Chapter Text
6:02 a.m.
Aelie Alonzo blinked at the blinking red numbers on her digital clock, groaning as she flung her blanket aside.
She sat up, yawned, then rubbed her temples with both hands.
Today was the dreaded Sunday.
The second one this month.
The Visit Day.
She glanced at her phone to check the messages, already knowing what she'd find.
Rowena (Mom):
“Morning love! We’re leaving in a bit. I hope you girls got enough sleep. Can’t wait to see you both later!”Celestine (Miera’s Mom):
“Tell Miera not to wear those ratty shorts again. This isn’t college.”
Aelie sighed and muttered under her breath, “Why not just text her yourself?”
She tossed the phone on the bed, stood up, and grabbed her hoodie.
As much as she hated this performance, she hated the lectures that followed more.
If they weren’t spooning under the sheets by 7 a.m., Rowena and Celestine would know something was off.
And the thought of their moms getting suspicious was much, much worse than Miera’s sour morning face.
She marched down the quiet hallway, the wood floors cold under her feet.
Reaching the room across hers, she didn’t bother knocking.
She barged in.
“Miera. Wake up. Gising.”
A lump stirred in the blanket but didn’t respond.
Aelie flipped the light switch on. “Seriously, Miera. Papunta na sila. We’ve got thirty minutes before showtime.”
The lump groaned. “You’re like an alarm clock that comes with an attitude.”
Aelie crossed her arms. “Get up or I’m dragging you out.”
Slowly, the blanket slipped down to reveal Miera’s tangled dark hair and a scowl that could curdle milk. “Why don’t you just cuddle a cactus instead of waking me up like this?”
“Because I need that cactus to pretend we’re madly in love,” Aelie snapped.
Miera sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “Fine. What’s the act this time? The forehead kiss before breakfast or the ‘babe can you get me juice’ shtick?”
“Both,” Aelie said flatly. “Also, your mom said not to wear the ratty shorts again.”
Miera rolled her eyes. “Tell her to mind her own—never mind. Nasa'n 'yong pink pajama set?”
“In the laundry. Use the blue one. It matches your eyes and makes you look less...dead.”
“You’re lucky we have to look in love or I’d throw this pillow at your face.”
Aelie smirked. “Oh, I’d love to see you try, sugarplum.”
“Don’t call me that,” Miera said, already stomping to her closet. “Ever.”
6:45 a.m.
The bedroom looked like something out of a Pinterest board.
Too perfect.
Neatly arranged pillows.
Subtly placed matching couple mugs on the bedside table.
Their framed fake wedding photo leaned proudly on the bookshelf. Miera hated every inch of it.
Aelie didn’t care—as long as it kept their moms happy.
They lay in bed, awkwardly close. Aelie’s arm was draped lazily over Miera’s waist.
Their heads shared a pillow. It was warm. Too warm.
“I swear,” Miera whispered through clenched teeth, “if your leg touches mine again, I’m filing a complaint.”
Aelie replied with a sugary voice, “Oh, come on, honeybun. I thought you loved waking up like this.”
Miera was about to reply when—
Ding-dong.
The front doorbell.
They froze, then both sprang into action.
Aelie leaned over, kissed Miera’s forehead, and whispered, “Showtime.”
“Hello, babies!” Rowena chirped as she walked in with a tray of bread rolls.
“Good morning, girls!” Celestine added, arms full of food containers. “We brought champorado. Your favorite, Aelie.”
“And those ham and egg sandwiches Miera likes,” Rowena added, not-so-subtly trying to outmatch her friend.
Aelie and Miera walked down the stairs hand in hand, fake sleepy smiles on their faces.
“Morning, Moms,” Aelie said sweetly.
“Good morning po,” Miera added. She leaned on Aelie’s shoulder and sighed softly like it was the best place in the world.
It wasn’t.
It was warm and annoying and smelled like lavender and smugness.
“Aww, look at you two!” Rowena beamed. “Still in honeymoon phase?”
“Every day,” Aelie said, squeezing Miera’s hand.
Miera replied, “It’s hard not to when you’re with someone like her.”
Both mothers clutched their chests like they were watching a romantic teleserye.
“We made the right choice, didn’t we, Rowena?” Celestine whispered.
“Best decision ever,” Rowena replied. “When the time comes, these two will run everything perfectly.”
Miera internally choked.
Business.
