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

by Annah Conwell

It’s a dangerous thing to go into a bookstore while in an emotional state,

but what’s the point of having all this money if I don’t spend it on an elaborate ruse every once in a while?

I learn that she loves 90s and early 2000s rom coms, screaming to breakup songs in the car, and if she built her dream home it would have a two-story library and a wrap-around porch.

“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.”

In this one I look more like a raccoon, but I’m a happy little trash panda, so that counts for something.

You’re not two-dimensional. You’ve got layers, like an onion.” I scrunch my nose up. “Do I have to be an onion? Can’t I be something a little sexier? Like a trifle, or a parfait, or one of those really tall chocolate cakes.”

“You’re quite villainous this morning,” I say as I reach for my coffee. “Well, my future wife does have a weakness for morally grey men.”

Emotion burns within me as I realize just how perfect she is. She’s the sun-warmed towel waiting for you when you get out of the water. A chocolate chip cookie right out of the oven. The kind of book you read over and over again because it never gets old. She’s comfort and adventure intertwined in the most achingly beautiful package.

This woman is going to be the death of me, but at least I’ll die happy.

I’ve never been the writing type, but a man could wax poetic about Sloane’s beauty.

“Don’t ever touch her again. Don’t look at her. Don’t even come near her. If you so much as breathe in her general vicinity, I will make it your last.”

I hold on to him as tight as I can, feeling like a ship caught in a hurricane. He’s my anchor in the storm, the only thing keeping me from going under.

Every cell in my body burns for her.

This is the love of my life. Drenched to the bone, but smiling like she just won an award. I press a kiss to her forehead. I’m the luckiest man alive.

“Quiet down people, my wife is about to make a speech!” “You’re not married yet,” Levi says from a few feet away. “Semantics,”