Chapter 4 BLURRED LINES

Zara avoided Tari the rest of that afternoon. She played with the kids in the shallow end of the pool, helped one of the aunties slice pineapple, and even took fake calls to stay away from him. But her mind? It stayed on that kiss. Because it hadn't been fake. Not really. Not when her heart reacted like it had a mind of its own. Not when her legs went weak and her fingers curled into his shirt. Not when, for one second, she forgot they were pretending. And worse - she was sure he felt it too. That night, they were assigned to the same guest room in the villa. Zara stared at the bed. One. Big.

Bed. She glanced at Tari, who was removing his watch silently. "We're sharing a bed now?" she asked, arching a brow. "It's just for show. Cameras outside. Family members like to peek." She folded her arms. "You're awfully comfortable lying to your entire bloodline." He looked up. "You knew what this was." "I did. I just didn't think I'd be spooning Satan in my sleep." He almost smiled. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't spoon." She grabbed a throw pillow. "Then stay on your side." "Always do." *** The night dragged. Zara lay stiff on one side, fully clothed, eyes wide open. She could feel his breathing. Hear the faint rhythm of his fingers tapping on his phone. He wasn't sleeping either. She turned. "You good?" He didn't answer at first. Then: "You kissed me back." Her throat tightened. "You kissed me first." "You didn't pull away." Silence. Zara sat up slowly. "You want to talk about it?" Tari put his phone down, his eyes unreadable in the dim light. "No. Do you?" She wanted to say yes. Wanted to ask what he felt if he felt. But the walls were going back up. She could see it. "No," she whispered. He nodded. "Good." But she didn't sleep a second that night. Because the lie was starting to feel too much like the truth. The next morning came too fast. Zara walked into the breakfast patio in denim shorts and a flowy white blouse, determined to look unbothered. But inside, her stomach was a battlefield of confusion. Tari was already seated, drinking-surprise-black coffee. "You're late," he said, not looking up. "I'm not your employee, relax." "You're playing the role of my fiancée. Appearances matter." Zara sat beside him, keeping a safe inch of distance between them. "Let's be clear. I'm not falling for you." He glanced sideways. "That's good. Because I'm not available to be fallen for." "Great. We agree." "Fantastic." Their silent argument was interrupted by his grandmother. "Zara dear," Mama said sweetly, "come sit beside me. I want to show you family photo albums. You need to learn all the Amadis." Zara shot Tari a quick glare before following. For two hours, she sat beside Mama as the matriarch flipped through photos, pointing out uncles, cousins, great-aunties, and Tari's late mother. "He was only fifteen when she passed," Mama said softly. "He changed that year. Stopped smiling." Zara blinked. "He used to smile?"Mama nodded. "He was so soft-hearted. Protective. But the business world hardened him." Zara looked across the lawn where Tari stood, phone in hand, speaking to someone with that same ice-cold calmness. It was strange, seeing him from a different lens - not just as the guarded man with contracts and deadlines, but as a boy who had learned to survive pain. Maybe they weren't so different after all. *** Later that day, back in their room, Zara tossed her heels aside and collapsed onto the bed. "I deserve an award. I know your entire family tree now." Tari sat at the desk, typing. "You handled it well," he said without looking up. "Gee, thanks." He paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "My mother would've liked you." Zara blinked. "Where did that come from?" "She liked strong women. Women who didn't pretend to be helpless." Zara sat up slowly. "You miss her?" He looked out the window. "Every day." For once, the air between them wasn't heavy with tension - it was heavy with something real. Zara stood and walked toward him. "I'm sorry," she said gently. He didn't respond, but he didn't shut down either. She reached into her bag and handed him something small - a beaded bracelet. "What's this?" "Something I made last year. I usually don't give them out. But... maybe you need to remember softness." He took it slowly, eyes lingering on the tiny golden charm in the center. A feather. "For freedom," she said. "Not weakness." Tari stared at it, then at her. And for the first time since this entire scheme began, he said something without a mask: "Thank you." Zara nodded. "Don't get used to me being nice." He smirked faintly. "Too late."