I hope the first part isn't rushed, but I really wanted to get to the point in the chapter.

Freddie's POV

Carly and Spencer left after getting their footage and uploading the rest on iCarly's website. That left Sam and I again alone with each other. I was planning on executing Operation Woo the Demonic Angel (aka WDA) very soon. She was lounging around on the sofa while I calculated what I'd need to woo her. Spencer had said I should make a candlelit dinner. That was the perfect idea.

I asked Sam to head out to the store and buy a six pack of soda. After groaning and arguing, she agreed and left. The second that door closed behind her I started preparing everything. First off I fixed a full meal of spaghetti and meatballs. Then I went over to my own apartment and picked up my suit. It was faded blue and came with a white-striped collar shirt and gray tie. It had been my father's before he passed away, and I always wore it to special occasions. I guessed determining my feelings for a girl I'd fake-married qualified as special. After putting that on, I set the table up and dug some CDs out of a box of my favorite bands. I tried to find the best song track for dinner—one that'd definitely determine Sam's feelings for me. After a good long search, I found the perfect song. I put the CD in the CD player and, since all was done, waited for Sam.

She returned from the store just after I got everything done. She came in casually but, once she saw the lights were dimmed, she must've realized something was going on. Tossing the soda pop onto the sofa, she noticed me in my tux. She raised one eyebrow as an uneasy smile made way onto her face.

"What up, Benson?" she asked, laughing a little. The small laugh caused my belly to flip anxiously. Now was the time to lie or go through with it. I was prim and ready to woo a demon and an angel in my father's suit. Couldn't rightly back down then, could I?

"I fixed dinner." I said, motioning to the table of pasta, "Figured if we were married, one of us would cook." She appeared impressed with the way she tilted her head, so I turned my back to her and went to the kitchen. She followed and stood gazing at the candles' fire with interest. Being a gentleman, I pulled her chair out for her. She gave me a weird look but sat anyway. I then walked over to my own chair and sat too.

Sam was already digging into her spaghetti before I sat. It was amusing with the way she pigged out on food but not revolting—okay, not revolting from my perspective right then. In the light of the flame, she had a lustrous glow on her face. It accentuated her bright sapphire eyes which were without doubt her best feature. This led to wonder if she enjoyed my muddy brown eyes…

"Good pasta, Fredweirdo." Sam's voice awakened me from my deep thoughts on her opinions of me. I took myself back to reality and smiled in a bashful manner.

"Thanks." I said, "It's an old family recipe. My great-grandma made it from a regular Italian pasta sauce by adding some Czechoslovakian flair 'cause my mom's maiden name is—I'm boring you, aren't I?" I stopped discussing the famous Benson Pasta Sauce after I saw Sam's eyelids starting to droop. I knew how my voice affected her (once on a Bigfoot trip she said it hurt her ears) so her falling asleep was probable. Of course, Sam sleeps a lot. Still, though, it'd be bad if she fell asleep during our date/my wooing.

"No chiz." she answered, "I don't wanna her you rambling about some Czech sauce. It spoils my appetite." I knew she wasn't lying (she was being pretty blunt) so I shut up after that. But not without a smirk as I went for Step Three of my wooing.

"Okay, I'll stop talking." I said while grabbing the stereo's remote. I kept it handy in case of silence to keep the mood. "Let me purely put on some music." She shrugged to signal her not caring, so I pushed the PLAY button. A soft piano tune floated through the air around us, making Sam no longer sleepy; she lifted up her head to stare at the stereo in bemusement.

I know just how to whisper…and I know just how to cry…I know just where to find the answers, and I know just how to lie…

So I have a thing for rock ballads. It certainly set the mood. Sam was a bit confused on the song choice plus the atmosphere of the moment. I expected her to not understand; I was setting us up on a date for Pete's sake. If the tables were turned, I'd be baffled too.

I know just how to fake it…and I know just how to scheme…I know just when to face the truth, and then I know just how to dream…

"Like it?" I asked, and she turned to me, "It's 'Making Love Out of Nothing At All' by Air Supply. My dad played it at my parents' wedding. It's a favorite of Mom's…" I trailed off at the look in her eyes. It was still puzzlement but the shine her pupils carried made me lose track of everything. I had to look away so I wouldn't break down. Oh, man, I think I'm in love, I thought nervously.

And I know just where to touch you…and I know just what to prove…I know when to pull you closer, and I know when to let you loose…

"Nice." she said, avoiding my gaze also, "Got a thing for 80's chiz, huh?" I chuckled a little at her lightening the mood.

"Eh. More like romantic rock ballads." I replied. This made her tense again, and I wasn't sure whether to be glad or upset.

And I know the night is fading! And I know that time's gonna fly! And I'm never gonna tell you everything I gotta tell you but I know I've got to give it a try...

I moved my hand into my pocket where a slip of paper laid. I kept it with me ever since the trip to the principal's office: the fake poem I wrote for Sam. Only now it was sort of real. I can honestly say I was being drastic with discovering Sam's feelings on me, but no pain no gain.

"I wrote this for you a few days ago." I said, unfolding the paper, "It's a poem that I really hope you like—" I couldn't finish for Sam had stood, clicked the music off, and placed a hand on her hip. Her eyes were accusing, and she began speaking before I could say a thing.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked. I opened my mouth to say something but she cut me off. "You fix me a candlelit dinner with spaghetti—the most romantic dish in the book—wear a suit, put on slow music, and now a love poem? Dude, what the chiz?" She waited for me to respond. My plan had backfired terribly and now she was confronting me on it—not good. Thank you, Spencer, for the wondrous ideas. I stood from my chair, shaking, and tried to find the right words.

"Sam…we're…you know…we're supposed to be in 'love' because of the bet—" I started but she again didn't let me finish.

"You need to seriously tone down this acting!" she shouted, anger evident in her eyes, "First you pummel a waiter in public, and then you're going all out on a date! You don't even care about me, so waste this all on Carly or someone!" She rolled her eyes in fury and began walking away but something within me made me yell to her:

"Maybe I really do care about you!" This stopped Sam in her tracks. Inside my head a voice screeched Idiot! Moron! Pea-brain! But it had already flown out of my mouth into her ears, so all I could do was wait. She turned to face me, astonishment clouding her pupils. I must've looked the same way.

"What?" she whispered, "You actually…yeah, right, this is another trick. We hate each other, bud."

"We do?" I said with malice, about to reveal a secret I didn't want to, "It didn't sound like that last night." Her face scrunched in puzzlement. "You thought I was asleep, so you said 'I think I love you', not knowing I heard it." Her face whitened, all the color drained away. We stood there, quiet and unmoving, like statues in a park. If I could go back in my life and redo something, it'd be erasing those words. We don't live in a world with time machines so you can guess what happened.

Sam tried to retaliate but ended up running away into the bedroom. I heard a slam and a faint click; not worth running after her. Oh chiz, what did I do? I walked over to the dinner table while sulking. Resting next to my plate was the paper the poem was written on. Wasn't worth keeping now. I picked it up, crumbled it, and threw it with a grunt into the trash can, where it resided with the gloppy pancakes.

I didn't hear anything that sounded like an opening door. This disheartened me; Sam wasn't coming back from the spare bedroom anytime soon. Thus I decided to change into my pajamas and crawl onto the sofa. I could remember the other night, after Sam's nightmare, when she came and we went to sleep together. Of course, that made me remember her five words, which led me to remember the fight we just had. Married life sure sucks.

No use in thinking about it, I thought, Might as well go to sleep. Easier said than done.