Updated Mar 13, 2026 • ~9 min read
I wake up to my phone vibrating.
It’s 8:23 AM. Saturday morning. I grab my phone and squint at the screen.
Twenty-three texts from Wren.
Oh no.
Wren: “I SAW THE PHOTOS”
Wren: “TESSA MARIE MORGAN”
Wren: “Or should I say TESSA REID”
Wren: “You two looked VERY cozy at that gallery”
Wren: “CALL ME IMMEDIATELY”
The rest are variations on the same theme, getting progressively more caps-lock as they go.
I sit up. Photos? What photos?
I click on the link she sent.
It’s a society blog. One of those sites that covers celebrity events and posts candid shots of rich people doing rich people things.
And there, in glorious high definition, are photos from last night’s gallery opening.
Me and Holden arriving together. His hand on my lower back. Us laughing at something James said. Standing on the balcony, his face inches from mine, looking at each other like…
Oh.
Oh no.
We look like we’re in love.
My chest tightens.
The caption reads: “Sports agent Holden Reid spotted at James Chen’s gallery opening with mystery woman. Sources say they recently tied the knot in a secret Vegas ceremony. Congrats to the happy couple!”
I screenshot it and text it to Holden: “We have a problem.”
Three dots appear immediately. He’s awake.
Holden: “Saw it. Not a problem. This is good.”
Me: “How is this GOOD? Everyone’s going to see these!”
Holden: “That’s the point. We look like a real couple. Mission accomplished.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right. This is exactly what we wanted—to look convincing.
So why do I feel so exposed?
Probably because those photos captured something real. The way I was looking at him on that balcony. The way he was touching me. The kiss that happened minutes after that last photo was taken.
My phone rings. Wren.
I answer. “Before you say anything—”
“WHAT THE HELL TESSA.”
“Let me explain—”
“You’re all over Page Six! And some blog called ‘Society Spotlight!’ And someone’s aunt shared it on Facebook!”
“Okay, that’s—”
“You two look like you’re about to make out in every single photo!”
I close my eyes. “Wren—”
“I thought this was fake? I thought you hated him?”
“I did. I do. I—” I stop. Because that’s not true anymore, is it? “It’s complicated.”
The line goes quiet.
“Oh my God,” Wren says slowly. “You like him.”
“I don’t—”
“You LIKE him. Tessa, you’re catching feelings for your fake husband.”
“I am not—”
“Don’t lie to me. I can hear it in your voice.”
I slump back against my pillows. “Maybe. A little.”
“A LITTLE? Tessa, you’re looking at him like he hung the moon in those photos!”
“I know.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know! We kissed last night and it was—” I stop. I can’t even describe it. Amazing? Terrifying? The best and worst decision I’ve ever made? “And then he told me he’s had feelings for me for years.”
Wren screams. Actually screams.
“YEARS?!”
“Since I was fourteen, apparently.”
“Okay, that’s—wait, fourteen? When you had braces and that terrible haircut?”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“I’m just saying! He’s been carrying a torch for you since THEN?”
“I guess so.”
“Tessa.” Wren’s voice softens. “That’s actually really sweet.”
“It’s also really complicated.”
“Because of Noah?”
“Because of everything. Because this was supposed to be fake. Because in six months we’re supposed to get divorced and move on with our lives. Because I don’t know if what I’m feeling is real or if it’s just… proximity. Or convenience. Or—”
There’s a knock on my door.
I freeze.
“Is that him?” Wren asks.
“I think so.”
“Okay, I’m hanging up. But Tessa? Talk to him. Figure out what you both want. Because those photos don’t lie.”
She disconnects.
Another knock. “Tessa? You awake?”
I look down. I’m in my pajamas—the same college t-shirt and shorts from the other morning. Not exactly the outfit you want to be wearing when having a serious conversation with the man you accidentally kissed last night.
“One second!” I call out.
I throw on a cardigan and try to make my hair look less like I got attacked by a bird. It doesn’t really help.
When I open the door, Holden is standing there with two cups of coffee.
He’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair is messy. He looks unfairly good for someone who probably got the same amount of sleep I did.
“Peace offering,” he says, holding out a mug.
I take it. “Thanks.”
“Can I come in?”
I hesitate. Then step aside.
Holden walks into my room and sits on the edge of my bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I perch on the desk chair, keeping distance between us.
“So,” he says. “We should probably talk.”
“Probably.”
“About last night.”
“Yeah.”
We sip our coffee in silence.
