My eyes can't fully swallow Truth's house in one glance. It takes a few looks an a tour I had several years ago when we first met, and I still feel new to the house with each visit. Something's always moving, changing, getting cleaned and professionally decorated in a way I feel only fits Truth.

Following the contract, it is required that we have to kiss. With the stakes low within our relationship, adding anything to the fire would help. Yet, we have nothing to add. The only evidence of Truth and I existing as an item is the one blurry picture of our hands that I posted last night.

My feet momentarily mold into the carpet of Truth's bedroom as I pause my pacing. He's watched me scale the room back and forth several times, trying to rid myself of the anger Mira has caused me.

"At this point, we should just make a sex tape and post it tomorrow." I groan, nearly stubbing my toe into his desk. "Shit."

He doesn't respond, probably for the better, as I rethink the conversation I had with Mira. It has nothing to do with my current plan, I just run better off of anger.

"Freya," Truth calls, gesturing over to join him on the bed. "Freya, what's our plan?" He reigns me in, eyes widening carefully and thoughtfully.

I take in a deep breath. "Well, as you may have noticed, we need more evidence. Kissing, dates, gifts, and the like." I gloss over his features, taking in the change of casual clothes he's wearing. "Starting with kissing."

He nods.

I look between his eyes, furrowing my brows when I can't find any source of rejection or resignation. "Really? You have nothing to say?" I cross my arms. "Seriously?"

"It was in the contract. I'm prepared." Indifferent. How irksome.

I take a step away from him. We've been best friends for ten years, if not more. How can he just cross the boundary of casual so easily? Truth, the little boy who scraped his knee. Truth, who cried when he didn't get the toy he wanted. Truth, my childhood friend, is who I'd be kissing.

"How?" I sound exasperated, trying to get near him. Trying to allow myself to at least get in his space.

"Am I revolving, Freya?" He tilts his head, his voice snarky.

I wish. "What? No." I look away. "We're friends. I don't know why you're acting like..." I sigh, clasping my hands together. I will not lose so easily. "Well, I wanted to practice anyway. With nobody watching us."

He nods. "Just say something if you're uncomfortable."

There's a rumbling of anxiety in the pit of my stomach, but in my head, there are cheers for me to continue. It is inevitable. "We need a safe word."

I'm already uneasy.

A brief second of shock washes over his features before he nods and crosses his arms. "Do you want to pick, or should we-"

"Sienna."

"What?"

I smile, placing my arms on his shoulders. His head drops to me, eyes and lips so close to my face. Closer than they've ever really been. "Sienna," I repeat. "It's multifaceted, like me. Imagine I'm in a conversation I don't like. Sienna texted me. Maybe you have to pick up Sienna, or Sienna said that-"

"Burnt sienna," he realizes rather maturely. His brows drop in disappointment. "I won't fight it."

His breath fans over my nose, his hair tickling my forehead. My heartbeat is so loud I'm shocked I hear him as clearly as I do and I almost wonder...have I bitten off more than I can chew? Nonsense.

I close my eyes and begin to lean in, taking one of my hands and guiding him to my waist. It's all moving so slowly, so I bring him closer, feel the warmth of his body on my exposed skin, and-

"Sienna." I press my forehead on his shoulder in defeat, groaning at myself. I look back up and notice his flushed face, and I'm not too heartless to see the tinge of hurt there. "I'm-"

He shakes his head before I can finish. "Don't be." He pinches me, something we'd do to each other as kids when we'd pissed each other off. "Never knew you were so shy."

I hide the disgust that rattles my body. It feels too close to flirting for me to laugh off the joke, especially considering our current fucking predicament. However, this is nothing but a mere hurdle. He's right, I am not shy.

If I can't handle a kiss in the confines of this house, I am not suited for prom queen.

That simple thought propels me back into action. My arms placed his around my waist, my hands on the back of his neck. Truth is handsome, kind, sensitive, reasonable. I can imagine myself liking a guy like him, maybe. Yes, I can. I can definitely kiss Truth.

My eyes shut, the heat reappearing, his hands soft on me. I feel it all, relish in it. This is for prom queen. I can show everybody our skills. We can confidently act as one. It's all inevitable.

Our lips separate just as fast as they touch. My cheeks feel...warm. I furrow my brows. Too fleeting, not believable. Hm.

"Again." I rub his bottom lip with my thumb. It's to coerce myself that this is what I want. Prom queen. "Harder and longer."

He tilts his head. "Yes, ma'am."

I relied on this feeling during the summer, the overhaul of ambition taking over everything else. It felt almost oblivious and careless to curate this plan knowing my drive to win would probably allow me to overcome any challenges, but I was right.

I take Truth's cheeks and pull him in, his feet stumble a bit, catching himself as he holds my waist. I must admit, both of us seem more confident than before.

