Chapter 3 The Proposal

Julian took one look at Maya and said no. They were in the hotel lobby, surrounded by the noise of arriving wedding guests, and he had said it so clearly, so firmly, so without hesitation that Maya felt something break inside her. Not her heart, she barely knew this man. But something. A tiny fragile thing that she had been carefully building for years. I am sorry, Maya said. You are not interested? I am not interested in pretending to be your boyfriend for a weekend so you can impress your friend's family. Julian's voice was polite but cold, the kind of polite that was actually quite rude. I have a better idea. How about you find someone else? I cannot. Priya already said yes to everyone. There is no one else. Then do not go. I cannot not go. I paid for the flight. I paid for the hotel. I paid for the dress I definitely will not wear because I will be working. Maya took a breath. Look. I need this. My business is struggling. I need the exposure. I need the story. Can you just pretend for one weekend? Julian studied her face. His eyes were gray, sharp, and utterly unsympathetic. What is in it for me? Maya blinked. What do you mean? If I do this, what do I get? I am not doing this for free. Money? Maya offered. I can pay you. Not much, but I have some savings. I do not need your money. I have more money than I know what to do with. Julian's mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile. I need something else. I need you to help me with something. What kind of something? The kind of something that involves you pretending to be my girlfriend so I can get my mother off my back about the wedding. Julian's expression softened, just barely. She has been asking for months. I need her to think I am serious about someone. Just for one weekend. Maya stared at him. The request was so absurd, so perfectly mirrored, that she could not help but laugh. You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend so your mother stops asking about your love life? Exactly. And you will pretend to be my boyfriend so I can, what? Impress Priya? Priya knows we are fake. She set this up. Julian's eyes flicked to where Priya was watching from the bar, her expression triumphant. But everyone else will think it is real. Which is exactly what we both need. Maya considered this. She considered her empty bank account, her failing business, her lonely apartment, and the prospect of spending the weekend with a man who clearly thought she was ridiculous. Fine, she said. But if this goes badly, I am blaming you. Deal. --- What Maya had not expected was for Julian to reconsider by morning. They met in the hotel lobby, where the light came in through tall windows and turned the dust into something like confetti, and before she could say good morning he looked at her across a potted palm and said the word no with the flat finality of a judge handing down a sentence. Maya felt it land like a slap she had not seen coming. She had spent the night rehearsing her half of the performance, and here he was dismantling the stage. No? she said. No, Julian said. I thought about it. I don't pretend. Not for friends, not for strangers, not for well-meaning matchmakers with a talent for champagne. Maya's pride, which had survived cancellations and criticism and her mother's statistical theories about boyfriends, bristled all at once. You said yes last night, she pointed out. I said I'd play along, Julian said. Then I went to bed and remembered I don't. She should have walked away. Any sensible woman would have walked away, found Priya, and spent the weekend as the single photographer friend, which was a role she had played her whole adult life. But Maya was tired of sensible. She was tired of the careful arithmetic of survival, of counting every client and every calorie and every reason not to want things. So instead of leaving, she sat down in the chair across from him and said, Fine. Don't pretend. Then help me understand why my business is dying while people like you order fountains that do nothing useful. Julian blinked at the sudden turn. That's not my problem, he said. It's everyone's problem, Maya said, when talent loses to a bigger ad budget. I'm good at what I do. I just can't get anyone to see it. The words came out smaller than she meant them to, and she hated the crack in her voice. Julian studied her the way he might study a contract, looking for the clause that explained the rest. You're really that worried? he said. I'm that worried, Maya said. I'm three cancellations from closing the studio and moving back in with my mother, who will then tell me daily that I need a boyfriend for the statistics. Julian almost smiled. The statistics again. My mother has statistics too, he said. They say I should be married by now, running the family portfolio, producing grandchildren for the annual portrait. She calls every Sunday. I have a whole vocabulary for disappointing her. Maya found herself leaning in, because this was a language she spoke. You too? she said. Me too, Julian said. Which is why I said no. Because the last thing I need is another performance for another mother who has already decided I'm a disappointment. The confession sat between them, two strangers who had each been measured and found wanting by the people who loved them. Maya felt the hard shell she wore around her business crack a little, and behind it was something tired and honest. I don't want to perform either, she said. I just want one weekend where someone sees the work and not the invoice. Julian was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke his voice had lost its edge. Then let's not perform, he said. Let's make a trade. You help me survive my mother's questions about the family and the future. I help you get in front of the right people at this wedding. We tell the truth about everything except the part where we just met. Maya stared at him. That's not pretending, she said. That's collaborating. Julian shrugged. Call it what you want. I'm better at deals than I am at lies. Maya considered him, this tall guarded man with gray eyes and a talent for saying no, and realized she trusted him more in refusal than she had trusted most people in agreement. Okay, she said. Deal. But if your mother asks, we met at a coffee shop and I spilled a latte on you, because Priya will never let that go.