SETTING: The same small guest bedroom. AT RISE: The stage is flooded with bright, warm, golden sunlight streaming through the center window. The sound of heavy rain is gone, replaced by the peaceful CHIRPING OF BIRDS outside. The candle on the nightstand has burned down completely. PARIS is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed for the day. She looks restless, nervously twisting a ring on her finger, staring out the window. The manic, chaotic energy from Act I is back, but this time it’s quieter, heavier. ADAM stirs under the blankets, blinking against the bright sunlight. He sits up, stretching, totally relaxed. He looks over at Paris and smiles warmly. ADAM Morning. You’re up early. PARIS (Without turning around, voice tight) The sun came up at 5:42. ADAM (Chuckles softly, sensing the tension) Okay... and is that a crime? PARIS (She finally turns to look at him, her hands trembling slightly) The storm is over, Adam. The power is back on downstairs. I can hear my mom in the kitchen making coffee. ADAM (Sits up further, his expression shifting from sleepy to attentive) Paris, what’s wrong? PARIS (Standing up, pacing a short line downstage) What’s wrong is that it’s morning. And when it’s morning, reality sets in. Last night... last night was amazing, and it felt like a movie, but we were trapped in a dark room during a blackout. It was an adrenaline rush. It was high stakes. But today, the sun is out. And I am terrified that we just ruined the best friendship I’ve ever had. ADAM (He throws off the blanket and stands up. He doesn't chase her down; he just stands by the bed, steady as always.) You think last night was just because of the storm? PARIS I think we got caught up in the performance! We've been acting like a couple for forty-eight hours, Adam. Our brains got confused. What if we go downstairs, and we try to do... this... in the normal world, and it doesn't work? I can't lose you. I'd rather pretend last night never happened than lose you. ADAM (He walks over to her slowly, stopping right in front of her. He gently catches her pacing hands in his.) Look at me. No index cards. No family watching. Just me. PARIS (She looks up, her eyes bright with tears) ADAM I have been in love with you since our junior year of college, Paris. When you asked me to come here and pretend to be your boyfriend, I thought it was going to be the most painful weekend of my life. I didn't kiss you last night because the power went out. I kissed you because I finally had permission to show you how I’ve felt for years. PARIS (A breath escapes her, the anxiety instantly draining out of her shoulders) Junior year? ADAM (Smiles, a little wryly) Since the day you argued with a professor for forty-five minutes about a syllabus typo. You were pure chaos. And I was completely done for. PARIS (A laugh breaks through her tears) You're an idiot. Why didn't you tell me? ADAM Because I was scared of exactly what you’re feeling right now. But seeing how well we fit together this weekend? I'm not scared anymore. We aren't ruining our friendship, Paris. We’re just finally getting it right. PARIS (She stares at him, the realization settling in beautifully. She lets go of his hands only to wrap her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him down into a warm, fierce hug.) We’re still going to hell for lying to my mother. ADAM (Laughing, wrapping his arms securely around her waist, lifting her slightly) Actually, about that... we don't have to lie anymore. PARIS (Pulls back just enough to look at him, a genuine, radiant smile on her face) No? ADAM No. Let’s go downstairs, hold hands, and tell them the truth. Well... most of the truth. We can leave out the turtle breeding part. PARIS (Laughing) Deal. (ADAM takes her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He walks her toward the stage-right door. Before they exit, PARIS stops, looks back at the room, and then up at ADAM. She leans up on her tiptoes and gives him a quick, sweet, completely real kiss.) PARIS Ready? ADAM Always. (They exit together into the bright hallway. The sound of birds chirping swells.) FINAL CURTAIN.

The truth