Truth kisses me softly, and-

What?

Truth kisses me. I can't believe life has come to this.

Whatever. I let a hand drop to his chest, imagining us in front of a crowd. Would people believe us? Like us? Want to be us?

I pull away. The length of this kiss is surely satisfactory. We'd do no more than pecks at school, or slip in a kiss in "secret" in the hallways, but this practice was needed. Now, our hold on each other is like opposite charges. One. Melded.

Believable.

I motion to his reddened ear. "They'll find that so cute." I almost do, but it's Truth for Christ's sake. "'He likes her so much,'" I mock.

His hair falls over his face as he lets out a breathy chuckle, cheeks flushed and eyes dilated. Hm. "You think?" He asks, and as he walks past me, I get a glimpse inside his loose tee. "I find it embarrassing."

"You should." I chuckle. "Next, you'll get a boner."

"You wish." He doesn't sound very bitey, though. It's as if all of his arrogance has dropped for the time being. "Was that okay, though? The kiss?"

"Yeah." I follow him out of the room. "How do you feel about it?"

He makes a weird sound, a mix of vague approval and something else. "I liked it," he says, his voice going up in pitch. He's not even trying to convince me.

"You sound like it wasn't enough. Do you have any pointers? This isn't your typical kiss predicament."

"Freya the analyst." He sighs. "You're the one who's wearing the pants here." He leans in. "Is there anything you request of me, your model boyfriend?"

I take a step back, shocked at how agreeable he's become already. That truly speeds up the process of indoctrination which was technically not included in the contract but rather was something I deemed necessary.

Model boyfriend. I tuck in my lips to suppress my smile. "Be prepared to turn on the charm for Marcelo's party."

We enter his indoor pool, one of his favorite spots in his house. He makes it abundantly clear, as often as he can, that while he enjoys his wealth and privilege, he believes this room to be the best benefit.

He's taking off his shirt by the time he asks, "Can you be specific?"

His indoor pool room is fitted with everything required for a swim, even a dresser of swim clothes, which was newly added because of Truth's love for a swim. Especially impromptu. Truth pulls out a pair of swim trunks and I take the liberty of turning around as he puts them on.

"Yes," I say after a moment, crossing my arms and turning around once I hear the water splash around his form. "Be touchy with me - you have my permission. Compliment me, too. However, I determine the kisses."

He swims for a bit and I drop my arms to retain my age and our relationship. I'm not a stern mother, I'm a vivacious friend, and I feel like Truth only perks up when I mention the kisses.

"Join me," he says.

I roll my eyes. "No, I don't have anything to wear." It feels like a ploy, anyway. He has a knack for getting people in the pool and forcing them to dispel their darkest secrets.

He gives me a sinister smile. "Check the dresser."

"Did you even hear what I said?" I squint at him, watching as he dips himself in the water.

He shrugs dismissively. "I said to check-"

"No, the party."

His brows drop impressively low, his face flaccid with annoyance as he sloshes in the water to get to the edge of the pool. "Get in the water, Hilton," he says with utter sass.

I throw my head back and groan. Is he not taking this seriously? How will the relationship be convincing if he is not willing to convince? What happened to my model boyfriend in five minutes?

Truth, as observant as he is, sighs behind me. "Don't worry about the party."

I find an oversized shirt and shorts to put on, and while it's not my typical bikini or one-piece, it'll do.

I'm motioning for him to turn around almost angrily, knowing the pool is inevitable, especially if I want him to be compliant.

Fully dressed in Truth-scented attire, I join him in the pool, the water fresh and crisp around my body. The shirt, dark in color, sticks to my form as I circle him.

"Don't worry about the party?" I seethe. "I'm unable to tell when you've decided to take any course of action seriously." My eyes thin at him, my body curling around him like a snake. "I need a good fucking reason to blindly trust you, Truth."

His eyes trace me as I move, allowing the water to cool me. "Because," he breathes, "nobody else signed that contract. You have me. I'm listening."

I freeze, his fingers ghosting over my leg as he crosses his arms. It isn't what he's said, it's how he said it, how his eyes thinned at my features and his lips quirked up. Like it was too painfully obvious to have to state.

"I have you?"

He nods, his dimple denting his cheek as he smiles.

"Then act like it," I snap.

"Yes ma'am."

-

"You have to admit Truth's cute." Astrid crunches on something in my ear. I pull the phone away.

The first week of school has already ended and I'm stuck doing homework on this Friday afternoon. However, my pencil slips out of my fingers at Astrid's comment.

"He is handsome," I agree pensively, "but what does that have to do with anything?"

I hear a bang and then a harshly whispered, "Fuck," out of Astrid's lips before a series of grunts. "Damn."

