The Talk (And the Awkward Silence)

Cora Hayes stood in the middle of Jace's penthouse, clutching a mug of coffee like it was a lifeline. Across from her, Jace Hart leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. The tension between them was thick enough to slice with a knife.

They'd been avoiding this conversation for days—ever since the party, the dance, the almost-kiss-that-wasn't. But now, with the sun setting outside and the city lights flickering to life, there was no escaping it.

"We need to talk," Cora said finally, breaking the silence.

Jace raised an eyebrow. "You've said that six times in the last hour."

"And you've said 'I know' six times," Cora shot back, her tone sharper than intended. "But we're still not talking."

Jace sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. Let's talk."

Cora opened her mouth, but before she could speak, her phone buzzed loudly on the counter. The screen lit up with a FaceTime call from her brothers.

"Ignore it," Cora said, reaching to decline the call.

Jace nodded. "Agreed."

But the phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

"They're not going to stop, are they?" Jace muttered.

"Never," Cora said, groaning as she accepted the call.

Daniel and Michael's faces filled the screen, their expressions suspicious.

"Cora," Daniel said, his tone accusatory. "Where's Jace?"

"Right here," Jace said, leaning into the frame.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Why do you look guilty?"

"We're not guilty," Cora said, her voice rising. "We're just… talking."

"Talking?" Daniel repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "About what?"

"None of your business," Cora snapped.

"It's our business if he's—"

Cora hung up.

There was a long silence.

Cora flopped onto the couch, her coffee sloshing dangerously.

Jace sat down next to her, leaving a careful foot of space between them. "We could just… not talk."

"No," Cora said, shaking her head. "We have to talk. We can't keep pretending this isn't happening."

Jace hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. What's… happening?"

Cora stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"I'm trying!" Jace said, throwing his hands up. "I don't know how to do this!"

"Do what?" Cora pressed.

"This!" Jace gestured wildly between them. "Us! Whatever this is!"

Cora opened her mouth to respond, but the fire alarm chose that moment to blare to life, its shrill beep echoing through the penthouse.

"What now?" Cora shouted over the noise.

Jace stood up, scowling. "I told the building manager to fix that thing!"

As he stomped toward the alarm, Cora's phone buzzed again. It was a text from Sophia: "Saw the pics from the party! You and Jace looked hot together. When's the baby due?"

Cora groaned and threw her phone onto the couch.

Twenty minutes later, the fire alarm was silenced, Cora's brothers had been blocked (temporarily), and Jace was pacing the living room like a caged tiger.

"Okay," he said, stopping abruptly. "Let's try this again."

Cora nodded, bracing herself. "Okay."

Jace took a deep breath. "I think we should… try being more than fake married."

Cora blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Jace said, his tone defensive. "We're already stuck in this mess. Maybe we could… I don't know… make it real."

Cora stared at him, her mind racing. "Make it real?"

"Yeah," Jace said, his confidence wavering. "Or… not. Whatever you want."

Cora opened her mouth to respond, but the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Jace muttered, stomping toward the door.

Cora buried her face in her hands. "Why is the universe conspiring against us?"

Jace returned a moment later, holding a giant bouquet of flowers. "These are for you."

Cora frowned. "From who?"

Jace squinted at the card. "It says, 'To my darling wife. Let's make it official. Love, Jace.'"

Cora's eyes widened. "You sent me flowers?"

"No," Jace said, his tone flat. "Your brothers did."

Cora grabbed the card. The handwriting was unmistakably Michael's begging for forgiveness after hiring the PI.

"I'm going to murder them," Cora said, tossing the flowers onto the table.

By 10 p.m., the interruptions had finally stopped. Cora and Jace sat on opposite ends of the couch, a bowl of half-eaten popcorn between them.

"Okay," Cora said, her voice tentative. "Let's try this one more time."

Jace nodded. "No alarms. No brothers. No flowers."

Cora took a deep breath. "I think… I want to try this. For real."

Jace's eyes locked onto hers. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Cora said, her voice soft. "But I don't know how to do this. I've never… fake-married-turned-real-married anyone before."

Jace chuckled, the tension easing slightly. "Me either."

They sat in silence for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken tension.

"Can I…" Jace started, leaning closer.

Cora's breath hitched. "Can you what?"

"Can I kiss you?" Jace asked, his voice low.

Cora nodded, her heart pounding. "Yes."

Jace closed the distance between them, his hand cupping her cheek—

BANG BANG BANG.

They jerked apart as someone hammered on the door.

"Pizza delivery!" a voice shouted.

Jace groaned. "I didn't order pizza."

Cora stood up, her face flushed. "I'll handle it."

She opened the door to find a delivery guy holding a giant pepperoni pizza. "For Cora Hayes?"

"Yes," Cora said, her tone full of shame. "I forgot about this, I was starving."

She closed the door and turned back to Jace, who was staring at the ceiling like he was praying for patience.

"We might be cursed," Cora said, laughing and collapsing onto the couch.

Jace also laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Maybe. But we'll figure it out."

Cora glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. We will."

Then they proceed to eat together.

Later that night, Cora lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed with a notification—Jace had sent her a link.

She clicked it, expecting a romantic article or a heartfelt note. Instead, it was a Google search: "How to date your fake wife."

Cora burst out laughing, then texted him back: "Top result: 'Don't.'"

Jace's reply came instantly: "Second result: Go on a date.'"

Cora grinned and typed: "A date it is."

As she set her phone down, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. This was going to be a disaster—but maybe, just maybe, it would be a good one.