and sell without ever experiencing it himself.” Lucas looked at me, and his expression was uncharacteristically serious. “He built Cupid’s Arrow because he’s good at seeing patterns and understanding what makes people compatible. But he left out one crucial thing.”
“What?”
“That sometimes love just happens,” he said simply. “No amount of data or algorithms or careful planning can account for the moment you meet someone who completely upends everything you thought you knew about yourself.” He smiled. “That’s what you did to him, Ina. You walked into his life with your ridiculous pink mug and your genuine kindness and your belief in magic. I suspect you’re what he never knew he wanted, until you arrived.”
Tears prickled at my eyes. “He told me love isn’t real. That it’s just compatibility metrics and mutual benefit.”
“That might be true for some people, but not for everyone. Not for you and Dane.” Lucas handed me a tissue. “Don’t cry. I don’t want you to have puffy eyes.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You really think it’s a good idea for me to show up to the gala tonight?”
“Absolutely,” he said, gripping my hand. “And not just because it’ll be great for Cupid’s Arrow. You’re going to remind Dane why he fell for you in the first place.”
“Lucas, he’s going to be furious.”
“He’s going to be thrilled. Trust me. I’ve known him for twenty-five years. I know the difference between Dane protecting himself and Dane protecting someone he cares about.”
“He doesn’t care about me,” I said quietly. “He’s attracted to me.”
“I can see one reason you two are so compatible. You both overanalyze things to death.” Lucas held his hand up. “No more of that. Come on. Dress first, then hair and makeup. I called in a favor with a friend who’s a stylist and she gave me explicit instructions on how to do a smokey eye. The lady at the makeup counter gave me all the stuff we need to make you look like a model.”
“Maybe let me handle my makeup,” I said, edging back.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Can I just say, when you two get married and have a ridiculous fairy-tale wedding that makes everyone cry, I expect to be best man. Put in the good word for me.”
I laughed. “You would like my roommate, Abby.”
“Sit. Let’s prettify you.”
For the next hour, Lucas transformed me with surprising skill. He twisted my hair into an elegant updo, leaving a few strategic pieces to frame my face. I let him take a crack at my makeup too, and he had a surprisingly steady hand and delicate touch. It was more dramatic than I usually wore, with smoky eyes, defined cheekbones, lips in a shade of red that made me feel powerful and slightly dangerous.
“This isn’t your first time putting makeup on someone,” I said as he added the finishing touches.