"What happened?" I'm back to my homework, trying to get it done as fast as possible.

"Stubbed my toe and fucking dropped my headphones." I can hear her irritation. "But Truth is handsome. You don't have a little crush?"

"No, I don't believe in dating right now."

"But-"

"It's not real," I lift a hand as if she can see me. "I'm focused on my studies. If acting doesn't work, I have to pursue neurology with the same tenacity as prom."

She's silent for a moment, and I take that time to truly focus on my assignment. Tomorrow is Marcelo's party and I have to be best dressed.

"It'll never be real?" She asks quietly.

How silly. "No, of course not. Truth wouldn't be able to keep up with my antics for that long and I...I don't like Truth in that way."

"But you liked the kisses?"

I furrow my brows and groan. She's completely misconstrued my assessment. "No, Astrid, that is not what I said. The kisses felt nice, they were manageable. I figured that would be enough for the public."

"Right," she replies briskly. "I'm gonna go. See you tomorrow."

The silence that follows the call is almost bewildering. Doesn't seem finite; or untrustworthy. I shouldn't feel unease, shouldn't feel my stomach doing fucking acrobatics as anxiety takes control. It's only a matter of time until this quiet is disrupted and the façade of peace is unveiled.

I wonder if Hudson wonders that too, though. If one day I'll just drop it all and say, "Truth, I love you!" in classic Freya fashion. My iron will and ambition are enough for me to forego any of that, regardless of his steel blue eyes.

There's a knock at my door followed by an immediate opening. I tense instinctively, my body stone. Fuck me.

"You're dating Truth?"

I turn to get a better view of her. The rims of her eyes are puffed and red on her naturally light brown skin. She's hungover and sleep-deprived.

"I-"

"When were you going to tell me?"

I glance at my homework, cowering under her solid gaze. There is nothing I fear more than my angry mother, and judging by her scrunched brows she is in no mood for bullshitting. "Earlier this week, but school is already burdening," I whisper. I can't find a voice above that volume that's firm enough to stand.

"Truth Wilder?" Her eyes squint at me. "Do you hate me?"

"No, no." Wait. "Yes, Wilder."

Where is she getting this from? How does she even know?

She takes half a step in my room and, for some reason, I hold my breath. She can't hear my labored breathing or my beating heart. She can't have an inch of a reason to believe I fear her.

"The white boy?" She shakes her head and presses her lips together. If she weren't hungover, her reaction would be far more severe. "And his mother." Her voice is ridden with anger now, and if I'm not careful, I could be so fucked.

She fully believes Nora Wilder is the reason why her modeling career didn't take off as fast, as they began around the same time.

"Let's see how your father-"

The dog runs in my room and I grimace at just the scent of him, let alone him running around my carpet floors. I mean fuck me, could my day get any worse?

My mother doesn't register the dog's swift movements, but my father does. He's rushing into my room with folded-up sleeves and a deep frown, chasing him through my room. I find it all a bit careless and I couldn't care less. That is until my homework is swiped from my desk into the dog's dirty teeth.

"No, Dee!" My dad groans and struggles to get my homework out of Dee's mouth and when he does, of course, it's tattered at the ends.

I watch as my father places the homework down with newly adorned tears, his lips whispering a sodden sorry as he leaves the room with the dog in his arms, writhing to get free.

I look back at my homework. Great. And my mother still stands at the door, nearly astonished with what has just happened.

The dog snacked on my homework.

Fucking comical.

I start to print out a new copy when my mother reminds me of her presence.

"I don't want you dating Truth."

I can't laugh. I'm not dating Truth but not even my mother can know that. The secret only belongs to my friends.

I bite my lip, stressed at the fact that I have to rewrite my homework and my mother.

"Why not?"

"He shouldn't...be associated so closely with our family. The media...they pit us against each other already, Freya."

She pits them against each other. She is the one constantly publicly stating very sly remarks about Mrs. Wilder.

"Wouldn't that be good press? If they see us together they can believe that relations between the Wilders and the Hiltons are at least somewhat amiable."

She blinks at me and I know I've fried her crumbling brain. It is quite embarrassing to have concluded so quickly, but I have to create an excuse to "date" Truth, whether it be fleshed-out or not. I sincerely did not anticipate this reaction. I expected indifference, not hate.

I'm copying what I can off of my original copy of homework while my mom leans on the door frame, deep in what I can assume is rather slow contemplation.

"You do what you want then, Freya." She lacks the conviction I know she desires, but I can tell she takes my suggestion as a dig at her intelligence. "You better hope your dad is okay with this." She slams my door, rattling my new homework.

Oh, but my father won't care. He and Truth bond over food and basketball. They laugh heartily together and my father relishes Truth and Hudson as the sons he doesn't have. However, this won't satisfy my mother. It'll fuel her rage.