The Secret Identity
Carla had always thought Tinder was mostly good for collecting dating horror stories—until Franco. With cheekbones carved by angels and a smile that made traffic lights feel optional, he swept her off her feet like a Nicholas Sparks protagonist dipped in mystery.
But three months in, something wasn’t adding up. He’d never let her near his apartment (“it’s being fumigated…for, uh, exotic beetles?”), his phone was always face-down, and family talk was met with masterful subject changes that could’ve won Olympic gold.
So, Carla did what any self-respecting woman with trust issues and high-speed internet would do: she reverse image searched his profile pic.
Cue the gasp.
Turns out, Franco wasn’t just a gym-loving digital marketer with a tragic aversion to commitment. He was Franco Giannetti, only son of the internationally beloved actress Seraphina Giannetti—think Meryl Streep meets BeyoncĂ© in terms of fame and red-carpet dominance. The man who claimed to hate the spotlight had basically been born into a sunbeam.
Carla was livid.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were famous?” she demanded at their next lunch—right before accidentally spilling cappuccino on her blouse in dramatic fashion.
Franco sighed and leaned back, looking like a man who’d rehearsed this monologue in the mirror many times.
“Because every time I’m honest, people either Google my bank account, ask to meet my mom, or pitch me startup ideas over wine. I just wanted to be seen…for me.”
Cue dramatic violin in the background. Carla softened. A little.
But not enough to let it slide.
“So instead of telling me, "She said, waving her stained napkin like a gavel, “you gaslit me into thinking you might be married, in the mafia, or both.”
Franco winced. “Okay, fair.”
Eventually, after a long talk, several passive-aggressive texts, and one trip to therapy (“Trust Issues: Party of Two”), they made amends. Franco introduced her to his family—Carla awkwardly bowed the first time she met Seraphina—and they moved forward, stronger, wiser, and just a little more sceptical of perfectly symmetrical people on Tinder.
The moral? If he's too good to be true, Google him.
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