Chapter 2: Do You Remember What You Said When We Were Thirteen?
Mia's POV
Ethan's latest post, uploaded at 2 AM.
In the photo, we're sitting in his car. I'm leaning against the passenger seat with my eyes closed, cheeks flushed, a slight smile on my lips. Ethan's leaning over, buckling my seatbelt, his profile sharp and handsome in the dim interior light.
The caption's simple: "Finally with the right person."
The comments are blowing up.
Sarah: "OMG OMG OMG!!! FINALLY!!!"
Emily: "Wait WHAT??? You guys are together???"
Michael: "Dude you move fast"
There are more from people I don't even know, and the likes are already past five hundred.
Then I see the most terrifying ones.
Ethan's mom: "Oh honey, I'm so happy for you two! I knew you'd end up together!"
My mom: "Baby!!! Why didn't you tell me!!! I'm calling you right now!"
Right on cue, my phone rings.
Mom.
"Mom—"
"Mia Rose Parker!" Her voice nearly bursts my eardrum. "When did you and Ethan get together? Why didn't you tell me? Oh my god I'm so excited! I've always hoped you two would end up together! I'm going to tell your father right now!"
"Mom, wait—"
"No waiting! I need to call Linda immediately! Oh, Ethan's mom must be thrilled too! We're having a celebration dinner! This weekend!"
"Mom—"
She's already hung up.
I stare at my phone, brain completely blank.
I'm screwed.
I'm so screwed.
The doorbell rings.
I throw on my robe and open the door. Ethan's standing there with a coffee cup and a paper bag in his hands.
He looks... completely fine. Refreshed, even. Damn him.
"Morning," he says. "Brought coffee and painkillers. Figured you'd need them."
I take the coffee in a daze. "You... Instagram... my mom... your mom..."
"I know." He walks in and closes the door behind him. "That's why we need to talk."
"Talk about what?" I gulp down the coffee and immediately burn my tongue, tears springing to my eyes. "Talk about why you posted that photo without asking me?"
"Technically, you agreed to this plan last night." His tone's completely even. "Fake dating, remember?"
"I know, but—"
"And before you passed out, you said 'remember to post on Instagram to prove it to Vanessa.'"
I have zero memory of saying that.
"Fine," I admit defeat and sink onto the couch. "So what do we do now?"
Ethan pulls a piece of paper from his backpack and hands it to me.
I look down and almost spit out my coffee.
It's a handwritten... contract?
Contract Terms:
1. Duration: Three months, starting today.
2. Date frequency: At least three times per week, including at least one public date.
3. Social media: Maintain couple image, regular photo posts.
4. Important occasions: Attend family gatherings, friend events together.
5. Physical intimacy: Limited to necessary public displays like hand-holding and hugging, adjustable with mutual consent.
6. Termination clause: Peaceful breakup after three months, no strings attached.
7. Confidentiality clause: No one besides us can know this is a contractual arrangement.
"When did you write this?" I ask, stunned.
"This morning." He says. "We need rules, Mia. Otherwise this'll turn into a complete mess."
He's right.
But for some reason, looking at these terms, I feel this weird emptiness in my chest.
"Okay." I take a deep breath. "I agree."
Ethan pulls out a pen. "Then sign."
I sign my name on the line marked "Party B," then hand the pen back to him.
He signs too.
Contract sealed.
"So," I say, "when's our first date?"
Ethan checks his watch. "Two hours? We're going to the amusement park."
"Amusement park?"
"Yeah," he says. "You mentioned you liked it before."
I freeze.
I did say that, but that was like seven or eight years ago.
He actually remembers.
Two hours later, we're standing at the entrance to the downtown amusement park. The weekend crowd's massive, couples and families everywhere.
"Ready?" Ethan asks.
"For what?"
"To play the part." He extends his hand. "From now on, we're a couple."
I stare at his hand, hesitate for a second, then take it.
His hand's warm, fingers long and strong, the grip just right—not too tight but not half-hearted either.
We walk into the park.
Ethan suggests starting with the Ferris wheel. I agree.
While we're waiting in line, a little girl accidentally bumps into me, getting ice cream on the corner of my mouth.
"I'm so sorry!" The girl's mom apologizes frantically.
"It's fine." I smile at her.
Then I feel Ethan's fingers brush against my cheek.
He pulls out a tissue and gently wipes the ice cream away from my mouth.
The gesture's so natural, like we've actually been dating forever.
My heart skips a beat.
"Thanks... thanks," I stammer.
He doesn't say anything, just tosses the used tissue into a nearby trash can.
On the roller coaster, when the car reaches the peak and then plunges down, I can't help screaming.
Ethan's arm comes around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him.
I can feel his solid chest, hear his steady heartbeat.
While mine's racing like it's trying to escape.
This is just him completing a task.
But for me...
The entire afternoon, I keep reminding myself: this is fake. This is just acting.
But my heart won't listen.
Every time he holds my hand, every time he looks at me and smiles, every unconsciously gentle gesture—I'm sinking deeper.
On the drive home, Ethan parks in front of my house.
"You did good today," he says, his tone like he's evaluating a work project. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow." I open the car door.
"Mia."
I turn back.
Ethan's looking at me, his expression complicated. "Do you remember what you said when we were thirteen?"
I freeze. "What did I say?"
He watches me for a few seconds, then shakes his head and smiles. "Nothing. Good night."
"Good night."
I watch his car drive away, this inexplicable uneasiness settling in my chest.
When we were thirteen?
What did I say? He actually remembers something from when we were that young?
