We step back into the welcoming party like nothing just exploded upstairs.

Sophia is mid-sentence, glowing, hands animated as she talks about how much fun this weekend is going to be. Henry stands beside her, nodding like a proud co-host who has successfully trapped everyone in Tuscany for three days.

"So," Sophia says, clapping her hands, "we start now. Bikes for anyone who wants them, and then a little exploration through San Gimignano. Nothing intense. Just food, wine, wandering, vibes."

Maya appears at my side out of nowhere, eyes immediately locking onto Luke.

"Oh," she says brightly. "Look. You have a boyfriend."

I glare at her. "I might kill you."

"Oh please," she scoffs. "At least wait until after gelato. Or whatever we're doing in Santa Georgia."

"San Gimignano," Luke corrects automatically.

Maya turns to him. "Whatever. You're still infuriating."

"Thank you," he replies dryly. "I assume that's why you chose me for this... particular job of dating."

"Oh yeah," I say sweetly. "Don't think too much about it. You just have a common name. First thing that popped into her head."

"What a great thing to hear," he mutters.

Maya grins. "It's barely noon and I'm already drunk. That should tell you everything."

"She arrived early," I add.

Luke nods. "Tragic but consistent."

Before any of us can say anything else, the group starts drifting away—toward a line of bicycles and a couple of bright little tuk-tuks parked near the gates.

I grab Maya's arm. "You can't drive."

"I can absolutely—"

"No."

She squints at the bikes. "Fine. Tuk-tuk."

We start toward it when Jack's voice cuts through the noise.

"What's this?" he says loudly. "Afraid to be all lovey-dovey with Mads?"

Luke barely reacts. "We can take it."

A few whistles go up from somewhere behind us. Encouraging. Annoying.

"I'm fine," I say quickly. "I'm just sticking with Maya."

I climb into the tuk-tuk before anyone can argue, dragging Maya with me. She plops down beside me, delighted.

As I settle in, I glance back and catch Jack placing a hand on Luke's shoulder, leaning in to say something I don't hear.

Luke looks over at me.

Just for a second.

And for reasons I absolutely refuse to examine, my stomach flips.

This is going to be a long weekend.

The tuk-tuk jerks to a stop.

Which, frankly, is the least chaotic thing that has happened in the last hour.

Maya is sprawled beside me, sunglasses crooked, humming something that sounds suspiciously like a children's song. I squint at her.

"How many is seven times eight?" I ask.

She frowns. "Rude."

"Answer the question."

"Seventy... vibe."

I sigh. "That's not a number."

"It is emotionally."

Before I can come up with another math problem to force sobriety upon her, the driver turns around and announces, cheerfully and very clearly:

"Una sosta in Piazza della Cisterna!"

I roll my eyes automatically.

Maya gasps. "YES. PIZZA."

"It's not pizza," I say quickly. "It's a town square."

"Square town pizza," she repeats, nodding like that makes perfect sense.

She hops off the tuk-tuk before I can stop her, nearly tripping on the curb, then recovers with a dramatic flourish.

"Please," I hiss, following her, "do not make us look bad. Sophia's family is literally right in front of us."

"I love Richard," Maya declares loudly, pointing at Sophia's uncle. "In fact, I will eat a piazza with him."

"That sentence shouldn't exist," I mutter.

The rest of the guests are already gathering as the tour guide switches on his microphone, his voice echoing slightly through the stone square.

"Piazza della Cisterna was built in the thirteenth century—"

"Thirteenth," Maya whispers to me. "That's unlucky."

"Please stop whispering."

She doesn't.

I try to grab her elbow, but she slips into the crowd like a drunken eel, weaving between people with alarming confidence.

"Maya," I whisper-shout. "Maya. MAYA."

She stops abruptly to stare at a fountain. "Do you think people made wishes here?"

"Yes," I say through my teeth. "To survive their friends."

Behind us, I hear a soft laugh.

I don't turn around. I already know.

Luke.

Of course.

"This is your strategy?" he murmurs. "Math problems and prayer?"

"She's immune to both," I reply, finally catching Maya by the back of her dress. "Do not move."

"I'm cultured now," Maya protests. "I'm absorbing history."

"You just asked if the fountain has Wi-Fi."

The tour guide continues, oblivious, explaining medieval trade routes while Maya leans toward a nearby couple.

"Did you know pizza was invented here?" she whispers.

