“Do you ever smile?” I call over my shoulder.
“Rarely.”
“So annoying,” Calina mutters, then squeezes my hand. “You’ll get used to him.”
I don’t answer.
I’m not sure I want to.
The ride back is quiet. He sits beside me again, scrolling through his phone while I stare out the window, this time watching the city bustle.
“Your sisters are nice,” I say finally.
“They’re a headache.”
“Maybe they learned it from you.”
That earns me a look. “Careful.”
“Why? If I was truly your fiancée, we would be bickering all the time. We’re training now.”
I turn back to the window before he can see me smile.
When the car finally stops in front of my building, I think I’m free. But as I reach for the door handle, he speaks.
“Wait.”
I pause. “What now?”
He pulls a folded stack of papers from his coat pocket and hands them to me. “Homework.”
I blink. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
“Clearly,” I say, snatching the papers from his hand.
I unfold the pages and stare. It’s a questionnaire—dozens of questions about favorite foods, childhood memories, how we met, our first kiss, what I love most about him.
“What the hell is this?”
“Our story,” he says, completely serious. “We’ll need to match answers when people ask.”
“Do you realize how crazy this is?”
He doesn’t answer, then reaches into his pocket again and hands me another stack. “Those are my answers. Memorize them.”
I flip through the pages. His handwriting is sharp, precise and infuriatingly neat.
“How long did you spend on this?” I ask, flipping through the pages, still trying to decide if this is a joke.
“Long enough,” he says, his voice calm, patient in a way that only makes me angrier.
“This is unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head.
He almost smiles, a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s always true,” I shoot back, meeting his eyes for a moment too long.
