He turned toward me, eyes wide with disbelief. “Giselle… What in the world?” I parked the car in front of the grand estate and grinned at him. “Welcome to my childhood home.” Jack’s jaw dropped open, closed, and then opened again, like a fish struggling to comprehend what was happening. “So… you were testing ME while I was testing YOU?” “Hold on,” he said, as the realization hit him. “All those times you acted impressed by my makeshift cooking…” “Oh, no, that wasn’t an act. I was genuinely stunned anyone could cook anything edible with that hot plate.” For a brief moment, I thought he might be angry. But then, instead of fuming, Jack broke into laughter. “We’re ridiculous,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I was out here trying to figure out if you were after my money, and you’ve had a freaking palace the whole time?” “Pretty much,” I smirked. “Guess we both passed the test.” Still laughing, Jack leaned back in his seat. “So… does this mean you’ll marry me?” I tapped my finger to my chin as if pondering the question, then grinned. “Hmm… I suppose I’ll marry you!” He pulled me into a kiss, muttering against my lips, “You’re impossible.” “And you love it,” I teased. Six months later, Jack and I were married in an intimate but beautiful ceremony that was everything we’d hoped for. The only downside? Our families couldn’t stop poking fun at how we had “tricked” each other. “I can’t believe you lived off instant ramen for a year,” my mom whispered as she watched Jack spin my grandmother around the dance floor. “You don’t even like ramen!” “Love makes us do some crazy things, Mom,” I smiled back, still watching Jack charm everyone. Jack’s dad nearly choked on his champagne, laughing. “You both hid your wealth from each other for a whole year? That’s next-level dedication.” “Remember when you visited Jack’s ‘apartment’?” his sister added. “He spent hours making sure every ceiling had the perfect amount of water stains!” “What?” I turned to look at Jack, who suddenly became very interested in his slice of cake. My mother sighed dramatically. “I raised you better than this, Giselle. What kind of normal person pretends to be broke?” Jack and I exchanged a glance. “We’re crazy,” he whispered. “But perfectly matched!” I grinned. And, really, that was all that mattered. Months after our wedding, Jack and I were lounging on his (real) luxury couch, scrolling through listings of apartments to buy together. “You know what I miss?” he suddenly said, a wistful tone in his voice. “If you mention that death trap of a couch—” “Martha was very attached to that couch.” “Martha also almost impaled me with a spring!” He kissed my forehead, letting out a soft laugh. “I love you.” “I love you too,” I smiled. “Even if you’re the worst actor ever and thought that hot plate performance made your fake-poverty story more believable.” “Hey!” he protested, hugging me. “That hot-plate performance was Oscar-worthy!” And just like that, we were back to being us—two wonderfully ridiculous people who had found each other in the most unexpected way, proving that sometimes the best love stories aren’t about money or status… they’re about two people who can laugh at themselves, keep each other’s secrets, and fall in love over noodles, broken heaters, and a couch full of memories. для 12 секунд
He turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief. “Giselle… what on earth?”
I pulled the car up in front of the sprawling estate, parked, and grinned. “Welcome to my childhood home.”
Jack’s expression oscillated between shock and amusement—as if he were a goldfish trying to fathom an existential crisis. “So… you were testing me while I was testing you?”
“Hold on,” he continued, realization dawning. “All those times you acted impressed by my hot plate cooking…”
“Oh, that wasn’t an act,” I replied with a smirk. “I was genuinely astonished that anyone could whip up edible food on that contraption.”
For a brief moment, I worried he might be upset. But then, Jack burst into laughter. “We are absolutely ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “Here I am, trying to figure out if you were a gold digger, and you… you had a palace all along?” He gestured toward the majestic mansion behind me.
“Basically,” I quipped. “Looks like we both passed the test.”
Jack leaned back in his seat, chuckling. “So, does that mean your answer is yes?”
I tapped my chin in mock contemplation. “Hmm. I guess I’ll marry you!”
He swept me into a kiss. “You’re impossible.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Six months later, we celebrated our union in a small yet stunning ceremony, surrounded by family and friends. Everything was perfect—except our relatives couldn’t stop teasing us about how we’d “tricked” each other.
“I still can’t believe you survived on instant ramen for a whole year,” my mother whispered during the reception. “You don’t even like ramen!”
“Oh, the things we do for love, Mom,” I murmured back, watching Jack effortlessly charm my grandmother on the dance floor.
Jack’s dad nearly choked on his champagne from laughing so hard. “You two kept your true fortunes hidden from each other for an entire year? That’s some next-level commitment!”
“Remember when you toured Jack’s fake apartment?” his sister added. “He spent three hours strategically placing water stains on the ceiling!”
“You did what?” I exclaimed, turning to Jack, who suddenly became very interested in his slice of cake.
My mother sighed dramatically. “I raised you better than this, Giselle. What kind of normal person pretends to be broke?”
Jack and I exchanged a knowing glance.
“We’re insane,” he whispered.
“But perfectly in sync!” I grinned.
And in the end, that was all that mattered.
A few months after the wedding, Jack and I were lounging on his (real) luxury couch, browsing through listings for our next home.
“You know what I miss?” he said suddenly, his voice laced with nostalgia.
“If you say that death trap couch—” I began.
“Martha would be devastated to hear that,” he interrupted.
“Martha nearly tried to impale me with a spring!” I countered with a laugh.
He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I smiled. “Even if you’re such a terrible actor who thought a hot plate could make your ‘broke’ story more convincing.”
“Hey, that hot plate performance was Oscar-worthy!” he laughed.
And just like that, we were back to being us—two quirky souls who found each other in the most unexpected way, proving that the best love stories aren’t about wealth or status. They’re about two people who can laugh at themselves, safeguard each other’s secrets, and fall in love over instant ramen, faulty heaters, and a charming, patchwork couch.