I open my purse and grab the looseleaf paper jammed inside.

“What’s that?” Tate asks, giving it a weary look.

“I thought I’d ask you a few questions.”

“What? Like an interview?”

“Uh, yeah,” I mutter, ducking my head. I know it sounds ridiculous, me interviewing my boyfriend, but I had to think of something to occupy our time during the two-hour drive up the 101. I had brought my script for an upcoming audition that Kevin landed for me, but as Hot Girl Number Two, I only had one line: “Oh no, not him!”

It had taken approximately two minutes to memorize that, and Tate had very little to add by the way of advice. It’s not a big role, but at least it’s for a real network.

“So, what’s your favorite color?”

Tate grimaces. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Now, mine is green…”

Tate shakes his head. “I don’t know. Purple?”

“Great,” I say with a smile. “And your favorite food?”

“Street tacos…with you.”

I frown. That took a dangerous turn. “Well, mine is ice cream, any flavor. What about movies? What’s your favorite genre?”

Tate thinks for a moment. “Drama.”

I scowl at him. “That’s like saying you like ‘rock music.’”

He shrugs. “What do you want me to say?”

“How about your favorite film, then?”

“There’s no way I could limit myself to one film, Charlotte.”

“Fine. Top three.”

He switches lanes, pulls past a semi, then merges back to the right. “Casablanca, Raging Bull, and Fight Club.”

“So no action flicks?”

“No. Why?”

I shrug. “You tend to star in those.”

“Not really…”

“Tate, you’ve done, like, four Marvels.”

“I guess,” he admits grudgingly. “Anyway, what about you?”

“Roman Holiday, Sleepless in Seattle, and Say Anything.”

Tate laughs. “Don’t need to ask you your favorite genre.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I like romances.” I glance at my paper. “Favorite book?”

He cringes. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because…well…we could be asked these questions about each other,” I lie.

“I don’t see that happening.”

Yeah, neither did I, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. When I found out we’d be heading up to my dad’s for the weekend, I called Kelley. I told her what Tate said about wanting to talk about what happened, and how he believed I had it all wrong. I thought that his openness was a good sign, that he cared, but Kelley had a different take on it. She warned that Tate might just be telling me what I wanted to hear. She said to avoid the subject and pretend like it never happened.

Easier said than done when Tate seemed hell-bent on bringing it up.

“Come on.” I nudge his arm “Favorite book.”

“American Gods by Neil Gaiman. Yours?”

“Persuasion, Jane Austen.” Another grimace. “What!”

“You and your romances.”

“You and your depressing dramas,” I snap back.

We fall into a moody silence.

“Why don’t you tell me about your family,” Tate suggests after we’ve left the crowded city behind for the coastline.

“Well, my dad is a retired veterinarian. He still has a clinic in town, but his partner manages it. He spends most of his time gardening and volunteering these days.”

“And will Camila be there?”

“You bet. She went crazy when I told her you were coming to visit.”

Tate smirks. “Glad to see my charm precedes me.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe keep that charm in the bag for this trip. My dad’s pretty traditional, and he can smell bullshit from a mile away.”

Tate clutches his chest. “I’m hurt, baby!”

“And don’t call me baby in front of him. Or ever,” I add, hiding my smile behind my hand.

Thirty minutes later, we start the climb up to my childhood home. As the car zigzags its way up the hills of Santa Barbara, I wonder how this visit will pan out. Will my dad and Camila like Tate, or will they immediately sense that we’re a sham?

Wait, why do I even care? This visit is just so Kevin could drop a line in some article next week. It doesn’t mean anything. It isn’t real.

I grin as Tate turns the car around the last turn. “We’re almost…”

My words die on my lips as the gate to my house comes into view. I turn to Tate. “What’s going on?”

I get no answer. I don’t even get a glance. “Tate?”

I face forward as a cry erupts from in the crowd gathered in front of my dad’s house.

Tate slows the car as dozens of camera-wielding paparazzi swarm the Jeep. Cameras are flashing and people are yelling and limbs are crashing against my window, as reporter after reporter tries to get the best angle of our faces.

“What the hell?” I cry, shielding my face from the onslaught. I glance over at Tate—he’s cool as a cucumber. His face is slack, eyes forward, as he calmly navigates the Jeep through the thick crowd.

“Why am I the only one freaking out?” I ask slowly. My stomach drops as his jaw clenches. “You knew? You knew this was going to happen?”