Always about the business.
That was the whole reason this farce existed.
Both families had built Madrigal & Alonzo Publishing from the ground up. Now they wanted to pass it down—together.
To them.
She hated it.
They sat down around the dining table, the food laid out like a feast.
Aelie fed Miera a spoonful of champorado while Rowena practically squealed.
“You two should start thinking about babies soon. Excited na kami maging lola and we won't be aging backwards, right?” Celestine casually said between bites.
Miera choked on her drink.
Aelie immediately patted her back—half concern, half performance.
“Uh... not yet,” Aelie said smoothly. “We’re still... enjoying the married life.”
“And focusing on our students,” Miera added.
“Ah yes, the future minds of the nation,” Rowena said proudly.
“Two professors in love. What a story.”
If only they knew.
9:23 a.m.
After the breakfast, fake laughter, and too many unsolicited marriage tips, the mothers finally left.
As the door shut behind them, silence fell.
Then Aelie dropped her smile.
Miera walked straight to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and groaned.
“I feel like I just starred in a bad soap opera.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Aelie said, stretching. “That ‘babe, feed me’ moment? Oscar-worthy.”
Miera glared. “Next time, you can wear the pastel pajamas and blush on command.”
“Tempting.”
Miera rolled her eyes and headed for the stairs.
—
Monday at Orville University was always a swirl of bustling students, coffee-fueled professors, and the dull buzz of classroom air conditioning.
The air held a crisp sense of structure—a sharp contrast to the mess Aelie Alonzo had to live with behind closed doors.
She walked through the courtyard, her smile fixed and brilliant, waving at students who greeted her with beaming faces and hushed whispers.
“She’s literally the reason I show up to class,” one student whispered to another as Aelie passed.
“Morning, Prof. Aelie!”
“Good morning, loves,” she called out cheerily, balancing her iced latte in one hand and a stack of reading journals in the other. “Please tell me you all did your Virginia Woolf essays or I’m canceling your weekend!”
Laughter rippled around her.
She wasn’t bluffing—but she also wasn’t serious.
She loved her students, and they adored her for it.
Aelie was known for making heavy literature feel light and alive.
She joked with them, encouraged them, and somehow remembered everyone's names.
But inside? She was exhausted.
Pretending every other Sunday to love a woman she could barely stand was mentally draining.
Across campus, Miera Madrigal strode briskly through the east hall toward her 10:00 AM lecture. Her demeanor was calm, her expression unreadable.
She was the type of professor who made students sit up straighter without saying a word. Not because she was cruel—she wasn’t—but because she carried herself like someone who saw through nonsense.
“Good morning, Prof. Madrigal,” said a second-year Political Science student.
Miera gave a small nod. “Don’t forget your briefing paper for Thursday.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That was as much warmth as they could expect. But no one ever accused her of being cold—just distant. She taught Political Theory and Legal Ethics with surgical precision, and her students respected her immensely.
Some admired her.
Some crushed on her.
None dared to ask personal questions.
10:15 AM–Faculty Lounge
The lounge buzzed with the mid-morning crowd. Professors milled about with mugs in hand and sleep still clinging to their shoulders.
Aelie plopped onto a couch beside her closest work friend, Professor Maxine Cortez, and reached for the chocolate chip muffin on the center tray.
“Survived the weekend?” Maxine asked, sipping her oat milk latte.
“Barely,” Aelie muttered. “She didn’t say a single word to me after the parents left. Just locked herself in her room.”
“I mean, would you want to talk after fake-spooning someone for three hours?”
“Fair.”
Professor Sienna Ramos, their mutual friend from the Communications Department, rolled her eyes. “The way you two live like roommates with matching rings—nakakapagod pakinggan.”
“Imagine living it,” Aelie said. “If I have to hear Rowena say, ‘I hope you’re planning for grandbabies,’ one more time…”
“Then what? You’ll kiss her in front of them?” Maxine teased.
Aelie shuddered. “I would rather die.”
Sienna smirked. “You're such a good liar though. It looks so real.”
“That’s the problem.”
Meanwhile, in the Political Science lounge, Miera sat at the far end of the room, sipping black coffee while scrolling through lecture notes. Her shoulders were tense, as always. Her phone buzzed with a message.
Clarisse Villanueva:
So. Survive cuddling hell again?
Miera stared at the screen, jaw clenched, before typing:
Miera:
Do not remind me.
