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it.
    I've never paid much attention to my hair, but I still don't like it changing. It's easy this way. It's me. It's the same color as my mother's hair.
    They settle on a specific color. A lovely beige with golden highlights.
    It's only hair.
    It shouldn't matter.
    The stylist paints dye on my hair with a brush. He concentrates like he's working on a masterpiece. It must take half an hour.
    Dread filters through my brain while I wait. This is a bad idea. I can back out now, before it gets too deep, before I have to lie to many people.
    Tonight . Blake said tonight. No way I'm backing out before he makes good on that promise. He's still a mystery, but as far as I can tell, he's a man of his word.
    Tonight. It's such a beautiful word.
    Finally, the stylist washes my hair. He cuts off inches here and bits there, blow dries and curls until it's perfect. Then it's makeup. Dark and bold with big, fake lashes. There's an outfit waiting for me, hung on a door. That pink cocktail dress and a different pair of strappy sandals.
    I check my reflection in the mirror and all the air leaves my body. I don't recognize the girl looking back at me. I know it's me under the makeup, tight dress, and waves of honey-colored hair, but there's something off about it, too.
    We're lying to the world, but I'm not going to lie to myself. Blake can pile on all the gloss he wants, but I'm still Kat under here. I have to remember that.
    ***
    We have dinner at Lotus Blossom, the same restaurant that rejected my job application without a second glance. Blake makes a show of parading in front of the asshole manager who ignored me.
    The place is crowded—incredibly crowded—but we are instantly given a table right by the window. Gorgeous view of Fifth Avenue. It's dark out—the entire day lost to an exhausting makeover—and the city lights are in full effect. Yellow lights bleed into the brilliant royal blue sky.
    Blake slides his arm around my waist, holding me tightly. There's something protective about it. It's almost sweet. But it must be for show. That's the whole idea here. Our relationship is a ruse. Just for show.
    He pulls out my chair for me and pushes it in after me. A perfect gentleman on the outside. Inside, I haven't got a clue, but there's no reason why it needs to concern me.
    I slide my fingers over the menu but pay no real attention to its details. Blake is the kind of guy who likes to be in charge of dinner. He'll order for me, right down to my drinks and dessert. If we're staying for dessert.
    I take a long sip of my water, avoiding his gaze. It's penetrating again. I stare at the clean, white tablecloth as long as I can. When I can't stand it any longer, I make eye contact. The same penetrating look is on his face.
    "Kat."
    "Yes?"
    "This only works if we're honest with each other."
    "Okay. I'm tired. I'm starving. I want to go home and see my sister, but according to her texts, she's going out with her best friend. God knows where they're going or if they have fake IDs."
    He nods like he understands. His eyes pass over me, his expression softening.
    "You like me all cleaned up?" I ask.
    "It doesn't matter what I like."
    "But do you like it?"
    "Yes."
    There's this weight in my chest. It shouldn't matter, but I still feel heavy all over.
    "I liked you before, too." He reaches across the table, offering his hand. "Look at me, Kat."
    "I'm looking at you."
    "Like you're infatuated with me."
    I draw a circle on his palms with my fingertips. Make my eyes are big as they'll get. Part my lips like I'm desperate to kiss him. "Like that?"
    "We'll have to practice."
    I slide back into my chair, pulling my arms to my sides. Gaga couples can't be gaga all the time. They get into fights. Isn't the passion the whole appeal of a passionate love affair? Passion isn't just long, desperate kisses and bodies thrashing together in ecstasy. It's screaming and fighting and slapping too.
    "Kat."
    "What?" I snap. I blame hunger.
    "Have you ever loved