When Matteo asked me to be his boyfriend, I laughed.
Not because it was funny, exactly. More because I thought it had to be a joke. Matteo jokes about everything. He’s the kind of guy who flirts with waiters just to make them blush, then tips them like he’s doing penance for it. So when he leaned across the café table that morning and said, completely straight-faced, “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” I nearly spat out my espresso.
He didn’t even flinch.
That was my first clue he was serious.
Now, before I sound like the kind of guy who gets swept into other people’s chaos, I should probably explain something. Matteo Romano has a gift. He can make absolutely anything sound like a good idea. Even this.
He said it like we were planning a road trip or adopting a dog. “Just for a bit,” he told me. “To get her off my back.”
“Her,” of course, being Jessica Moretti.
Jessica and Matteo dated for almost two years, and for a while they were the kind of couple that looked like an ad for Italian summers. Gorgeous, loud, inseparable. But things between them started to crack somewhere between the arguments about work and the jealousy that Matteo swears he never understood. When they finally broke up, it should have been clean. Except it wasn’t.
Because Jessica is still his roommate.
And Matteo, being Matteo, still insists on being the nice guy who won’t kick her out.
They live in a beautiful old apartment near the waterfront in Palermo. Big windows, terracotta walls, a tiny balcony that looks like it should be in a postcard. It’s the kind of place no one gives up easily. Especially not Matteo.
Reference image of Matte's house
He loves that apartment almost as much as he loves his morning cappuccino and his Vespa. And finding a new place in Palermo right now is impossible unless you are either rich or lucky, and Matteo is neither.
So he stayed.
And she stayed.
And now, apparently, she refuses to believe it’s really over between them.
According to him, Jessica has convinced herself that Matteo just “needs time.” She’s been watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to crawl back. He says she still asks who he’s texting, still lingers in the kitchen when he brings someone over. Which, lately, he hasn’t.
That’s where I come in.
Matteo doesn’t want to date anyone right now. He says he is done with women for the moment. Which would have been fine, except his friends will not stop trying to set him up. And Jessica will not stop acting like his fiancée. So, in his head, the logical solution was to tell everyone he is already seeing someone.
A man.
Me.
I swear, I thought it was a prank.
I told him he was insane.
He just grinned at me like he was offering me a cigarette after sex. “Come on, Adrian,” he said, that lazy smirk curling the side of his mouth. “You’re the only one I trust to make it believable.”
Believable. Right.
The word still makes something in my chest tighten a little.
Because the truth is, if there is anyone who could make that kind of lie feel real, it would probably be him.
Matteo and I met five years ago, back when I moved to Sicily for work. He was the first person to show me around Palermo. I was the quiet new guy in the office, the only openly gay one, and Matteo was the loud, charming, everyone’s-favorite-person type. He had a girlfriend back then, a different one, and a laugh that could fill a bar. Somehow we ended up friends.
We still are.
Except sometimes I think being friends with him is like trying to stand too close to the sun. He’s too bright. Too easy to look at.
I have spent years pretending I don’t notice things about him. The way his shirt clings to his chest when he laughs too hard. The small scar on his bicep that he always shows off with a flex. The way he stands with one hand in his pocket like he knows he’s being watched. I have pretended not to look, not to think about how his voice drops when he’s tired or how it feels when he slings his arm around me like it’s nothing.
So when he asked me to be his fake boyfriend, I should have said no.
I should have said, find someone else, this is dangerous.
But I didn’t.
Because he looked at me that way he does when he’s asking for something impossible, like it’s already decided.
And maybe because a small, stupid part of me wanted to know what it would feel like.
To have him call me his boyfriend. Even if it was a lie.
So I nodded.
Like an idiot.
It was supposed to be harmless.
That’s what I keep telling myself.
Just a bit of acting. A few photos. Maybe a dinner or two. Something to convince Jessica he has moved on. Something to convince his friends to stop throwing girls at him. Matteo gets his peace, Jessica gets closure, and I get… what?
A front row seat to my own emotional disaster, probably.
But I told him yes anyway.
He texted me today with a plan that sounded way too casual for what it was. Come by tonight. Jess wants to meet my boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Even reading it made my stomach twist.
I sat on my bed, phone glowing in my hand, re-reading the message like it might change. The words were so simple. So easy.
And somehow, I already knew this was going to end badly.
Still, I typed back: Sure babe. What time?
Then I tossed the phone aside and leaned back, staring at the ceiling, trying to remind myself this was all pretend.
Just a favor for my best friend.
Nothing more.
Right?
By the time I reached Matteo’s apartment that evening, my stomach was a tight knot of nerves and caffeine. The kind of nerves you get before a first date, except this wasn’t one. Not really.
His building looked the same as always, a faded ochre block with a cracked blue door and potted plants spilling out of the stairwell. The air smelled faintly of basil and sea salt. I could hear the faint hum of the city outside, people talking, scooters passing, someone laughing in the next street over. Palermo on a Friday night always feels alive, and somehow that made me even more aware of what I was walking into.
The second I knocked, the door swung open.
“Babe,” Matteo said with a grin, arms open, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Before I could react, he pulled me into a hug. Tight. Warm. He smelled like cologne and red wine, and his shirt was soft against my cheek. My arms went up automatically, half responding, half trying not to look like a complete idiot.
