Fluorescent Numbers

“Dad, this is Evan,” I say. “Evan, this is my father, Richard.”

“Sir,” Evan says, shaking his hand firmly. “It’s an honor to meet you. Margot has told me all about your work with the conservation society. It’s very impressive.”

My father, who is usually reserved around my boyfriends, actually cracks a smile. “Thank you,” he says. “It’s a cause I’m very passionate about.” He turns to me. “I’m glad to see you’ve found someone who appreciates the things that matter to you, sweetheart.”

I blink, surprised by the warmth in his voice. “Thanks, Dad,” I say, leaning into Evan’s side. “I got lucky.”

“You certainly did,” my sister says, joining our little group with her fiancé, Mark, in tow. “I was starting to think you’d never bring a date to a family function.” She eyes Evan appreciatively. “Where have you been hiding him?”

“I wasn’t hiding him,” I protest, feeling my cheeks flush. “We’ve just been busy.”

“Too busy for your own sister?” she teases, but there’s no real bite to her words. She’s too happy, too in love, to be truly annoyed with me. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Evan. I’m Sarah, and this is my fiancé, Mark.”

“Congratulations,” Evan says, shaking both their hands. “Margot has told me how excited she is to be a part of your big day.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow at me. “Has she?” she asks. “I was under the impression she thought the whole thing was a bit over the top.”

I shoot her a warning look, but Evan just laughs. “Well, you know how she is,” he says conspiratorially. “She likes to play it cool, but underneath, she’s a total romantic.”

Is that how he sees me? I’ve never thought of myself that way, but the way he says it – with such casual certainty – makes me wonder.

“Is that so?” Sarah says, looking at me with renewed interest.

“Absolutely,” Evan says. “She’s always dragging me to museums and galleries, trying to get me to see the beauty in everything.”

“That’s… not exactly how I remember our dates,” I say weakly, but no one seems to be listening to me. They’re all too charmed by Evan and his easy way of talking about me, about us.

As the night goes on, I watch in amazement as Evan navigates my family with effortless grace. He talks sports with my uncle, literature with my aunt, and even manages to make my cousin’s normally taciturn husband laugh. He’s always touching me – a hand on my arm, a kiss on my temple, an arm around my waist – but it never feels forced or excessive. It just feels… natural.

By the time dinner is served, I’ve almost forgotten that this is all an act. When Evan pulls out my chair for me and leans down to murmur, “You’re doing great,” in my ear, a flush of pleasure warms my chest that has nothing to do with the wine I’ve been drinking.

*This is supposed to be pretend*, I remind myself sternly. *Don’t get carried away.*

But as I look around the table at my family – my parents, my sister, my aunts and uncles and cousins – all watching us with approval, I can’t help but think, *What if it didn’t have to be?*

The wedding reception is even more extravagant than the rehearsal dinner. Fairy lights twinkle in the trees, a live band plays on the outdoor stage, and the dance floor is already packed with guests. I catch sight of Sarah and Mark, glowing with happiness as they sway together, and a lump forms in my throat. They look so in love, so sure of each other and their future. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have that with someone. To know that no matter what, you had a person who would always stand by your side.

“Hey,” Evan says, appearing at my elbow with two glasses of champagne. “You okay?”

I take the glass he offers, the bubbles tickling my nose as I take a sip. “Yeah,” I say, my smile tight. “Just taking it all in.”

He follows my gaze to the dance floor, where Sarah and Mark are now slow dancing, their heads close together. “They seem really happy,” he says.

“They do,” I agree, my voice a little wistful. *Must be nice.*

Evan sets his glass down on a nearby table and holds out his hand. “Dance with me?”

I hesitate. We’ve touched a lot over the past twenty-four hours – held hands, hugged, even kissed each other on the cheek. But slow dancing feels different. More intimate. More dangerous.

“Come on,” Evan coaxes, smiling. “We’re supposed to be a couple, remember? Couples dance at weddings.”

He’s right, of course. That’s the whole point of this charade. But as I place my hand in his and let him lead me onto the dance floor, I can’t help but feel like I’m crossing a line I won’t be able to come back from.

Evan pulls me close, one hand resting on the small of my back, the other clasping mine against his chest. I rest my free hand on his shoulder, my fingers grazing the nape of his neck. He smells like sandalwood and the ocean, and I have to fight the urge to bury my face in his collar and inhale.

We move together slowly, swaying to the music. My body fits against his perfectly, like we were made to be this close. I can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the steady beat of his heart under my palm. *This feels too good*, I think dizzily. *This feels too real.*

Evan’s hand tightens on my back, pulling me even closer. His breath stirs the hair at my temple, making me tremble. I tip my head back to look at him and find him already watching me, his eyes dark and intense.

“Margot,” he murmurs, my name sounding like a secret on his lips.

“Evan,” I whisper back.

For a long moment, we just stare at each other, the rest of the world fading away. The music, the other guests, the twinkling lights – it all disappears until there’s nothing but him and me and the electric charge crackling between us.

He dips his head, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine. My eyes flutter closed, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it. I want this, I realize with a jolt. I want to kiss him. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.

But just before our lips meet, a camera flash pops nearby, startling us both. We spring apart, blinking in the sudden brightness. One of the wedding photographers lowers his camera, grinning apologetically.

“Sorry,” he calls out. “You two just looked so perfect together, I couldn’t resist.”

Evan recovers first, slinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close again. “No problem,” he says, his voice easy, but I can feel the tension in his body. “Just doing our job.”

The photographer wanders off in search of other couples to capture, leaving us alone on the edge of the dance floor. I stare at Evan, my mind reeling. *Was he going to kiss me? Or was that just part of the act?*

He looks back at me, his face revealing nothing. “You want to get some air?” he asks, his voice rough around the edges.

I nod mutely, letting him steer me off the dance floor and across the lawn toward the beach. The sand is cool beneath my bare feet, the sound of the waves soothing my frayed nerves. We walk in silence for a few minutes, the moonlight stretching shadows across the dunes.

“What are we doing, Evan?” I ask finally, the ocean's noise almost drowning my voice.

He stops walking and turns to face me, his hands coming to rest on my hips. “I don’t know,” he admits, his gaze searching mine. “But whatever it is, it doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.”

My breathing hitches. “What are you saying?”

He takes a step closer, his body brushing mine. “I’m saying that this weekend has been… unexpected,” he says carefully. “I didn’t think I’d actually start to care about you, Margot. But I do. More than I should.”

I swallow hard, my pulse racing. “I feel the same way,” I whisper.

His eyes darken, his grip on my hips tightening. “Margot…” he murmurs, and then his lips are on mine, hot and urgent, and I’m kissing him back like I’ve wanted to do all night, all weekend, maybe my whole life.

The kiss is a revelation, a truth I’ve been avoiding all weekend. Evan’s lips are warm and sure against mine, his hands gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. I melt into him, my arms looping around his neck, my body fitting against his. We fit together perfectly, two puzzle pieces finally slotting into place.