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

by Annah Conwell

It’s much harder to bust out a car window than one would think. The movies and songs about tearing up someone’s car for revenge make it seem easy. But in reality, it takes a few solid hits before you get a good crack in the glass if you don’t have the right tools or enough strength. I grunt as my crowbar connects with the driver’s side window. The glass shatters everywhere, making me glad I wore gloves and a long-sleeved shirt. Now that I have a good technique, I skip around the car, twirling the crowbar with a smile before smashing another window. It’s quite a cathartic experience. Now I understand the appeal of those rage rooms I keep getting ads for. After all four door windows are busted, I lean the crowbar against the front right tire and pull my voice recorder from my back pocket. “Character would need to exert significant physical force in order to do damage to a car. Crowbar worked better in comparison to the heavy rock used previously. Also, there is a notable dopamine rush whenever one accomplishes an act such as this.” I slide the recorder back into my pocket, then take the crowbar and start to hack at the tires as well, noting how many times it takes me to puncture them. Much like a Hollywood method actor, I prefer to get in my characters’ heads as much as possible. I’m a romance author, so usually, that means touring a beautiful vineyard or learning how to paint. But, my next novel is a romantic suspense. Which means I have to learn villainous tendencies as we...

My phone alarm goes off, letting me know it’s time to head to lunch, so I take a selfie with the gnarled vehicle to tease the book to my readers on Instagram. They’ve been pumped about me branching out into romantic suspense from my usual sweet romance, so I’ve been trying to let them see behind the scenes as much as possible to fan the flames of their excitement. “Thanks again, George!” I yell to the man supervising the junkyard as I head out. He waves from his post nearby, his reflective vest glinting in the afternoon sun. I found George through a Facebook community group. Neighborhood groups are the best. It makes for good entertainment–by way of all the drama–and great connections like this one. He was advertising his car-crushing services, so I reached out to see if I could pay him to demolish one of his cars. The kind old man decided to let me come for free, saying it didn’t hurt anything for me to go in the yard and beat up the old cars before he smashed them.

Dad: Where are you? It’s 1 PM. I let out a heavy sigh. My dad is also a fan of intense punctuality. When I told him I’d get to the club around one, he heard I’d be there at exactly one. Sloane: I just finished up some research I was doing. I should be there soon. Dad: Okay. A man of many words, my father. I get in my silver BMW convertible and throw my required hard hat into the passenger seat. It knocks against my laptop bag and rolls onto the floor. With a shrug, I pull down my visor mirror to inspect my hair. Yikes. This Georgia humidity is not doing me any favors. I redo my ponytail, grabbing a hair wax stick from my purse to smooth my flyaways down. Thankfully, my mascara is waterproof and the rest of my makeup is on the subtle side today, so I look glowy and fresh-faced after a few strategic dabs of a napkin from my console. My dad won’t care if I arrive looking less than runway-ready, but my dearest stepmother will likely tell me I look like a sweaty troll. Okay, she might not say those exact words but she will say something like “Are you feeling okay, dear? You look a little warm.” Which is code for sweaty troll status in Monica Covington speak. I strip off the long-sleeved shirt I’m wearing, exposing the soft pink tank top underneath that I’ve paired with black yoga pants and white sneakers. It’s not a glamorous look, but since it’s from Lululemon maybe Monica won’t nitpick it too much. Who am I kidding? She’ll spend the first thirty minutes of lunch trying to con...

I pull out of the parking lot and drive through the Atlanta suburbs with my music blasting. I create a custom playlist for each novel I write, and I spend the entire time I’m writing said book listening to that playlist on repeat. This one is filled with powerful and sultry hits with deep bass. Something that makes you want to wear leather and red lipstick, face off against the killer in one scene and make out with your love interest in the next. By the time I pull up to the valet station I feel good, or maybe bad is a better word for it. I’m ready to take on the world, including my judgmental stepmother. I hand my keys to the valet, then walk inside the doors to Willowbrook Country Club, the place where both my father and stepmother spend much of their time. My father stays on the course or in the card room, while my stepmother can be found on the patio or in the spa. When seen together, they’re often dining in the esteemed Willowbrook Hall, where I’m headed today for lunch. My sneakers squeak on the tile floors, earning me a look from the receptionist. I avert my gaze and squeak faster down the hall to the dining room. This whole place reeks of judgment. I never liked it here growing up. My mom rarely came, but sometimes we’d have to make an appearance as a family and I’d have to wear an itchy dress and sit up tall while my parents pretended to like each other. They used to love each other, but once my dad got a taste of wealth, my mom says he turned into someone she did...

I spot Monica and my dad sitting in the center of the room, likely so everyone can see them. I hate the idea of being the center of attention. So I can’t imagine wanting all eyes on me, but I suppose not everyone is like that. Monica raises a thin brow as I sit down across from her, checking the silver watch on her wrist. “We didn’t agree upon a specific time.” I go on the defense immediately, hoping to get ahead before she starts trying to tear me down. She sniffs, looking to my father as if he should reprimand me for not arriving when she preferred for me to. “Next time, please be punctual,” my father says in a monotone voice. The same voice he uses during conference calls. If he looked down his nose at me just a tad more, it would be the same way he addresses all of the staff who’ve ‘served’ him over the years. I always said we should have treated them like family. I guess he took that statement to heart. “I’m sorry, I will do better.” I tell myself that I’m just choosing my battles, but it feels as though I’m already giving up. Might as well slap the word welcome on my forehead because I’m a certified doormat. My father nods as if this pleases him, while Monica purses her lips. The waiter comes before any of us can speak again. Judging by his wavering expression, my table has already given him plenty of trouble. “Could I please have a water and the lemon chicken salad?” I order in the kindest tone possible. “No substitutions?” he asks and I resist the urge to sigh. I’m...