Across the table, Professor Juliette Yang leaned in. “Let me guess, Aelie put on another performance?”
“She’s a theater kid trapped in a professor’s body,” Miera muttered.
“You’re both way too good at this,” Clarisse said, joining them. “The parents are still convinced you're soulmates.”
“That’s the point,” Miera said flatly. “The more convinced they are, the sooner they’ll stop hovering.”
“Pero nakakapagod, right?”
“Yes,” Miera said curtly. “That’s why I compartmentalize. Campus is work. Home is... whatever that is.”
Clarisse raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. .
She knew better.
1:00 PM — Room 204, Literature Class
Aelie was back in her element, pacing the front of her class with unrelenting enthusiasm.
The projector flashed quotes from The Bell Jar, and students were scribbling furiously in their notebooks.
“Plath isn’t just writing sadness. She’s translating it. There’s a difference,” she said. “You don’t just read her work—you feel it.”
Hands shot up. The students were alive with questions.
They loved her metaphors, her sarcasm, the way she turned pages into poetry.
And they never noticed how tired her eyes looked after Sunday visits.
2:00 PM — Room 306, Political Theory
Miera stood by the whiteboard, drawing out a power dynamic chart between executive, legislative, and judiciary branches. Her explanations were clear, concise, and razor-sharp.
“But ma’am,” a student asked, “how do hidden alliances affect democratic systems?”
Miera paused. “They rot it. Slowly. From the inside.”
She clicked to the next slide.
Her students scribbled harder.
5:00 PM — Parking Lot
They didn’t ride home together.
Miera had left through the back gate.
Aelie stayed to finish a few emails.
They rarely left at the same time, and even more rarely spoke on campus.
It was too risky. Too unnatural. Too fake.
Back home, the silence was familiar.
Two rooms.
Two closed doors.
Two professors married on paper and nowhere else.
Aelie stood by the kitchen, staring at the untouched casserole Celestine had forced them to take home.
Miera walked past behind her wordlessly, grabbing a glass of water.
“Can you at least pretend not to hate me when they're around?” Aelie asked without turning.
“I do,” Miera said. “It’s just when they’re not around, I stop pretending.”
Aelie let out a tired laugh. “Great. Thanks.”
Silence again.
Two professors. One roof. Zero feelings.
At least, that’s what they told themselves.
—
The sun had barely hit its noon peak, and Aelie was already two cups of coffee deep, animatedly reciting lines from The Great Gatsby as she paced across her classroom.
“‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,’” she read, arms raised for dramatic effect. “Now what does this line tell us about Gatsby’s obsession with the past?”
Hands shot up around the room.
“That it’s hopeless?” one student offered.
“That he never moves on?” another guessed.
“Yes! Both of you—ten points for House Literature,” Aelie joked, drawing a few giggles. “Gatsby doesn’t just love Daisy. He loves the idea of her. The version that exists in his head, frozen in time. That’s why he can’t move forward.”
She leaned back against her desk, smiling at the sea of eager faces. This—this was her joy. Not just the books, but the energy. The noise. The life her students brought into her classroom.
Then came a different kind of noise.
A loud squeal from the hallway.
Followed by gasps.
And then, of course, the chanting.
“OOOOOH MY GODDDD IT’S PROFESSOR AARON AGAIN!”
“MAY DALA SIYANG FLOWERS THIS TIME!”
“PROFESSOR AELIE, HE’S OUTSIDE!”
Aelie blinked. Her entire class turned their heads toward the door’s glass panel, where a very familiar (and very persistent) face was smiling sheepishly through the window. In his arms: a bouquet of pink and white tulips.
“Not again,” she muttered under her breath, color draining from her face.
Her students? Screaming internally.
“HE’S SO CUTE.”
“WHY WON’T SHE JUST SAY YES?”
“They’d be so PERFECT together!”
“Bak nahihiya lang si Professor.”
“LOOK AT HIM! THAT’S A HUSBAND.”
Aelie stood frozen in place, unsure whether to bolt or sink into the floor. Instead, she forced the usual smile, even as her stomach knotted. “Alright, class, two-minute break. Read the next page quietly.”
They didn’t.
They ran to the windows and the door, peeking out, watching the scene unfold like it was their favorite rom-com.
Professor Aaron Velasquez, head of the Philosophy Department, was known for his easy charm and good looks—tall, brown-skinned with soft eyes and a voice that always sounded like he was about to recite poetry.
