But this isn’t my secret to tell. Florian doesn’t want me to confess everything to his sister, even if it would make me feel good momentarily to not lie.
“I want him to be happy,” I say instead. “I love him.”
Her jaw drops.
Was that too much? I square my shoulders.
“That’s good,” she says slowly. “I want him to be happy too. I’ve known Florian my whole life. He is more naive than other people. He is also rich.”
“I know.”
And I do.
I don’t deserve him.
She knows it too.
It’s—well, it’s not awesome hearing that your fake boyfriend’s sister doesn’t think you deserve him. I prefer my break time to be used for relaxation.
Still, it’s fine.
I chew on my bottom lip. “You shouldn’t worry. Florian will probably figure out that he can do better than me.”
She manages to look startled. “Mateo.”
I laugh, but there’s something wrong with the sound. I don’t sound happy.
“Probably soon,” I say.
I resist the impulse to tell her about all my bad dates.
“We work together,” I say. “That’s all. I’m a gay man. It’s?—”
She stares at me. “What is it?”
“Convenience?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. Look, someday Florian will find himself a more appropriate boyfriend. And that will be great for him. Incredible.”
Her eyebrows do some sort of gravity defying thing again. Though maybe eyebrows don’t succumb to gravity. Maybethey spend their times pointed up at me instead. At least when they’re Annika’s eyebrows. And at least when I’m in front of her.
“Most people would be upset to think about their boyfriend with another man,” she says.
I give her a tight smile, the kind where my lips are absolutely pressed together and where I can’t blurt out that Florian isn’t my boyfriend, not the real kind.
“I want him to be happy,” I repeat. “And if right now, I make him happy…”
“I should be quiet.”
“Yes,” I say. “Exactly.”
She shakes her head. “I believe you want him to be happy. I’m not convinced you know him that well.”
I flinch. “We’re a new?—”
“—couple,” she says. “Florian told me. Most boyfriends would know their boyfriend doesn’t drink tea.”
“Mind like a sieve,” I say, forcing my voice to be bright. “There’s a reason I work with my hands.”
“I am not here to insult you.”
