A Story that wasn't real.
The morning after the gallery show began like most of Elisa's mornings: quiet, slow, and filled with too many thoughts.
She sat at her tiny kitchen table, still in her robe, a lukewarm mug of coffee in her hand. Her phone buzzed for the fifth time in ten minutes.
Ava: Elisa. You need to check Instagram. And Twitter. And your email.
She groaned and tapped the notification.
There it was. A photo from the gallery. Not of her artwork. Not of the speeches or the crowd or the sales. No, it was of her and Mateo. The moment their hands met. His head tipped slightly toward her. Her smile- the one she didn't even remember giving. The way their bodies looked together in the frame: like intimacy, like connection, like secrets whispered under dim lights.
The caption was worse.
"Mysterious new art patron Mateo Liriano cozies up to curvy breakout artist Elisa Casano at her steamy gallery debut. Are we seeing the art- or the chemistry?"
She dropped the phone on the table like it had burned her.
Chemistry?
She'd barely spoken to him.
One minute he was standing in front of Soft Fire, speaking like he could read her mind, and the next- flash. Exposure. Assumptions.
The internet did what it always did. Filled in blanks. Created a story that wasn't real.
But the worst part?
She hadn't hated the way he looked at her.
She hadn't hated the photo.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Hope the photo didn't ruin your morning. I didn't plan it either.
Her breath caught.
She blinked at the message.
Mateo?
How did he get her number?
Then another message came through:
Unknown Number: A gallery assistant gave me your card. If that's a problem, say the word and I'll delete it.
Her chest tightened. She picked up her phone, typed:
Elisa: You're right. I wasn't expecting it. I'm not used to being a story.
Mateo: You were always the story. They just noticed late.
She didn't reply right away. Her fingers hovered over the keys. She'd spent years trying to take up less space, be quieter, more manageable- yet somehow, this stranger had found her in a room full of noise and seen right through her.
Before she could type anything else, her phone rang.
"Elisa Casano," she answered, voice wary.
"Miss Casano. Mateo Liriano," came the smooth voice on the other end. "I'd rather not text if this conversation could be misunderstood in screenshots."
She paused. "Are you expecting me to screenshot our conversation?"
"I'm expecting someone will," he said. "And not because you do anything wrong, but because we're already trending."
She stood, one hand on her hip. "Trending for holding hands?"
"Trending for looking like we were in love under low lighting." A beat passed. "I can fix this if you'd like."
"How?"
"I can visit your studio. We can take a picture of you handing me back my purchase. Pretend I was only there for business. You can caption it 'Professional partnerships, not personal ones.' That should shift the tone."
Elisa stared out her window. A professional fix. A safe PR spin.
But part of her didn't want to spin it. Not yet.
"I don't want to lie about not knowing you," she said quietly. "But I also don't want to lie about knowing you."
"I admire your honesty," Mateo said. "Which is why I'm going to be honest back."
"I'm listening."
"I'm not sorry about the photo. Or about talking to you. But if this turns into a circus, you'll be the one the wolves circle. I'm used to it. You might not be."
She sank into her chair. "So what do we do?"
There was a long pause on his end. Then:
"Let's meet in person. We talk. We sort it. And if we need to, we make this look like what they already believe it is."
"You want to pretend to date me?"
"I want us to control the narrative before someone else decides to do it for us."
Elisa snorted. "Wow. That's... flattering."
"Miss Casano," he said, tone low. "If we pretend, it's not because you're not desirable. It's because neither of us planned this. And now the choice is ours- either run from it, or use it."
"And what do you get out of it?"
"The same thing you do. Eyes on the work I support. And space to make this- whatever this is- work for us, instead of against us."
There was something in his voice that made her stomach twist. Confidence. Not cocky. Just sure.
"I need to think," she said.
"I'll give you an hour."
He hung up.
~ ~ ~
An hour later, Mateo Liriano stood in the doorway of her art studio like he belonged in every shadow. Tall, composed, hands in his coat pockets. As if he hadn't been a stranger twenty-four hours ago.
"You came."
"You let me." He stepped inside slowly, eyes trailing over canvases, sculptures, sketches. "Your studio feels like your work. Untamed. Beautiful."
She folded her arms over her chest. "You talk like a man who always gets what he wants."
He tilted his head. "No. I talk like a man who listens."
She didn't respond. Her mouth was dry.
"You still want to think about it?"
"I'm thinking now," she replied.
He glanced at a painting of a faceless woman in a bathtub- curves submerged in water, soft and bare and quiet.
He looked at Elisa. "You painted that for the part of you that wants to be worshipped but doesn't know how to ask."
The room went still.
Her chest tightened. "You don't get to say that."
"Doesn't mean I'm wrong."
She walked to the window, looking out at the street. "What happens if we pretend and it backfires?"
"Then I make sure it doesn't hurt you."
"And what happens if I start to like it?"
He stepped closer, his voice low behind her. "Then you tell me when to stop."
She turned, face flushed. "You're very confident."
"I told you- I listen. And right now, your body is louder than your words."
Her hand twitched at her side.
The silence grew heavy.
Then- he stepped back.
"I'll draft a timeline. We'll keep it clean. A few outings. A shared quote or two. A photo now and then."
Her heart pounded.
"Miss Casano," he added softly. "This doesn't have to become something it's not."
But what if she wanted it to?
She nodded anyway. "Fine. We fake it. Just for a while...and call me Elisa"
Mateo extended a hand again.
Second time in two days.
She placed her palm against his.
This time, she didn't pull away.