Page 33 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

This is our life now.

“We have to tell them it’s not real,” I said, but I was still clutching the ring like he might try to take it back.

“Of course,” he agreed, watching me slide it onto my finger.

It fit perfectly, making me smile.

My phone buzzed again with my smile vanishing.

Blake: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Blake: CALL ME RIGHT NOW

Blake: DEEPIKA MAYA SHARMA YOU ANSWER YOUR PHONE RIGHT THIS SECOND

Liam’s phone was doing the same.

“We should probably…” he trailed off.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Neither of us moved.

The diner staff was still congratulating us, and someone had bought us champagne. An elderly woman at the next table was crying happy tears.

“This is… unbelievable,” I said.

“You should slap me so it looks like you rejected me,” he joked, but I wonder if I should.

I looked down at the ring on my finger, my grandmother’s ring, finally returned after seventeen years, and smiled. A real, soft smile that made my chest do something uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For keeping it safe and for giving it back.”

“You’re welcome.”

And then, because the universe apparently had a sense of humor, someone started playing ‘Marry You’ by Bruno Mars over the diner speakers.

I met Liam’s soft gray eyes, and we both burst out laughing again.

I turned the key in my apartment lock, exhausted from smiling at a camera for six hours while pretending toothpaste was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.

The hallway smelled like Mrs. Kim’s cooking, garlic and ginger, making my stomach growl, and I could hear my neighbor’s TV through the paper-thin walls.

Home sweet claustrophobic home.

Today had been... weird.

Everyone on set had treated me differently and… better. The director, who usually barked orders at me, had asked if I needed a break. The makeup artist who normally rushed through my foundation (making my skin two shades lighter) had taken extra time, chatting about how romantic my engagement was. Even the PA, who had been cold to me for months, brought me coffee without being asked and without messing up the order.

All because they thought I was dating Liam fucking James.

Olympic gold medalist and America’s spoiled swimming sweetheart. Triple S. The man who had licked my hand days ago just to annoy me.

I didn’t know how to feel about it. The attention was nice, sure. But it was built on a lie, and I had enough of those to last a lifetime.

After the diner disaster, Liam had called a cab and physically shielded me from the paparazzi who materialized around us like vultures.

“Deepika! Is it true?”