The Italian restaurant is across from the marina in the aptly named city of Marina Del Rey. We're in a private room upstairs. It's much too big for our small group but it's gorgeous—exposed brick walls, thick white table clothes, sheer curtains letting in the soft glow of sunset.

My stomach is in knots. I'm meeting Pete's mom. I know we aren't really together, that there's no risk of pissing off my future mother-in-law, but I want her to like me.

She's the second most important person in his life, after Tom. First even. I'll be crushed if she doesn't like me.

Thankfully, Pete and I are the first to arrive. We wait by the window, our hands tightly interlocked. His touch is comforting. Intimate.

There are footsteps then the door opens. That must be his mom. I struggle to take a deep breath.

"Peter, you look great." A woman's deep voice echoes through the room. "This must be Jess."

I turn towards the door. There's a woman in her late 50s with short hair in the same ombre style as Willow's, only hers is teal instead of pink. It brings out her blue eyes.

I nod a yes and shake her hand.

"Ophelia." She looks to Pete. "She's lovely. How did you find someone so nice so quickly?"

He cocks a brow. "The usual way."

Ophelia lets out a low, throaty chuckle. "You really do take after your brother."

Are they making sex jokes? With the way they're smiling, they must be. I know he's adopted, but still. I can't imagine making a sex joke to anyone in my family.

A tall, curvy woman in a wrap dress steps into the room. She pulls Ophelia into a tight hug and plants a kiss on her lips.

They look happy. Not as happy as Tom and Willow but that's a high bar.

The woman turns to me. "I'm Ellie. You must be Jess."

We shake.

She turns to Pete. "It's nice to see you again, Peter."

He shoots Ophelia a look.

Ophelia chuckles. She has the same low, deep chuckle that he does. "Honey, don't call him Peter. He hates it." She looks at me. "Everyone called him Peter Parker in high school."

"The emo glasses," I say. "I still haven't seen them."

"He looked very studious in them." Ophelia smiles. "You can't imagine how many calls I got from his teachers, wondering why he wasn't doing better in school."

"Really?" I ask

She nods. "He wasn't like Tom. He did his homework. But if he didn't care for a class, he didn't pay it any attention."

I look back to Pete. "Is that right?"

He protests. "I aced physics and chemistry."

"And history?" she asks.

He shrugs.

"You should have seen his Spanish teacher." She laughs. "She called me in tears, wondering why he wouldn't apply himself."

"She was hitting on you, Mom," Pete says.

Ophelia laughs. "She was barely twenty-five."

"You were a MILF," Ellie says. "I knew it."

"Was?" Ophelia teases her girlfriend. "Don't make me kick you to the couch. I have plans for tonight."

Pete turns bright red. Ophelia shakes her head at his sudden shyness.

She throws her hand over her mouth like she's whispering. "Peter and Tom never got over me talking about how I eat pussy."

Somehow, Pete turns even more red.

"Jess doesn't need to hear that," he says.

"Sweetheart, women love talking about cunnilingus. Or they should." She turns to me. "You have to demand what you want."

And now I'm bright red.

Ellie shakes her head. "Poor kids. She was probably worried about accidentally cursing in front of you."

"Curse all you want sweetheart. Especially the c-word. We have to take it back," she says.

"We do?"

"Mom! Jesus!" Pete gets high pitched. He's in full on embarrassed teenager mode.

They share a look.

Ophelia laughs. "Okay. I'll stop torturing you." She smiles at me. "Your frames are lovely."

"Thank you."

"Spider-Man had a blond girlfriend, didn't he Peter?" she asks.

"I don't know," he says.

"Sure you do."

He nods. "Gwen Stacey. But she gets murdered and he ends up with Mary Jane. She's a red head."

"But you don't know." Ophelia laughs.

Pete runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah. Course not."

Ophelia turns to me. "Do you like Spider-Man? I'm always trying to tell Peter that Spider-Man is one of the better superheroes. He lives with his grandparents, he's a photographer, and he really respects women."