"It was not," I say at the exact same time.

She beams at me. "You're so negative."

I tighten my grip on her arm and force a smile toward Sophia's family, who politely pretend not to hear any of this.

Somewhere across the square, I catch Jack watching us with obvious amusement.

Great.

Perfect.

Fantastic.

I finally manage to pull Maya back into place just as the group starts moving again.

She leans into me and whispers, conspiratorially, "This is the best fake relationship I've ever caused."

I close my eyes.

This weekend is going to kill me.

They don't even give me time to breathe.

I feel it before I see it—that shift in the air, that oh no tightening in my chest that only ever comes with one person.

Dylan.

Lauren is right beside him, fingers laced through his arm like she's afraid he might wander off if she lets go. They both look painfully put together. Relaxed. Curious. Like they're walking toward a fun little mystery instead of my personal nightmare.

"Well, look at this," Dylan says, smiling in a way that already feels sharp. "I was wondering when we'd get a chance to talk."

I straighten instinctively. Luke doesn't move. He just stays there beside me, hands in his pockets, posture loose, unreadable.

Lauren tilts her head. "So," she says lightly, "when did you two start dating? "

My jaw tightens.

"It feels sudden," Dylan adds. "I mean, we all thought something might happen back in high school, but this?" He gestures between us. "This was fast."

Luke doesn't even blink.

"Life's like that," he says calmly. "Things line up when you're not forcing them."

I glance at him, startled.

Dylan's smile twitches. "Right. But you weren't even in the same country, were you?"

Luke shrugs. "Planes exist."

Lauren laughs softly. "And how long has it been now?"

I open my mouth—

"Not long," Luke cuts in smoothly. "Long enough."

Dylan's eyes flick to me. "Funny. Maddie didn't mention it."

I feel Maya shift beside me.

Dangerously.

"She wouldn't," Luke says. "It was private."

Maya snorts. Loudly.

"Private?" she repeats. "Oh yeah. Super private. Like, fake private—"

I elbow her hard.

"Ow," she says, offended. "I meant intimate."

Luke shoots her a warning look. "Maya."

Lauren frowns. "Fake?"

"I mean fate," Maya says, waving a hand. "Like destiny. Very fate-y. Stars. Astrology. Tuscany."

Dylan narrows his eyes. "You're drunk."

"She arrived early," Luke says again, like it explains everything.

Dylan turns back to him. "So this is serious?"

Luke nods once. "Yeah."

The word lands heavier than it should.

Lauren smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Well. I guess that explains why you seem so... comfortable."

Luke's jaw tightens just slightly. "I am."

Maya leans in between us, grinning. "They're great together. So natural. Like they never stopped."

I freeze.

Dylan looks at me. "Never stopped?"

Luke answers before I can. "Some things don't really end. They just change. "

For a moment, no one speaks.

The tour guide's voice drifts somewhere behind us, explaining ancient wells and medieval politics, but all I can hear is my heartbeat.

Then Dylan chuckles. "Well. Good for you, Maddie."

Lauren squeezes his arm. "Yes. Really... good for you."

They walk away.

Only when they're gone do I exhale.

Maya beams. "Wow. That was almost believable."

I turn to her slowly. "You were this close to ruining my life."

Luke looks at me, expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "It almost felt like an ambush."

And somehow, terrifyingly—

we survived it.

For now...

The tension doesn't break immediately.

It just... disperses.

Like smoke after a small explosion.

Maya claps her hands suddenly. "Okay. That was emotionally exhausting. I deserve a reward."

"You deserve water," I say. "And possibly an apology to Italy."

She squints at the square. "I want pizza."

Luke exhales slowly. "It's not pizza."

"I don't care," she replies. "I feel pizza in my soul."

I look around the piazza — golden stone, tourists milling about, little cafés tucked under arches, the sound of footsteps and voices bouncing off centuries-old walls. Somewhere nearby, laughter spills from a shaded terrace.

"Gelato," I correct. "We're getting gelato."

Maya gasps. "See? You do love me."

She bolts toward the nearest sign with colorful pictures, nearly taking out a small child in the process.

"Please don't run," I call after her. "We're representing a wedding."

Luke steps closer to me as we follow her, his shoulder almost brushing mine.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

I hesitate. "Define okay."

A corner of his mouth lifts. "Fair."

