The overstuffed sectional in the center of the room had served as Simon’s bed for the weekend. It wasn’t particularly glamorous, but he’d had his own bathroom and more privacy than he would have enjoyed had he stayed upstairs and shared a bedroom with John. As I neared the bottom of the steps, I could hear Simon talking. I stopped, unnerved by the tone and urgency in his voice.

“If you don’t tell her, I will. It doesn’t feel right, you taking this next step under false pretenses.”

False pretenses? What on earth?

“It shouldn’t make a difference at all,” Simon continued. “If Lane loves you, none of that stuff will matter. But you do have to tell her.”

My heart started to pound. He was talking about me, but what stuff? What wouldn’t matter?

“I never said you lied,” Simon said, his voice sharp. “But you did pretend to be something you’re not. And Lane deserves to know what’s really you and what isn’t. Think about it this way. The concert tickets. The poetry. Talking about books. That’s the Jamie Lane is used to. It’s what she expects because that’s what you’ve shown her. But I’m not going to be around to funnel information to you forever. What happens when you’re on your own and Lane is disappointed when she figures out you don’t actually know who Billy Collins is? It’s time to start being you, man. And you need to come clean about what’s happened so far.”

I sank to the steps, the reality of Simon’s words buzzing like angry bees in my brain.

The concert tickets.

The poetry.

The books.

None of it had really been Jamie.

The most frustrating part? Everything suddenly made so much sense.

I’d said I felt like I was dating two different versions of the same man, and I was right. Jamie on his own, and Jamie listening to Simon. All those things that came out of left field—it was Simon all the time.

“I need to go,” I heard Simon say. “Just think about it, all right?”

I stayed there, sitting on the stairs. Thinking. Processing. Anger building as each second passed. They’d lied to me. Both of them. Like it was all some sort of game.

“Oh, hey.” Simon stopped at the foot of the stairs. “What are you . . .”

I wiped a tear off my face and shook my head. I wasn’t ready for words.

“Oh no,” Simon said. He cursed under his breath and turned around, pushing his head into his hands. He came back to the stairs, almost frantic. “Lane, please let me explain.”

“So.” I swallowed. “Was this weekend like field research? Jamie couldn’t make it so he sent his research guy to dig up some dirt, maybe get some ideas for Christmas presents?”