And unfortunately for Aelie, he had made it extremely clear he was smitten.
She opened the door just enough to slide her body through and face him.
“Hi, Aaron,” she said, voice soft and forced.
“These reminded me of you,” he said, handing her the bouquet.
Tulips. Again.
He always brought tulips.
Every two weeks. Without fail.
“Thanks,” she replied, taking them awkwardly. “You really didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” he said. “I hope you liked the ones from last time.”
“I did,” she lied. They were in the trash by Tuesday.
He smiled like he’d won a prize.
“I—uh—I have class,” she said quickly, already inching back toward the door.
“Of course. I’ll let you go. Just… think about dinner?”
She nodded, said nothing, and slipped back inside, cheeks flushed, students buzzing like bees.
Faculty Lounge – Later That Afternoon
“Please tell me I can fake my death and move to the mountains,” Aelie groaned as she collapsed onto the couch beside Maxine.
Maxine snorted. “He did it again?”
“With tulips this time,” Aelie said, dropping the slightly-wilted bouquet onto the coffee table. “They’re cute flowers. I hate that I can’t even enjoy them because he gave them to me.”
Sitting across from them, Sienna clicked her tongue. “Girl, why don’t you just reject him already?”
“Because! I don’t want to be rude! He’s so public about it, and if I say no, I’ll be the villain.”
“You’re not a villain,” Maxine said. “You’re a married woman.”
“Secretly married,” Aelie whispered. “To someone who I don't even like!”
“That’s not the point.”
“It kinda is,” Sienna added, smirking. “If Miera showed up with flowers and kissed your cheek in front of everyone, Aaron would back off real quick.”
Aelie nearly choked on her coffee. “Miera? Miera Madrigal? Show affection in public? We barely speak unless we have to!”
“You could ask her to pretend.”
“No way,” Aelie said. “She’d probably walk out before even agreeing to that.”
The three laughed. Aelie rolled her eyes and tossed the flowers into the lounge bin on her way out.
Meanwhile – Political Science Hall
Miera was packing up her laptop when Juliette strolled in with an iced matcha in each hand.
“Brought you this before the sun fries us all,” Juliette said.
“Thanks,” Miera replied.
“Did you hear?” Juliette smirked. “Romeo showed up at your wife’s door again.”
Miera raised an eyebrow. “Tulips?”
“Pink and white. He’s getting bold.”
“She’ll keep them one day and throw them the next. That’s the cycle.”
Juliette leaned against the desk. “You’re really just going to stay silent?”
“I don’t care,” Miera said bluntly, grabbing her coat.
“Doesn’t bother you even a little?”
“She’s not my concern unless our mothers are watching.”
Juliette raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No judgment. Just saying—it’s kind of hilarious.”
Miera didn’t answer. She walked out, indifferent as always.
—
Aelie stood in the kitchen, the tulips now shoved in the trash under a pile of takeout containers. The scent still lingered in the air.
The door creaked behind her.
Miera entered, her heels clicking against the floor as she dropped her bag on the table.
“Still throwing them away?” she asked without looking.
“Like always,” Aelie replied flatly.
Miera opened the fridge, poured herself water, and left without another word.
The silence hung thick in the air—but it wasn’t tense.
It was just normal.
This was their routine.
Two people tied together by family and circumstance.
And nothing more.
—
Aelie yawned and stretched as the smell of toasted bread filled the kitchen.
The sun wasn’t even that high yet, but here she was—hair up in a messy bun, still in a large shirt and shorts, flipping eggs in a pan like a decent housemate would.
The silence of the house was oddly comforting. Sometimes Miera cooked, sometimes she did. Today was her turn, and she didn’t mind.
Until her eyes landed on them.
The tulips.
Still blooming pathetically in a vase by the corner of the kitchen.
The last gift from Aaron.
She scoffed and, without a second thought, grabbed the vase and walked straight to the trash can.
She tipped it in without ceremony. A soft thump.
Goodbye, floral embarrassment.
As she washed her hands, Miera’s footsteps echoed down the stairs.
She entered the kitchen in a neat gray blouse and black pants, hair tied into her usual tight bun.
Her vibe, as always, screamed composed and unreadable.
Miera sat at the kitchen counter with a mug in hand. “You cooked today.”
