Page 54 of Run Home

“Uhhh,” I say.

“Oh wait, I know!” Marcel continues in a game show–host voice. “It could be the dozens and dozens of candid photos of you and Sam West together today, looking an awful lot like you’re on a date. Fancy lunch and miniature golf—you’re such a well-rounded guy!”

I don’t think I have the volume up loud enough for Sam to hear every word, but I’m sure she’s piecing together the gist of our conversation. At least, that’s what the deepening line between her eyebrows would indicate.

Not wanting to give her any reason to believe I regret our public appearances today, I secure my hand on Sam’s waist, pulling her closer to me. “Yeah. Sam and I were out on a date because she’s my girlfriend.”

Her eyes shine as a smile chases away the worry line from her forehead. She’s gazing up at me with a look of such pure happiness, I’m tempted to let my phone drop to the floor so I can cup her beautiful face in my hand.

I refuse to let go of her waist, so I settle for leaning close and grazing the tip of my nose along the side of her face, which makes her shiver.

“Were you planning to tell me this information anytime soon?” Marcel asks. “Were you planning on announcing it to the public anytime soon? Because news flash—I think the public knows.”

“We don’t care who knows,” I state, although I give Sam a questioning look to make sure she agrees. She nods. “But we’ll talk and figure out how we want to officially announce it. I’ll get back to you.”

I end the call and look down at Sam. “So. There are some photos of us circulating online.”

“I gathered as much,” Sam says sagely. “And now we decide how to handle it?”

“I’ve never been a big fan of gossip,” I say.

“Agree.”

“I’ve already made it clear that I’ll shout from every rooftop that I tricked you into dating me.”

Sam smirks.

I resist the craving to kiss her.

“So we send our own photo to Marcel so he can give it to whatever reliable press source he chooses?” Sam suggests.

Tugging her waist to turn her back to me, I pull her into my arms and hold out my phone to take a selfie. Her smile in the phone screen is so gorgeous, I can’t help but look at her instead of the screen at the last second before my thumb hits the shutter button.

With my arm still around Sam’s waist—I’m not letting her escape—I click to the photo and show it to her for approval. She leans her head back to look up at me, grinning.

I ignore the ache to kiss her.

“Approved,” she says. “You can send it to Marcel.”

“I have a more direct option,” I say, opening Instagram on my phone. I almost never post there on my own—most of the photos on my grid are collaborations from the Crowns social media team. I hit the plus sign to create a new post and select the photo of Sam and me. “This okay with you?” I ask her. “Should I tag you?”

“Yes, this is okay with me, but no, I haven’t reactivated any of my personal social media accounts,” she answers.

I type out a short caption and hit the share button.

Sam turns around to face me and asks, “What does feliz de la vida mean?”

“Mmm, it’s not the literal translation, but it basically means ‘as happy as can be,’” I explain.

Her eyes search my expression, though I’m not sure for what. She murmurs, “You really feel that way?”

Narrowing my eyes and cocking my head to one side, I say, “Have I not made it clear how I feel about you? Apparently, I’m not as fluent in English as I thought I was.”

A laugh startles out of her, and she shakes her head as she leans her forehead against my chest. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Both of our phones erupt with a barrage of message notifications and phone calls.

“Well, if you didn’t believe it before, I hope you do now. Because the entire world believes it,” I joke. “I’m gonna order us some sushi delivery for dinner, and then this thing is going on silent for the rest of the night.”