“Hey,” I managed, my voice somewhere between casual and strangled.
“Come in,” he said, keeping one arm draped over my shoulders as he guided me inside. “Jessica’s in the living room.”
Great. Straight to the lion’s den.
Jessica looked up as we entered, her expression somewhere between polite and suspicious. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, legs crossed neatly, a glass of wine in her hand. She looked as composed as ever, hair smooth, makeup perfect. She gave me a small smile that did not reach her eyes.
“Adrian,” she said smoothly. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to match her tone. “Good to see you, Jess.”
She set her wine down, head tilting slightly. “So… Matteo tells me you two are together now?”
Her words were sharp, almost playful, but I caught the way her fingers tightened on the stem of the glass. Matteo laughed, sitting down beside her. “You sound surprised.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “you could have mentioned that your best friend was suddenly your boyfriend. Bit of a jump, isn’t it?”
Matteo shrugged and looked at me. “It just happened.”
I nodded like a man who had rehearsed this scene all week. “Yeah. Unexpected, I guess.”
Jessica’s smile thinned. “Right.”
Matteo reached for the bottle of wine and poured me a glass without asking. “Relax, babe,” he said, handing it to me. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”
I almost dropped the glass. The word babe hung in the air like smoke, curling around the room, thick and deliberate. Jessica’s eyes flicked toward me, sharp and assessing.
“Babe,” she repeated softly, a hint of disbelief curling her mouth.
Matteo ignored it completely. He leaned back on the sofa, arm stretching casually behind me, fingers brushing the back of my neck. It was nothing, just an easy, friendly gesture. Except it wasn’t. Not to me. His fingertips barely touched my skin, but it sent a strange rush through me all the same.
I forced myself to breathe normally.
“So,” Jessica said after a moment, pretending to sound casual. “How did this even start? You two have known each other for years.”
Matteo smirked. “Exactly. Who better, right?”
Her gaze shifted to me, curious and sharp. “Adrian? I thought you were seeing that blond guy last week. The one from the café near the market?”
I could feel my pulse in my ears. “Oh. Him. No, he’s just a friend.”
Jessica’s smile widened, falsely sweet. “You have a lot of those.”
Before I could answer, Matteo jumped in. “Jess, come on. Can we not interrogate my boyfriend at dinner?”
She blinked. “Interrogate?”
He leaned forward, his voice smooth but firm. “Yeah. You are making him nervous.”
“I’m not—” she started, then stopped. Her mouth pressed into a tight line.
Matteo grinned and reached for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re fine, babe. She’s just curious.”
I nodded, pretending I was completely comfortable. My palm was sweaty against his.
The rest of dinner passed in that strange, careful rhythm. Jessica asked polite questions and smiled too much. Matteo played his part too well. Every time she looked away, he would brush his thumb over my hand or rest his knee against mine, small gestures that probably looked casual to anyone else. To me, they felt enormous.
He poured me wine like it was second nature, laughed a little too loudly at my jokes, leaned in close enough for his shoulder to press against mine. At one point, when Jessica stood to grab another bottle, he leaned back and stretched, his arm settling behind me again, fingers grazing my hair.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured under his breath.
“Am I?” I muttered back. “Because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”
He grinned. “You look perfect.”
Jessica came back before I could respond. Her eyes darted between us, taking in the space that barely existed anymore. She sat down, quieter now, sipping her wine with the kind of silence that says too much.
After a while, she excused herself, claiming she had an early morning.
The moment her bedroom door closed, Matteo let out a low whistle. “That went well.”
I turned to him, still half stunned. “That went… something.”
He laughed, tossing an arm around me again, this time looser, more relaxed. “She totally bought it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely. You saw her face.”
“Yeah. She looked like she wanted to stab you with a fork.”
He laughed harder, the sound filling the small room. “Jealousy looks good on her.”
“On her?” I asked. “You mean terrifying.”
He looked at me then, really looked. “Thanks for doing this, Adrian. I owe you one.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “Just… maybe keep the ‘babe’ thing to a minimum next time?”
He grinned, completely unbothered. “You didn’t like it?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. “It was… convincing.”
“That’s the point.”
He was still smiling when I got up to leave. I felt his eyes on me as I walked to the door, the same lazy warmth in his voice when he said, “Text me when you get home, yeah?”
Outside, the air was cooler, quiet. I started walking, the sound of my shoes on the cobblestones too loud. I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, the weight of his arm behind me, the warmth of his voice when he said babe.
This was supposed to be fake.
So why did my heart forget?
When I finally got home, the city was still buzzing outside my window. I dropped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, running the whole evening through my head. The laughter, the looks, the way his hand lingered on mine longer than it needed to.
It was all pretend. Every bit of it.
Except it didn’t feel like pretending.
I checked my phone without meaning to. No new messages. I told myself to sleep. That I was overthinking. That this was just the first of many awkward nights, and eventually it would stop feeling so strange.
Then the screen lit up.
Matteo: Thanks for helping me dude. I hope she bought it.
I stared at it for a long time before replying.
Adrian: Yeah. Totally.
But even as I sent it, I knew she hadn’t.
And maybe, just maybe, neither had I.
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