This is torture. I need to just say it. Get it out there.
“I saw the photos,” I blurt out.
“Me too.”
“We look very…”
“Married?”
“I was going to say ‘convincing.'”
“Same thing.”
More silence.
Holden sets down his coffee. “Tessa, about what I said on the balcony—”
“Don’t take it back.”
“I wasn’t going to. But I need you to know I’m not expecting anything from you. I know this situation is already complicated enough without adding feelings into it.”
“What if I want to add feelings into it?”
The words come out before I can stop them.
Holden goes very still. “What?”
“I’m just saying… maybe I’m not as opposed to this being real as I thought I was.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” I take a breath. “I’ve spent eleven years thinking you were this arrogant, annoying person who existed solely to drive me crazy. But living with you these past few days, I’m realizing I might have been wrong.”
“Might have been?”
“Okay, I was definitely wrong. You’re not terrible.”
“Wow, such a glowing endorsement.”
I throw a pillow at him. He catches it, grinning.
“I’m being serious,” I say. “You cook dinner. You remember random things I said a year ago. You bought me a ring that’s exactly what I would have chosen for myself. And last night, when you told me about the pigtails and the yellow dress, I realized—”
“Realized what?”
“That maybe we’ve been fighting this for way too long.”
Holden stares at me. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying maybe we should stop pretending this is fake.”
The room is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.
“Tessa,” Holden says carefully. “I need you to be sure. Because if we do this—if we make this real—I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to pretending.”
“I don’t want to go back.”
“What about the six months? What about the divorce?”
“What if we don’t get divorced?”
His eyes widen. “You mean—”
“I mean maybe we see where this goes. Actually try. For real.”
“And Noah?”
My stomach drops. Noah. Right. My brother. Who specifically told Holden to stay away from me. Who has no idea we’re married. Who will absolutely lose his mind if he finds out.
“We tell him,” I say. “Eventually. When we’re ready.”
“He’s going to kill me.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely worth it though.”
Holden stands and crosses to where I’m sitting. He pulls me to my feet. His hands settle on my waist.
“So we’re doing this?” he asks. “We’re making this marriage real?”
“I think we already did. On that balcony.”
“Fair point.”
He leans down. His lips brush mine, soft and questioning. I answer by wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
This kiss is different from last night. Slower. Sweeter. Like we have all the time in the world.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Yeah. We’re doing this.”
“Good.” Holden grins. “Because I was not looking forward to six months of pining after my own wife.”
I laugh. Actually laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You like it.”
“Unfortunately.”
He kisses me again. And again. Until we’re both smiling too much to continue.
“I should probably get ready,” I say reluctantly. “I have a venue walkthrough at noon.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Wedding planning doesn’t respect weekends.”
“Okay. But tonight, dinner? Just us? Actual date, not fake date?”
“Are you asking me out, Holden Reid?”
“I’m asking my wife if she wants to have dinner with me. Is that so weird?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
“Well, get used to it. I plan to ask you out a lot.”
My heart does something complicated in my chest.
This is real. This is actually happening.
I’m married to Holden Reid. For real. Not because of Vegas or tax fraud or IRS complications.
Because I want to be.
“Tonight,” I say. “Seven o’clock?”
“It’s a date.”
He kisses my forehead and heads for the door. Pauses with his hand on the frame.
“Hey, Tessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For giving this a chance.”
“Thanks for being worth the chance.”
He smiles—that real smile that makes my heart skip—and disappears down the hall.
I sink back into my desk chair and stare at my coffee.
What the hell just happened?
Did I really just agree to make my fake marriage real? To actually try with Holden Reid?
My phone buzzes.
Wren: “Well??”
Me: “We’re making it real.”
Wren: “OH MY GOD”
Wren: “Wait are you serious or is this like a ‘real for the IRS’ thing”
Me: “No. Actually real. Like dating. For real.”
Wren: “TESSA MARIE MORGAN”
Wren: “This is either the best or worst decision you’ve ever made”
Wren: “But also I’m so happy for you???”
Wren: “Wait does Noah know”
Me: “Not yet.”
Wren: “Oh honey. You’re so dead.”
Me: “I know.”
But I’m smiling as I type it.
Because yes, Noah is going to flip. Yes, this is complicated. Yes, I’m probably making a huge mistake.
But when I look at the photos from last night—at the way Holden is looking at me like I’m his whole world—I think maybe, just maybe, it’s a mistake worth making.
END OF CHAPTER 6
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