Pete shakes his head. He turns to me with a smile. "I hear this every week."

I stare back at him, trying to picture him as Peter Parker/Spider-Man. I can't say that I know enough about comics to decide one way or another. I do like the mental image of him in a tight bodysuit.

And I like Ophelia already. She's a bad ass.

Ellie jumps in. "I'm doing a week on comic books in my 101 class this semester."

"What do you teach?" I ask.

"Sociology." She nudges Ophelia. "She teaches Anthropology. We're not supposed to date within the department."

Ophelia points to her hair. "And I'll have to dye over this before the semester starts."

She motions to the table and everyone takes a seat.

Ellie continues. "Spider-Man's power, slinging webs from his hands, is a metaphor for ejaculation."

I bite my lip. "What?"

Ophelia laughs. "Let's not scare the poor girl off any more than we have."

"No, I'm interested," I say.

"Most fiction aimed at men has phallic imagery—a man with a machine gun, spraying bullets. Or he's using this huge sword to destroy his enemies. All his power comes from his metaphorical penis." Ellie laughs. She turns to Pete. "He's quite virile, Spider-Man."

Again, Pete blushes. My heart melts. He looks adorable with his cheeks flushed.

I barely have time to consider how adorable he looks with his cheeks flushed. The door opens and a loud, excited voice booms through the room.

"We're here," Tom says. "You can finally enjoy yourselves."

He's dressed the same as Pete, only his button up shirt is white and his slacks are grey while Pete is in all black. It's strange seeing the rock star brothers dressed up like the nice boys next door.

Willow looks beautiful, as usual. Her pink tipped hair contrasts against her flowing ivory dress.

After a round of hellos, Tom turns to Willow and whispers something in her ear.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Go for it, kid," he says.

She turns to the table. "We set a date. In two weeks. In Maui. Everything is booked. It's going to be small, family and a few friends."

Tom slides his arm around her. Both of them are beaming.

"Wow, sweetheart, that's fast," Ophelia says. "Are you sure you don't want more time to plan?"

"Yeah. I don't want a big wedding. I don't want to fuss about the colors or the dress." She turns to Tom. "I just want to be with Tom forever."

It's sweet enough to make me sick. But the feeling of dread in my stomach isn't from the syrupy display. Tom and Willow are adorable and in love.

And honest.

They're practically transparent.

You're a liar, a big fat liar. They're sharing their happiness with you and you're a liar. My thoughts scream at me. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be sharing their happiness when I'm lying to their faces.

I bite my tongue and take a deep breath. My gaze goes to Pete. There's frustration in his brow. I know he's happy for them. I know he loves his brother.

So what is all that frustration doing in his brow?

He shakes it off, stands, and hugs them, one at a time.

Then everyone is hugging. Tom squeezes me. Then Willow. She hugs me so tightly I can barely breathe.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispers." And that you and Pete are happy."

He addresses the table. "She's not pregnant."

Willow turns red. She barely manages to take a seat next to him. "Tom, they weren't thinking that." She studies expressions, one by one. "Okay, I guess I'd jump to that conclusion."

Ophelia laughs. "I'm surprised you two didn't fly to Vegas the night you got engaged."

"I pitched the idea," Tom says. "She wouldn't budge."

"We can't get married without you, Ophelia. Or Pete. Or Drew. Or Kara. Okay, I'm going to stop listing people in case I leave someone out." She takes a deep breath. "We checked flight prices. They're reasonable. The ceremony is on a Saturday and Monday is a holiday, so it will be a nice chance for everyone to get away."

"You have a dress, sweetheart?" Ophelia asks.

"I think so," Willow says. "I… uh… I'm asking Drew to be my maid of honor." She turns to Pete. "Will you be the best man?"

"Of course," he says.

Her face fills with relief. "Okay. Good. I know it's really sudden. We should have done it in Malibu. It would have been easier for everyone."

