“Perfect.” Dimitri is typing. “November. Scorpio. Any other details?”
“He’s afraid of thunderstorms,” I hear myself say. “Hides under the bed.”
“Good. What else?”
And just like that, we’re back to building the lie. All of us. Together.
My fake father’s fake dog. Getting more real by the minute.
Because this family—this loud, chaotic, loving, slightly insane family—will help me maintain an absurd lie to keep my terrible job at a firm that covers up murders.
Because they love me.
Because they’re all I have.
Because sometimes love looks like remembering the birthday of a dog that doesn’t exist.
“He needs a middle name,” Nikko says. “Dogs should have middle names.”
“Winston Bishop,” Alex says immediately. “After the full character.”
“Winston Bishop Wells,” my mom agrees. “Very distinguished.”
“Perfect for a purebred,” Sofia nods.
“I’m in hell,” I mutter.
“You’re at family dinner,” Dimitri corrects. “Same thing, sometimes.”
But he’s smiling. They’re all smiling.
And for half a second, I forget about the ring burning in my pocket.
For half a second, it’s just this. Just a family helping me maintain the world’s dumbest lie.
Just love, showing up in weird ways.
“Next week we’ll work on Winston’s training progress,” Dimitri announces. “Dylan, be ready with updates.”
“This is my life now.”
“This has been your life for five years,” Alex reminds me. “We’re just making it official.”
“I need more wine,” I say.
“We all need more wine,” Sofia agrees, already pouring.
The Winston conversation continues around us. Nikko suggesting fake vet visits. Maya proposing a fake Instagramaccount. My mom offering to create fake photos using that AI thing she learned about.
This family. This absurd, wonderful, loving family.
Who will help me lie about anything.
Who will protect me from everything.
Who I’m lying to right now about something so much darker than a fake dog.
The guilt tastes like ash.