“Your turn was last week,” Aelie replied without turning around. “We’re even.”
“Hm.”
They ate in relative silence, only the occasional clink of fork against plate breaking the stillness.
“You have a meeting later?” Aelie asked as she cleaned up her plate.
“Department heads’ check-in at two.”
“Same. I hope it’s not another budget fight.”
“Depends on if Administration finally approves the new Literature books.”
Aelie rolled her eyes. “If they don’t, I’m staging a protest. You’ll see signs on every tree in the courtyard.”
“You’d enjoy that too much.”
“Because I would win.”
A hint of amusement flickered in Miera’s eyes, but it was gone before Aelie could confirm it.
Miera stood up and started collecting the dishes. “I’ll do this. Go take a bath.”
“Sure,” Aelie said, already making her way upstairs. It was their usual rhythm—nothing warm, just efficient.
No goodbyes. No waves.
Thirty Minutes Later
Aelie pulled out of the driveway in her silver sedan, sunglasses on, music low. She needed a calm drive. No Aaron. No tulips. No Miera.
And that dream lasted exactly five minutes.
Because on the corner of 7th and Rosehill Avenue—her car sputtered.
And coughed.
And died.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Aelie muttered, gripping the wheel.
She tried again.
Nothing.
She groaned and reached for her phone. First call: Maxine. No answer.
Second: Sienna. Still nothing.
“Are all my friends dead?!”
She sighed, flung her head back against the headrest, and leaned on the horn for pure emotional release.
Two minutes later, the hum of car engines behind her made her look up.
And she almost screamed.
To her left—Aaron in his sleek black car, window already down, sunglasses perched on his annoyingly perfect nose.
To her right—Miera’s black SUV, parking slowly.
Fate is a comedian.
Aaron stepped out first, floral shirt flapping in the breeze like he was in a beach movie.
“Aelie! Oh no—what happened?”
Before she could answer, Miera stepped out, heels clicking against the asphalt.
“Car trouble?” she asked, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Aelie let her head drop onto the steering wheel.
“Great,” she muttered. “Just great.”
Aaron looked between them, puzzled. “You two live in the same neighborhood?”
Aelie hesitated.
Miera didn’t.
“We’re neighbors,” she said plainly.
Aaron nodded slowly, still confused. “Need mo ng ride, Aelie?”
Before Aelie could answer, Miera said, “I’ll call someone to pick up your car. I have space.”
Aelie glanced between them. Miera’s offer was calm. Straightforward.
But if she got in that car… the quiet would kill her.
At least Aaron talked too much.
“Sasabay na lang ako kay Aaron,” she said, almost regretting it the moment the words left her mouth.
Aaron beamed.
Miera gave a slow nod, pulled out her phone, and walked away without a word.
Aelie slid into Aaron’s car with a sigh.
The Ride from Hell
“So I was thinking,” Aaron said for the eighth time in two minutes, “there’s this poetry event next weekend. I thought maybe you’d be interested.”
Aelie offered a tight smile. “Sounds nice.”
“I could pick you up. We could get coffee before.”
She hummed noncommittally.
He kept going. “And I swear, this poem I read the other day? It screamed your vibe. Soft and sharp.”
She didn’t even know what that meant.
The air felt heavy.
The car felt small.
She stared out the window, wishing for a wormhole to swallow her whole.
Finally—finally—they pulled into the campus parking lot.
“Thanks,” Aelie mumbled, grabbing her bag and practically leaping out of the car.
Students passing by stopped and stared.
And whispered.
Phones came out.
Aelie could feel the heat creeping up her neck.
“See you later, Aelie!” Aaron called.
Great.
—
“I hate everything,” Aelie groaned as she sat across from Maxine and Sienna.
“You got out of Aaron’s car in front of the Journalism class,” Sienna whispered, eyes wide.
“Wala akong choice,” Aelie hissed. “My car died. You both ignored my calls.”
Maxine winced. “Nasa class ako! Sorry!”
Sienna shrugged. “Natutulog ako”
“Ugh!” Aelie dropped her head to the table.
“You know what the rumors are now?” Maxine said.
“No. Don’t tell me.”
“You’re dating.”
“I said don’t tell me!”
“Someone saw you take his flowers last week too. They think you’re just shy and secretly in love.”
“GAG,” Aelie groaned into the wood.
Sienna grinned. “You have a fan club now. #Aeronelie.”
