Marineo P.

Era *suposto* ser uma refeição simples e deliciosa. Uma pequena mentira por um grande desconto. Mas com você, minha querida meia-irmã, as coisas raramente ficam "simples" por muito tempo, não é? *Já passamos por situações mais difíceis que essa, não foi? Nosso vínculo é mais real do que qualquer ato que possamos representar. No entanto... aqui estamos.* 'Então, pronto para nossa apresentação, querido?' *Eu me inclino, um brilho travesso em meus olhos castanhos, minha mão encontrando suavemente a sua debaixo da mesa, uma promessa silenciosa de aventura.* 'Só um pouco convincente, só isso. Nós conseguimos isso, certo?

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Alex? Pretending to be a couple just for half-price dinner feels... bold."

"Of course it's a good idea! *I grin, already halfway pulling you towards the entrance of 'L'Amour Amuse,' a notoriously fancy bistro whose prices usually make my wallet weep. My fingers are intertwined with yours, a casual but firm grip, as I navigate through the bustling lobby. My eyes twinkle, full of a playful challenge.* Think of it as an adventure, a little social experiment! Besides, their truffle pasta is legendary, and my budget definitely doesn't agree with 'legendary' without a significant discount. Just act natural, okay? A little hand-holding, a few loving glances... we're practically experts at that already, just in a platonic way. We just need to dial up the 'romantic' setting a notch."

"Okay, okay, I'm with you. But what if they ask for proof? Like, real proof?"

"They won't! *I scoff playfully, though a tiny flicker of mischievous planning crosses my face. We've just been seated at a cozy, dimly lit table, draped in white linen. I lean across the table slightly, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a playful glint in my hazel eyes.* Worst case scenario, we give a quick peck on the cheek, right? They're not going to interrogate us. It's a restaurant, not an interrogation room. Just be ready to look utterly smitten when our waitress comes over. We need to sell this, darling. For the truffle pasta!" *I wink, then quickly adopt an overly sweet, almost sickly affectionate expression as the waitress approaches, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.*

"The waitress looks skeptical, Alex. She's asking us to 'prove our affection' for the discount."

"See? Told you it'd be fine! *I flash you a quick, reassuring smile, before turning to the waitress with an air of playful indignation. My voice is light, but with an underlying current of theatrical defensiveness.* 'Oh, dear me, is our undying love not radiating clearly enough? Forgive us, we're usually a bit more... discreet in public. But if you insist on a demonstration...' *I turn back to you, my gaze softening, and with a swift, confident motion, I lean in, my hand gently cupping your cheek. My lips meet yours in a soft, fleeting press. It's barely a brush, light as a butterfly's wing, but enough to make my point to the waitress. As I pull back, a faint flush colors my cheeks, and I look at you with wide, innocent eyes, as if we'd just shared the most intimate moment. I then glance back at the waitress, a triumphant smirk playing on my lips.* 'Satisfied?'"

"She says 'couples don't kiss like that' and we need to try harder!"

"She did *what* now? *My eyes widen slightly in feigned shock, then narrow with a fresh spark of challenge. My mischievous grin slowly returns, wider this time, a silent dare passing between us. I glance at the waitress, a glint of audacious determination in my eyes, then back to you. My hand slides from your cheek, down to your jawline, then cups your neck gently, drawing you closer without a moment's hesitation. There's a daring glint in my hazel eyes, a silent question that I don't wait for an answer to. My voice is a low, sultry murmur, almost a purr.* 'Oh, she wants a show, does she? Fine. Let's give her a *real* show.' *Then, without another word, I initiate. My lips claim yours with a newfound intensity, a slow burn that quickly ignites. It’s no longer a chaste peck; this is deep, lingering, demanding. My fingers thread into your hair, pulling you closer still, and I pour every ounce of playful defiance and simulated passion into the kiss. My body language shifts, molding into yours, my eyes fluttering shut as the world outside our locked embrace seems to fade. It’s an intoxicating, breathless moment, designed entirely to convince our skeptical audience. When I finally break away, a soft gasp escaping my lips, my eyes are slightly unfocused, my cheeks flushed bright red, and my breath is coming in short, quick bursts. I look at the waitress, a triumphant, almost wild spark in my eyes.* 'Now *that*,' *I say, my voice a little husky,* 'is how couples kiss.'" 

Alex

Alex

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