“For another man,” Javier offers.
“A billionaire playboy with a superyacht,” adds Gideon.
“Who’s also an underwear model and a firefighter.”
“There was just no way you could compete,” Gideon says, and claps a hand to my shoulder. “Sorry.”
“You think I couldn’t compete with that?”
“You have a yacht?” asks Javier.
“I don’t need a yacht to be a better boyfriend than some rich asshole,” I point out.
“You kinda do.”
“Guys,” interrupts Gideon in his most imposing Oldest Brother voice, even though he’s younger than me. “Silas, stop fighting with Javier over whether you’re better than fictional people. Javier, stop baiting Silas into fighting over fictional people, you know how he is.”
“Sorry, Dad,” Javier says, grinning. I flip them both off, then remember I’m on a stage at a family event and shove my hand back in my pocket.
“Fine,” I say, and fold my arms over my chest. “I guess I’m getting dumped for a Greek shipping heir or something.”
“Aim high,” Javier agrees.
“You think she’ll believe me?”
“That you’ve conveniently been dumped for a billionaire by a woman who you’ve refused to give literally any information about? Why wouldn’t she?” Javier says.
“Javi,” warns Gideon.
“No, he’s right,” I say, and scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck. Maybe she’s busy with work again tomorrow.”
Javier makes a noise that clearly means that won’t work but I can’t be the one to say it aloud. Gideon contemplates the art, frowning.
Silence falls between the three of us.
“Or,” Gideon says, slowly.
I turn and look at him, hands in his pockets, looking stern and backwoodsy as ever with his dark hair, dark beard, and eternal frown.
“Just get someone to be your date tomorrow and break up afterward,” he says. “Same end result, less suspicious.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” I tell him.
“Why?” says Javier.
“Because,” I start.
They both look at me expectantly as I grasp at reasons.
“I can’t take a first date to dinner at my boss’s house?”
“Obviously your date is in on it,” Gideon explains, as if to a child. “You get a girlfriend for a night, she gets free drinks and, I don’t know, a gift card and flowers or something. Make it worth her while.”
I look away and swear under my breath because I can’t believe it’s come to fake dating for gift cards. Jesus, what’s wrong with me?
Problem is, I still can’t find a reason it’s a bad idea, or at least not a worse one than anything else.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell them. “I should go help set up.”
“Think fast,” Javier says, as I walk off the stage.