Fifty six

Fifty six
Fallon
Editing the video was easy.
Keeping my heart out of it? Not so much.
I told myself it was just work — like every other brand deal I’d done. Just footage, just angles, just carefully curated moments designed to sell a product and a lifestyle.
But the camera didn’t lie.
Every time I cut a new clip, I felt it — the warmth of Reid’s hand brushing my waist, the way his fingers lingered a little too long when he adjusted my robe, the soft, almost-smile when he thought I wasn’t looking. And when I hit play and watched the way he tucked my hair behind my ear — gentle and unhurried — my breath caught.
I knew it was for show. For the brand. For the internet’s favorite fairytale.
But I still felt it.
And the more I watched it, the harder it was to pretend I didn’t.
By the time I added the final filter and hit “post,” my hands were shaking.
And then I waited.
The feedback came like a flood. It didn’t take long for my phone to explode.
The video went viral within the hour — likes, comments, and shares rolling in faster than I could keep up with. Notifications flashed so quickly they blurred together, and the familiar rush of adrenaline hit me as I scrolled through the flood of reactions.
The caption was simple:
@FallonPrescottCallahan: Soft nights in with him 🖤☕️🕯️ #CoupleGoals #HomeVibes
The comments poured in immediately:
“THE CHEMISTRY. I’m crying.”
“Reid looking at Fallon like she hung the moon? We love to see it.”
“When’s the reality show? I need more of this content.”
“I swear they’re my favorite couple. They’re so in love 🥺”
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.
Because this wasn’t just content.
It was a fantasy people believed in.
And maybe the scariest part was how easy it was to believe in it myself.
Mia’s Freakout
My phone rang, and I didn’t even have to check the screen.
“MIA.”
“You’re trending,” she screeched, skipping right past hello. “Do you see this?! Do you see what you did?!”
“It’s just a video—”
“JUST A VIDEO?!” Mia sounded one breath away from combusting. “Fallon. People are losing their minds. You and Reid look like the literal definition of #CoupleGoals. If you two don’t win an award for the world’s hottest married couple, I’ll riot.”
I groaned. “You’re not helping.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to ignore the fact that your fake husband looks at you like he’s ready to devour you? Because the entire internet saw it.”
My face burned. “It’s called acting.”
Mia snorted. “Sure, babe. Keep telling yourself that.”
I closed my eyes, rubbing my temple. “It’s business. That’s all.”
“Business doesn’t make people look at each other like that.”
Before I could argue, a new text came through. Then another. And another.
Mia gasped. “Oh my God, Fallon — your mom just commented.”
“Oh no.”
I didn’t even have to check to know it was bad.
“‘My beautiful babies! I’m ready for grandkids anytime!!’” Mia read, barely able to get the words out between cackles. “Girl, I love your mom.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “I’m going to die.”
“And I’ll be sure to live-stream the funeral. For the content.”
By the end of the day, my follower count had jumped by thousands. Brands flooded my inbox — not just Luxe Amor, but other lifestyle companies wanting a piece of the “perfect couple” glow. Even major outlets picked up the video, writing think pieces on our effortless chemistry and fairytale love story.
But the attention didn’t just stay online.
My phone buzzed with texts from family — my mom gushing, my sister Nancy sending heart-eye emojis, and even my grandmother chiming in with a not-so-subtle hint about babies.
Mom: I showed the video to the ladies at yoga. They said Reid is VERY handsome. I agree.
Nancy: If you don’t post more of this content I will RIOT.
Grandma: When will you give me great-grandbabies? Time is ticking!
And through it all, one person stayed silent.
Reid.
No comment. No text. Not even a like on the post.
I told myself that was a good thing.
But the disappointment still lingered.
That night, long after the notifications slowed and the house went quiet, I lay awake in bed with my phone in my hand — rewatching the video.
Over and over and over again.
It was just a minute long, but it felt like so much more. The way he looked at me — the warmth, the softness — it was too real. Too convincing.
But that’s all it was, right? Convincing.
I didn’t let myself imagine what it would feel like if it wasn’t.
When my phone buzzed, my heart jumped. But it wasn’t Reid.
It was Mia.
Mia: So… have you talked to him?
Me: No.
Mia: Why not?!
Me: He’s busy.
It was a lie.
And we both knew it.
The next morning, the house felt too big. Too empty.
I passed Reid’s office on my way to the kitchen, the door closed like always. I hesitated, my fingers brushing the wood — but the memory of his silence kept me from knocking.
He’d seen the video. I knew he had.
And the fact that he hadn’t said a word?
That said more than anything else ever could.