But He's My Fake Fiancé (But He's a Carter Brother #3)

by Annah Conwell

How can a woman so breathtaking and utterly brilliant be unsure of herself? Seeing her fidgeting in front of me makes me want to find whatever is causing this insecurity and rip it apart.

“So,” he begins while I’m trying to wrap my head around what I’ve just done. “Have we set a date yet?”

“Do you like the marshmallows or the cereal better?” I ask her as she opens the door. She smiles at my question, and I know my method of drawing her out of her thought spiral has worked, if only for a moment. “Marshmallows, definitely. You?” “The cereal,” I lie with a grin. “Really?” She gives me a questioning look. “You seem like a guy who would have a sweet tooth.” I do, big time. But if she likes the marshmallows, I’ll eat the mushy cardboard-tasting bits.

“I’m sorry for manhandling you,” I say. A wicked grin spreads over his face. “You can handle me any way you like, wifey.” I groan. “Is this how it’s going to be all summer?” I feign exasperation, but beneath my skin is a sweet hum. The kind of buzz I could easily chase for the next month. “You walked into that one.”

I open the ring box, holding it out between us. She gasps, immediately reaching for it. Her fingertips brush mine ever so softly, like flipping the page of a worn book. “It looks so real,” she murmurs. “It does,” I say, keeping my voice level. Because it is, I should say, but I don’t. If I did, I’d have to explain why I bought a three carat pear-shaped diamond ring for my fake fiancée. And since my main answer is I don’t know, it’s probably not the best time to reveal that detail.

It’s not real, I tell myself as I open the door for her. Not real, when I catch her admiring her ring under the light of a streetlamp. Definitely not real, when I drop her off by her door, clenching my fists so that I’m not tempted to touch her. Please, let this become something real, when she smiles over her shoulder as she disappears back into her apartment.

Awwww

“It’s not like you to be vague.” He eyes me. “That’s not true. I can be mysterious.” “You tell me about every date you’ve ever been on. In the morning, you come into my office and relay your morning commute, down to how many red lights you had to stop at. Last week you texted the group chat that you got a new deodorant. There has never been anything mysterious about you.”

Okay, he’s got a point. Though I keep more secrets than they think. “I’ve decided to become a brooding enigma like you. Can you teach me how to scowl?” He gives me a flat look.

Hahaha

“That won’t be necessary, because I came up with a plan,” I say. Both of my best friends raise their eyebrows at me. “I sort of, kind of … got Grayson Carter to agree to be my fake fiancé for the summer.” Simone’s mouth drops open, while Myla gasps and claps her hands together in glee. “I love the fake dating trope!” Myla’s smile is infectious, drawing one out of me.

“You are positively rakish, Grayson Carter.” “I love it when you talk bookish to me.”

hazel eyes are a kaleidoscope of green, gold and brown, shining bright with excitement. The wind has tousled her hair into something wild that begs for my fingers to be tangled in it. And her smile–wow her smile. It’s the kind of thing poets spend their whole lives trying to capture into words. But their efforts are in vain. No words could ever do this–do her–justice.

Is this my karma for writing not one, not two, but five books with the ‘only one bed’ trope? Myla and Simone have poked fun at me countless times about how that trope sneaks its way into most of my books. It’s always been a favorite of mine. I mean, how can you top the tension that level of forced proximity brings? Now,

“I’d have rather been on an airplane,” I say and he cringes. “That’s rough. My morning wasn’t so bad; I beat everyone at golf. I think Topher wants to run me over with a golf cart.”

If falling for her is jumping out of a plane, I don’t even need a parachute, just let me get a running start.

“I’m afraid you’re too captivating to escape attention, Rose. We’d be caught in an instant.” “I’m not sure that everyone else sees me the way that you do, Gray.” “The amount of men I’ve had to glare at already this evening proves otherwise.” His grip tightens on my hand. I look up at him to find his jaw clenched.

Love some jealousy

“You don’t need to thank me. I got to spend time in Hawaii with the most beautiful woman in the world. I couldn’t have asked for a better week.” “Even though you had to deal with my toxic family and dumb ex-boyfriend?” “I got to punch a guy. I haven’t had the opportunity to do that in a while, it felt good. I should be thanking you.”

HAH