We stop near the gelato stand, Maya already halfway through ordering something aggressively pink and possibly alcoholic.

I glance at Luke. "Thank you. Back there."

"For what?"

"For not... letting it get worse."

He looks at me for a long second. "Don't thank me yet. We're still in the middle of it."

"Three days," I say.

"Three days," he agrees.

Maya turns back to us, holding up two cones like trophies.
"One for emotional distress," she says, handing one to me.
"And one for my favorite fake couple."

I groan.

Luke takes the cone anyway.

And for the first time since this disaster began, standing in the middle of a medieval square in Tuscany with melting gelato and unresolved feelings —

it almost feels manageable.

Almost

Dylan and Lauren disappear into the crowd, their backs turning a corner of stone and sunlight—and then there's this... pause.

Not awkward exactly.
Not loud either.

Just heavy.

Luke and I stand there, side by side, both staring a little too hard at nothing. It hits me all at once: that moment back there wasn't practice. It wasn't hypothetical. We didn't almost start this.

We started it.

Whatever this is, it's already alive now. Breathing. Non-negotiable.

I open my mouth to say something—anything—to lighten it, to crack a joke, to remind myself that this is still ridiculous—

And Maya ruins the moment beautifully.

"I want pizza," she announces. "Or maybe gelato. I don't know. What is gelato, by the way? Is it like jelly?"

I close my eyes. "Maya."

"Yes?"

"You're a kindergarten teacher."

"Exactly."

"You know what gelato is."

She squints. "I emotionally know."

She wanders off before I can stop her, drifting into the square with the confidence of someone who has absolutely no idea where she's going.

Luke exhales. "You should probably go after her."

"Oh no," I say immediately. "I absolutely should not."

But I do.

Of course I do.

I catch up just in time to see Maya bump directly into someone.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she says, then tilts her head. "Oh. You're hot."

I stop dead.

"Maddie," she calls, delighted, "look! I just found a hot Italian guy!"

Luke, unfortunately, is right behind me.

The man—mid-thirties maybe, dark hair, amused eyes—smiles politely. "Thank you," he says. In perfect English.

Maya gasps. "Wow. I must be really drunk. I just heard Italian turn into English in my brain."

"No," I say, grabbing her shoulders. "You just interrupted the tour guide."

"Oh," she nods. "That makes sense."

Right on cue, the man lifts the microphone again, smiling warmly.
"Okay, everyone," he says, "you're free to explore now. Gelato, churches, wandering—enjoy. We meet back here at six."

The square erupts into movement.

Maya, meanwhile, is staring at him like he's a Renaissance painting.

I clear my throat. "I'm so sorry. She's had... a lot."

"Champagne?" he guesses.

"Yes."

"I saw," he says kindly.

Maya squints at him. "I know you, don't I?"

He chuckles. "I'm also a guest at the wedding. And today, apparently, your tour guide."

She beams. "Perfect."

She hooks her arm through his.

Everyone freezes.

Including him.

"Okay, tour man," Maya declares. "Take us somewhere real Italian."

"I don't know you," he says gently.

"Oh right," she nods. "I forgot introductions. I'm Maya Brooks."

He blinks. "Vincenzo."

"Oh. Vinchenzo," she butchers lovingly.

"...Vincenzo Moretti."

"Great," she says. "Now we're friends. Let's go. Preferably somewhere with pizza."

"You came to Tuscany for pizza?" he asks, incredulous.

"Well, we're in Italy," she shrugs. "What do you want me to eat?"

"At least bruschetta."

"That sounds rude."

He laughs despite himself. "You're a crazy woman."

"Only when intoxicated," she assures him.

"I swear," I cut in, mortified, "she's not like this sober."

Luke, hands in his pockets, adds calmly, "She's worse."

"She is not," I protest.

Vincenzo looks between us, visibly alarmed.

Luke nods. "She's actually the sane one."

Vincenzo's eyes widen slightly.

"Well," he says slowly, "lucky for you—I like crazy people. Come on. I'll get you bruschetta."

Maya gasps. "Maddie. The Italian man wants to make bruschetta at me. That's definitely dirty."

"It's not," I say tiredly. "But honestly—if you're happy, let it be."

She grins, already being led away.

Luke and I follow behind, sunlight spilling over stone, laughter echoing through the square.

I glance at him.

This is happening.

And for better or worse—
we're really in it now.