Tate flinches but stays quiet.

“Answer me!” I turn around as something hard smacks against the glass. A reporter smiles at me as I scowl into his camera lens.

I turn back to Tate. “I can’t believe this. What were you thinking!?”

Finally, Tate speaks. “Keep your voice down and try to smile.”

The bastard.

I jab a finger at him. “You are in for it, mister. I’ll keep it together for my dad and Camila, but the second we’re alone—”

I stop as the gate begins to inch open. Then the front door of the house opens and my dad comes running out.

“I’m so angry, Tate. I’m so—”

“I’m sorry!” Tate snaps. “I’ll explain everything when we talk later, okay?”

The Jeep reaches the gate and waits. Reporters swarm around us, but this time I don’t even notice. All I can do is stare at my lying, sneaking boyfriend sitting across from me.

The moment the gate opens wide enough for the Jeep to fit through, Tate guns it. We dart through the gate, and my dad hits the button in his hand. The sides pause, then inch toward each other. Reporters are already streaming through the gap. My dad runs to the gate and tries to push them back, but there are too many.

Tate throws the Jeep in park, wrenches open his door, and climbs out. In seconds he’s with my dad, helping him push back the horde. I watch in silent shock for a few minutes before unbuckling my seatbelt and opening my door.

“There she is! Charlotte!” a reporter cries, snapping my picture.

Another one holds his camera over Tate’s head and gets a few off. “SMILE!”

I give him my most winning grimace as I stalk toward the gate. “Leave us alone!” I yell. “Go away!”

Tate pushes the last of them through the gate just as it closes. The mass thrusts their cameras through the gaps and continues to take pictures.

I lunge toward them. “I said, go aw—”

“No, Charlotte!” Tate pulls me away from the gate and into his arms. I fight him for a moment before he pins my arms to my sides. “Remember what we’re doing and who we’re in front of.”

That settles me down…slightly.

I stop struggling and let him lead me toward the house; my dad follows after us in stunned silence. We stagger through the front door and into the waiting arms of Camila.

“Camila!” I cry, pushing myself from Tate into her warm embrace.

“Pequeñita,” she murmurs, pulling me close. With every soft stroke of my hair, I feel the tension leaving my body.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, love,” she says. She glances around me at Tate. “¿Quién es el chico caliente?” she asks with a little eyebrow wiggle.

“Oh—” I turn and see Tate and my dad loitering awkwardly behind me. I motion to Tate. “Dad? Camila? This is my boyfriend, Tate Gunner.”

My dad offers his hand and they shake. “Call me Henry,” he says, giving Tate a once-over. Camila steps up to him and offers him a tentative hand, but Tate pushes it aside and wraps her in a big hug.

“Dios mio!” she breathes when they’ve pulled away, her face a little more flushed than before. She winks at me and then turns to my dad. “Let’s go to the porch for some comida.”

Tate rubs his stomach. “Sounds wonderful. I’m starved.”

Camila claps her hands together. “¿Tu hablas español?”

Tate laughs. “Afraid not, but I know what comida means.” He joins her by her side and they walk together toward the back of the house. “You know, Charlotte tells me your cooking is second to none…”

My dad sidles up next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder, planting a big kiss on the top of my head like he used to when I was a kid. “Great to see you, honey. Sorry for the mess out front.”

I stare at him. “Why are you apologizing to me? This is all my fault—well, Tate’s fault.”

“Come on, sweetie. You can’t blame your guy for being famous.”

Oh yes I can…

We join Camila and Tate on the porch. I’m not shocked to see that he’s already won her over. Good looks, winning smile, and a lot of flattery will go a long way with any woman.

We settle into the wicker furniture and help ourselves to Camila’s top-notch spread. I see she’s made the empanadas I love and snatch up two.

“So,” my father says, sitting back in his chair, “I’m glad to finally meet you, Tate.”

I tense up. Here comes the inquisition.

“How did you two meet, again?” he asks.

“On set,” Tate says.

“Through a friend,” I answer.

We stare at each other. Looks like someone’s forgotten our backstory.

“Which one is it?” my dad asks.

“Um…”

“Both,” Tate finishes for me. “Charlotte was an extra in the movie I’m filming, and a friend of mine introduced us between takes.”

Okay. Nice recovery.