"Sweetheart, it's your wedding. Hopefully, the only one. You're allowed to have it in paradise," Ophelia says. "It will be perfect. I promise."

Willow smiles. She turns to me. "Of course, you have to come too, Jess. Will that be okay with school? Tom told me you're starting USC Law. I'm sure that's a lot of work. I understand if you can't get away."

"No, I'd love to be there." My stomach clenches. She's inviting me because she thinks I'm Pete's girlfriend, because she thinks I make him happy.

It's all based on a lie.

These people are accepting me openly and honestly and I'm lying to their faces.

I get lost in the conversation. Tom and Willow are taking two weeks off for their honeymoon. They're going to see half the Hawaiian Islands. Somehow, we get back to the topic of superheroes and their various powers. Ellie is something of an expert on phallic imagery. Ophelia teases her about the choice—it's, in Ophelia's words, a strange focus for a woman who prefers pussy.

Tom and Pete turn every shade of red every time their mother mentions the female anatomy. It's amazing to watch her make them fluster. She's funny, bold, in control of the conversation but giving at the same time.

She's amazing and real and I'm a liar.

* * *

I drift in and out of conversation. The food is fresh and beautifully arranged—caprese salad, pasta primavera, flourless chocolate cake—but it barely makes an impression on my taste buds.

All through dinner, Pete tries to cover his frustration with a smile. He doesn't get quite there.

After dessert, we exchange long goodbyes. Ophelia whispers something about how glad she is that Pete is finally done fucking everything that moves. Apparently, he seems much happier with me.

Of course he does. That's the idea behind the lie. I should be on board with this. I know the drill. We keep up appearances so no one asks questions.

I'm good at keeping up appearances. So why do I feel like I'm going to throw up every bite of the rich chocolate cake?

I stay quiet on the drive to Tom and Willow's place. There are only three feet between me and Pete but it feels like a million miles.

I don't like it.

He pulls into a spot on the street, right between two equally expensive cars. This is where he belongs. Of course, three blocks from the beach isn't a bad place to belong.

His deep brown eyes focus on me but he says nothing. I'm tempted to make an excuse for my mood, to find a place to hide at the OMG we're getting married in two weeks party. The other guys in the band are due any moment. Then there are all sorts of friends and peers and people who should be focused on the bride and groom to be.

There are a million reasons to ignore the frustration in his eyes and the knot in my stomach.

But I can't do it.

"You're not supposed to lock me out," I say.

He stares back at me. "And what is it you were doing all through dinner?"

"Trying to play by the terms of our agreement. You?"

"I'm not gonna upstage my brother and his fiancée."

"Why are you miserable?" I ask.

"I'm not."

"You look like you got punched in the gut." I go to grab his wrist but he's too fast about pulling it to his lap. "I know you aren't jealous. You don't look at Willow like that."

"Don't look at anyone but you like that."

"You are upset. It's written all over your face."

His eyes go to the steering wheel.

"Because you're losing your best friend?" I ask. "That has to be hard, him moving on so quickly. He moved out a month ago, right?"

"Just about."

"How long did you live together?"

"Since I was twelve." He turns back to me. "You gonna talk to me?"

"I'm trying to do what you want, to play your sweet, demure girlfriend." My stomach clenches. "But I don't like lying to your family. They're honest and open and they clearly love you. Why won't you let them in, let them help you?"

"This is what I want."

"But—"

"Are you backing out?"

I take a deep breath. Words find my lips without passing through my brain. "Do you care about me?"

"What? That's not relevant."

"But do you?"

His brow furrows as he gets out of the car. I can't stay here. I get out and follow him to the sidewalk.

It's hard to make out the details of his expression in the dark, but his posture gives enough away.

"Do you?" I ask. "Tell me the truth. It won't break me if you say no." In theory.

"Are you backing out or not, Jess?"

"I'm not."

"Then let's go."

"But—"

"I'm not discussing this any more." He takes three steps forward then he turns back to me. "Are you coming or not?"