From Lies to Love: My Rival Husband

By the time Friday rolled around, I'd convinced myself that I was ready. I had rehearsed our story, picked out the perfect "effortlessly in love" outfit, and reminded myself that this was just business.

Then Liam pulled up in a black Mercedes, stepped out in a dark suit that looked like it had been stitched by angels, and I nearly forgot how to breathe.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Wolfe," he said with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

The drive to my family's lake house was two hours of pointed small talk. We ran through our backstory met at a tech conference, bonded over our shared hatred for terrible coffee, started dating six months ago. He'd "proposed" last month over dinner.

"And why exactly did I propose?" Liam asked, glancing at me.

"Because you couldn't imagine your life without me," I said sweetly.

His mouth curved into a grin. "Good answer."

When we finally turned into the long gravel driveway, I could already see the crowd gathered on the porch. My mother was waving like a ship spotting land. My father was polishing his glasses his tell when he was preparing to evaluate someone.

"This is going to be fun," Liam murmured, and I wasn't sure if he meant for me or for him.

The moment we stepped out of the car, Mom rushed over and hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. Then she turned to Liam, eyes sparkling. "So this is the man who's stolen our Mia's heart."

Liam turned on the charm like flipping a switch. "It's an honor, Mrs. Cross. I've heard so much about you." He took her hand and kissed it.

Her cheeks flushed. My mother. Flushed.

Dad shook his hand firmly, sizing him up. "What do you do, son?"

"I run WolfeTech," Liam said with the perfect mix of humility and confidence. "But more importantly, I try to make Mia laugh at least once a day."

I almost choked. Where had that come from?

Inside, the interrogation began. Aunt Carol wanted to know when the wedding was. My cousin Julia asked if Liam had any single friends. Grandma quizzed him about his favorite pies. And through it all, Liam was smooth, attentive, and annoyingly convincing.

At one point, Mom pulled me into the kitchen under the pretense of "helping with the salad."

"He's perfect," she whispered.

I forced a smile. "I know."

Back in the living room, I caught Liam talking to my father, heads bent over some fishing magazine like old friends. When his eyes found mine across the room, he gave me a look a subtle, questioning tilt of his head that somehow felt like we were the only two people there.

Later, during dinner, my cousin brought out an ancient family tradition: the Newlywed Quiz.

"Oh, we're not " I started, but Liam was already leaning in. "We're game."

They asked him my favorite movie. He said The Princess Bride. Correct. Favorite ice cream? Mint chocolate chip. Correct again. The story of our first kiss? He made it up on the spot something about rain and streetlights and told it so well that even I almost believed it.

By the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from smiling and my pulse was doing strange things every time Liam touched my hand under the table.

It was supposed to be an act. So why did it feel so real?