“I see.” My dad frowns. “And now you two are living together?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, sitting up a little straighter. I should have seem this coming. “See, we, um, really hit it off and my lease was, um—”

“Sir,” Tate cuts in. “When I met your daughter, I was blown away by her intelligence and humor and grace…”

Uh, yeah. I’m pretty sure I’m anything but those things.

“…and I couldn’t—I can’t—get enough of her.” Tate moves his bright green eyes to me. “I just had to see her every day.”

Camila sighs next to me and I try not to roll my eyes.

“Yes, well…” my dad shifts in his seat “…how do I know you’re honorable? How do I know you won’t just kick my girl to the curb if another girl catches your eye?”

“Dad!” I hiss, turning bright red. I turn to Tate. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Tate shakes his head. “It’s an honest question that I will give an honest answer to. Your daughter is the light of my life.”

My blush deepens.

“She’s extremely talented. I swear she’ll be discovered any day now.”

I sink a little further in my chair.

“And she keeps me on my toes. I think I’m more in love with her than she is with me,” Tate says, giving a soft laugh.

Love?

I look over and find his eyes on me. “If anything, it’ll be her kicking me to the curb.” He turns back to my dad. “I promise you that.”

A hush falls over the group. I stare at my hands, unable to meet Tate’s gaze, but I know it’s on me. I can feel it, boring through my skull.

“Well!” My dad slaps his knees and grins around at us. “I like him!”

Camila nods and adds her approval.

I sigh and close my eyes. Yup. Ten minutes in and my family’s fallen prey to Tate’s ubiquitous charm.

“Let me show you to your room,” my dad says, getting to his feet.

Room? As in single?

“Um, sure,” I say, throwing Tate a worried glance. He shrugs and follows my dad out of the room.

A minute later, Tate and I are standing in our room. It has one bed.

My dad smiles and backs out of the room. “I’ll let you two settle in while Camila and I fire up the grill. Salmon burgers and jicama fries good for lunch?”

I nod my response, my eyes still fixed the only bed in the room.

“Great, take your time.” He shuts the door behind him, leaving my boyfriend and me in the world’s most awkward silence.

“So,” Tate begins, “I sleep on the right…”

I spin around and glare at him. “You’re not sleeping in this bed.”

“Well, I don’t see a couch.”

“You’re sleeping in a room down the hall, away from me.”

His brow furrows. “No, that’s ridiculous.”

“No it’s not. Not after the stunt you pulled a few days ago, and then the one today.”

“Stunt? You’re calling our kiss a stunt? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Whatever,” I say, shaking my head. “What I really meant was the media circus you and your ego brought down on my family twenty minutes ago. That was a dick move, Tate.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything. This was all Kevin’s idea.”

I shove his chest hard with my hands. “So you did know!”

“Charlotte—”

“How could you?”

He takes my hands and pulls them off his chest. “I didn’t want any of this, I swear. I told him it was a bad idea, that you wouldn’t like it.”

“And yet here we are,” I say bitterly. I push away from him and stalk over to the window. “I can’t believe you kept me in the dark.”

“I knew you’d react like this.”

“And what?” I whirl around. “That makes it okay to spring it on me steps away from my family’s house?”

“We’ve dealt with paparazzi before.”

I glare at him. “This is my family, Tate. I told you I didn’t want them involved.”

He runs a hand over his jaw. “I know, and I’m sorry! Kevin’s impossible to argue with when he gets an idea in his head. It sounded reasonable at the time.” He takes a step toward me. “Please forgive me, Char.”

I flinch at my nickname on his lips. “No. You’ve broken my trust. I can’t just forgive you for that.”

“Charlotte—”

I hold up my hand. “I’m going to talk to my dad, see if you can stay in the second guest room down the hall.”

“Wait, you were serious?”

“Deadly.”

“What are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know! Something prudish, like we’re waiting until marriage.”

Tate frowns. “Are you?”

I stare at him. “Am I what?”

“Waiting for marriage?”

“No! I’ll just make something up.” I take a deep breath. “God, you drive me crazy, Tate.” I huff over to the door and throw it open. “And not in a good way,” I add, seeing the hopeful look on his face.

I’m about to walk out the door when Tate’s voice stops me. “I’m sorry, Char…”

I turn and see a pained look on his face. My chest clenches, but I tell myself it’s too little too late. “Yeah, me too,” I mutter, meaning something completely different.

Then I turn the corner and disappear down the hall.