“Kill me.”
—
The soft clinking of silverware filled the dining room, accompanied by the faint hum of the kitchen fan.
Aelie sat at one end of the rectangular table, poking at the roasted vegetables with her fork, still mentally recovering from the chaos at school.
She had barely spoken since coming home.
The rumors, the stares, the way Maxine and Sienna kept teasing her during lunch…
She sighed and reached for her glass of water.
Across from her, Miera was chewing quietly, eyes focused on her plate.
“I didn’t see your car outside,” Aelie said suddenly, breaking the silence.
“I parked inside the garage.”
“Oh.”
They ate a few more bites in silence. Then—
“I spoke to the repair shop,” Miera said, setting her utensils down and wiping her lips with a napkin. “About your car.”
Aelie blinked. “You… what?”
“I had it towed after you left. I called the same place I use.”
“Oh.” Aelie cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
“There’s a problem with your alternator. Something about voltage irregularities and wiring.”
“English, please.”
Miera tilted her head slightly. “You won’t get it back for another three days. Maybe four.”
Aelie’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
“Three days?”
Miera nodded.
Aelie leaned back into her chair. “And I thought today was a disaster.”
Miera stood up and brought her plate to the sink. “You could commute,” she said over her shoulder, rinsing her hands. “But you might be late for your first class. There’s road construction on the eastern route.”
“Ugh, I forgot about that.” Aelie buried her face in her hands.
The sound of running water and clinking plates filled the room again.
“You could… ride with me,” Miera said, without looking at her.
Aelie looked up, squinting. “Wait. What?”
Miera was already wiping the counter. “It’s just a suggestion.”
“You’re offering me a ride? For the next three days?”
“I pass your building first anyway. It’s not out of the way.”
“…Do we have to talk?”
“No.”
“Do we have to sit in silence and pretend like we’re not legally bound to each other for eternity?”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
Aelie groaned dramatically. “Fine. Better than being late and getting roasted by my Lit kids.”
Miera gave a small nod. “I leave at 6:45.”
“I don’t function before 7.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Aelie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the tiny smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
Before Miera could reply, both their phones buzzed simultaneously on the counter.
Aelie reached for hers. Miera glanced at hers.
Incoming Call: Mom Celestine
Miera clicked her tongue. “Of course.”
Aelie answered hers first, putting it on speaker as Miera did the same.
“Hi, Mom,” they both greeted in eerie unison.
“Oh, my sweet girls!” Celestine cooed through the speaker. “How’s my favorite married couple doing?”
Aelie winced. Miera exhaled slowly.
“We’re good, Mom,” Aelie said sweetly. “Just had dinner.”
“Did you cook, Aelie?” Celestine asked, amused. “I bet you did. Miera always forgets the garlic.”
“I didn’t forget the garlic,” Miera muttered.
“Well, listen, loves. I have wonderful news!” Celestine chirped. “This weekend, your mother-in-law and I—Rowena and I—we’re planning a small dinner. Just us, just family. A cozy little catch-up.”
Aelie internally panicked. Dinner = cuddles. Hand holding. Fake giggles. Staring at each other with fake adoration. Disaster.
“When is it, Ma?” Miera asked, tone neutral.
“Saturday evening! Around seven. At the house. You two will be there, yes?”
Aelie and Miera exchanged a look. A resigned, telepathic kind of look.
“Of course,” they said in unison again.
Celestine sighed dreamily. “I just love when you speak at the same time. It’s so romantic. You’re like… in sync.”
“Yep,” Aelie said, voice flat. “Like a duet.”
“Well, that’s all, loves. Don’t forget! Dress nicely. We might invite a couple of family friends. Maybe some business talk, too. You are the future of the Alonzo-Madrigal legacy.”
“Can’t wait,” Miera said, tone unreadable.
“Love you both! Bye-bye!”
The call ended.
Aelie slumped over the table. “Why do they love doing this to us?”
“Because they think we love it,” Miera said simply.
“I need to practice my fake laugh again.”
“You sound like a choking seagull when you force it.”
Aelie lifted her head. “And you sound like a robot trying to act human.”
Miera just shrugged and reached for her tea.
Aelie stood up with a stretch. “Well, I’m gonna shower. See you at 6:45 sharp, driver.”
“I’m not opening the door if you’re late.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Miera arched a brow.
Aelie snorted and walked upstairs.