Part 2 — The Rules of Pretending
Part 2 — The Rules of Pretending
Roman returned the next morning at exactly 8:15.
Clare hated that she had noticed the time.
She was waiting behind the counter with a sheet of paper in her hand.
Roman glanced at it.
“What’s that?”
“Terms.”
“You made a contract?”
“No. Contracts are what people negotiate. These are rules.”
Roman pulled out a chair and sat down.
Clare pointed at the first line.
“Rule one: You do not control my business.”
“I’ve never controlled your business.”
“You tried to reserve the entire bakery this morning.”
“I wanted privacy.”
“My customers wanted breakfast.”
Roman paused.
“They won.”
Clare nodded. “Good. You’re learning.”
She moved to the next rule.
“Rule two: Your security stays outside unless there’s an actual reason for them to come in.”
Roman glanced toward the window.
Two enormous men stood outside, pretending they weren’t watching the bakery.
“That may be difficult.”
“Then dating me is difficult.”
“Pretending to date you.”
“Keep correcting me and I’ll make this very easy.”
Roman went silent.
Clare smiled.
“You’re learning.”
She continued.
“No ordering my employees around. No deciding where I go. No deciding what I wear. No surprise appearances at my apartment. No gifts so expensive they require insurance.”
Roman raised an eyebrow.
“And absolutely no acting like you own me because someone happens to be watching.”
“I don’t act like I own people.”
Clare stared at him.
Roman reconsidered.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
She added another line.
“No kissing me because you think an audience requires authenticity.”
Roman’s eyebrow lifted.
“How exactly are we supposed to convince anyone?”
“Try having a personality.”
A laugh came from near the door.
One of Roman’s security men immediately looked away.
Roman slowly turned toward him.
“Outside.”
The man pointed toward the window.
“I’m already outside.”
Clare covered her mouth to hide a laugh.
Roman closed his eyes briefly.
“This is going to be fun,” she said.
“It is not.”
But there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.
Clare agreed to three weeks.
Not because of Roman’s money.
She refused every dollar.
Not because Sophia needed convincing.
She didn’t care what Roman’s aunt thought.
She agreed because Lily kept coming back.
The girl started helping Clare label pastry boxes while pretending she wasn’t enjoying herself.
Clare also watched Roman attempt to talk to his niece.
He approached emotional conversations the way other people approached unexploded bombs—carefully, from a distance, preferably with professionals nearby.
If three ridiculous weeks could help Roman and Lily find their way back to each other, Clare could tolerate him.
Probably.
Their first family dinner tested that theory.
Roman arrived at the bakery beforehand carrying flowers large enough to conceal a small child.
Clare stared at them.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Men don’t bring flowers like that when they’ve done nothing.”
“They’re for you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my girlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend.”
“Flowers can also be fake if that helps.”
Clare touched one of the petals.
“They’re real.”
“That was a joke.”
She looked genuinely surprised.
“You made one.”
Roman seemed faintly offended.
Clare narrowed her eyes.
“Who told you to bring these?”
“No one.”
“Is Sophia outside?”
“No.”
“Lily?”
“No.”
“Anyone we’re supposed to convince?”
Roman paused.
Clare’s smile slowly appeared.
“Oh.”
Roman looked suspicious.
“Oh, what?”
“You brought your fake girlfriend real flowers when nobody was watching.”
“They support the arrangement.”
“Who are they performing for, Roman?”
He looked at the flowers.
“The muffins.”
Clare burst out laughing.
Roman took the flowers back.
“Oh, no,” Clare said. “You don’t get to take them now.”
“You criticized them.”
“I can criticize something and still keep it.”
“That explains your relationship with me.”
Clare stopped.
Roman stopped too.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Clare slowly took the flowers from him.
“Careful, Duca.”
She smiled.
“That almost sounded charming.”
At dinner, the difference was immediate.
Sophia teased Roman.
Lily rolled her eyes at him.
Clare disagreed with him twice before the first course ended.
And nobody became quiet afterward.
That seemed to fascinate Roman.
He was accustomed to rooms adjusting themselves around him.
Clare did the opposite.
She treated him like a difficult customer.
When Roman interrupted Lily, Clare tapped his wrist.
“She wasn’t finished.”
Roman looked at Clare.
Then at Lily.
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
Lily blinked.
So did Sophia.
Clare pretended not to notice.
By the following week, the arrangement had developed its own absurd routine.
Roman visited the bakery almost every morning.
He claimed appearances mattered.
Clare pointed out that none of his relatives were there.
Then his security team began coming inside without him.
Not for security.
For pastries.
Clare quickly learned their orders.
“Coffee. No sugar,” she said when one of them entered.
The enormous man smiled.
“And the almond pastry.”
“You remembered.”
Roman walked in behind him.
“He gets a smile,” Roman said.
Clare looked at him.
“He says thank you. I say thank you.”
She imitated Roman’s serious expression.
“I say thank you like I’m approving a quarterly report.”
The security man collected his order and wisely disappeared.
Roman watched him leave.
“I’m beginning to regret introducing my employees to you.”
“You didn’t introduce them.”
Clare grinned.
“They discovered carbohydrates.”
Roman stared at her.
Something had changed.
Their arguments no longer felt like arguments.
Roman still annoyed her.
She had simply begun enjoying it.
Worse, Roman seemed to enjoy being annoyed.
He found reasons to stay after their conversations should have ended.
He started asking questions that had nothing to do with their arrangement.
“Why did you open the bakery?”
“Why this neighborhood?”
“Why have you never expanded?”
Clare eventually folded her arms.
“Are you interviewing me?”
“I’m learning about my girlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend.”
“Apparently, I need material.”
“For whom?”
Roman opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Clare laughed.
And this time, there was no audience.
Roman had no explanation.
That afternoon, Lily came by after school.
Clare gave her a simple task and left her alone until the girl began talking voluntarily.
Roman arrived later.
He stopped near the entrance when he heard Lily laughing.
This time, he didn’t interrupt.
He simply listened.
Clare noticed the expression on his face.
There was no mafia boss in it.
No calculation.
No authority.
Just an uncle standing outside a conversation because he didn’t know how to enter it.
Clare walked over.
“You can go say hello.”
Roman kept watching Lily.
“She seems happy.”
“That doesn’t mean you’ll ruin it.”
“You don’t know that.”
Clare studied him.
For the first time, Roman wasn’t afraid of losing control.
He was afraid of getting something wrong.
She lowered her voice.
“Then don’t try to fix anything.”
Roman looked at her.
“Just be there.”
Lily noticed him.
Her smile faded slightly.
Roman hesitated.
Then, instead of asking whether she was okay or reminding her about something she needed to do, he pulled out a chair.
“What are you working on?”
Lily looked suspiciously at him.
“Clare’s teaching me how to handle difficult customers.”
Roman glanced at Clare.
“Why do I suspect I’m the example?”
“Because you’re developing self-awareness.”
Lily laughed.
Roman smiled.
Not the controlled half-smile Clare had seen before.
A real one.
For one uncomfortable second, Clare forgot this was supposed to be pretend.
Then the bakery door opened.
Daniel Hayes, who owned the bookstore next door, walked in with an easy smile.
“Still free Saturday night?”
Clare glanced at Roman.
Roman’s smile disappeared.
Suddenly, their fake relationship had a very real problem.