“Now that you’re here, your father and I have something we’d like to discuss with you,” Monica says. I clasp my hands together beneath the table, bracing myself. “Yes.” My father sits up in his chair, clearing his throat. “We’ve been speaking with the Williamsons and we think it’s time you quit this little charade of yours and return to Christopher.” I stare at him in shock. “You want me to get back together with Topher?” I lace Christopher’s ridiculous nickname with acid. My father flinches at the name, because even he knows it’s ridiculous. Christopher Williamson the third wasn’t bad enough, his mother had to nickname him Topher. When I first met him, I thought the nickname was endearing, if a bit childish. Now that he’s my ex though, I’m free to dislike it all I want. “You’ve given us quite a headache,” Monica chimes in. “The Williamsons are offended by your refusal to marry Christopher. Vicky was positively distraught at brunch last weekend, afraid that you truly meant what you said to him.” “I did.” They stare blankly at me, so I continue. “I told Topher that I wouldn’t give up my career as an author to be his trophy wife. I meant it when I said it two weeks ago, and I still do now.” “We’re your parents, Sloane.” It takes all my willpower not to cringe. “You don’t need to pretend with us. If you want a bigger diamond, just say so. I had your dad get me a bigger one, too. Vicky said that she’d have the stone on her grandmother’s ring replaced for you.” I blink at her. ...

“Come on, old man, don’t be like that,” I say, staring at the silver mustachioed man across from me. “Like what?” he grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at the chess board. “Cantankerous, ill-tempered and–dare I say–crotchety.” His bushy eyebrows rise as he points a knobby finger at me. “Now you listen here, sport. I’ve been playing chess longer than you’ve been alive. There’s no way you’ve beat me.” “Again,” I fill in for him. “I think you meant to say there’s no way I beat you again, and whether you believe it or not, it’s true.” I smile and sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “This is preposterous! You cheated.” He taps the table with a scowl. “Prove it,” I challenge. He sputters for a moment before his brows lower, practically covering his eyelids. “Fine, you didn’t cheat. But you shouldn’t have won either.” And here comes his usual spiel to get me to play him again. I know he’s lonely, so I come in as often as I can to ‘challenge’ him, but I didn’t plan on staying for long today. I guess Juliette and Dahlia can go on without me whenever they’re done shopping. Though, there’s a good chance that I'll play another game and they’ll still be browsing. My future sisters-in-law do love to shop for books.

a familiar face turns the corner. Sloane Rose, my favorite author and the woman who sadly turned me down a month ago at the gym we both frequent. A smile grows on my face at the sight of her, even though it shouldn’t. She has a boyfriend, I remind myself. But it’s still difficult to hold back from admiring her. Since the first time I saw her, I’ve been enamored with her. There’s something about the way she moves. It’s like she’s floating rather than walking, as if she’s an ethereal being gracing us mere mortals with her presence. And yet, even with that graceful air about her, she never seems like she thinks too highly of herself. “Hey, Rose, it’s been a while,” I call. Sloane looks in my direction, her brown ponytail swinging with the movement. Her soft pink lips pull up into a smile, but it’s not a full one. It’s not even the adorably shy one she gave me when I approached her at the gym. There’s a tiredness lining both it and her eyes. “Hey, Gray,” she replies in a soft voice. I’m drawn back to when we spoke for the first time. She signed a few books for Dahlia and Isa, while my copies burned a hole in my gym bag. I told myself I’d ask her to sign them, but then our conversation evolved into something much different. “Is your name really Sloane Rose?” I ask as she signs another copy with a flourish. She was shy when I approached her, and still is, which surprises me. I would have thought the woman who wrote some of the most beautiful prose I’ve ever read wouldn’t be so t...

The old man–still yet to give me his name–hobbles off with a tip of his newsboy cap. Sloane gives him a polite smile, curiosity shining in her eyes. “We play chess together whenever I have time to spare,” I explain to her. “He’s the only real competition I’ve come across.” Her eyebrows raise. “That’s rather cocky of you.” I cross my arms and lean against a nearby shelf. “I know my abilities.” “Is that so?” Her hazel eyes rove over me, perusing in a way that doesn’t seem like someone in a relationship would. Interesting. “I’ve been called a prodigy once or twice.” Her lips quirk up at the edges like she’s holding in a smile. “Funny, I’ve been called the same quite a few times after matches.” Her tone borders on flirty, and a thrill rushes through me. I shouldn’t feel this way, not without confirming my suspicion that she’s no longer in a relationship. But she’s beautiful, intelligent, and plays my favorite game. “You play?” “Only when there’s someone worthy of playing.” I gesture to the board. “Care to pu...

She giggles and the whole store brightens. The sound embodies pure joy and I’m convinced it could chase away rainclou...

Maybe I’m giving myself too much credit, but I swear she looks happier than she did when she came in. “We can play a game, if you have time,” she says, mirth filling her voice. She takes a seat, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder. I pause before sitting down, hating that I haven’t already asked her. I’m not the kind of guy who flirts with another man’s girlfriend. “Before I sit down, I have to ask: Are you still with your boyfriend?” She looks up at me, surprise evident in the widening of her eyes. “I only ask because there’s no way I can sit across from you for the next twenty minutes and not flirt with a woman as beautiful as you.” Her face flushes and she looks down at the board, toying with a pawn. “We broke up two weeks ago.” “Good,” I say, then cringe. “Well–not good, just–” I rake a hand through my hair, wo...

Do you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.” “I can be a great distraction,” I say and she smiles. “Is that meant to be a line?” “Do you want it to be?” Her gaze drops. She spins a knight 180 degrees, then does the same to a pawn. “No,” she answers. A hot poker of disappointment prods at my heart, but I don’t let it show on my face. “I’m not ready to start anything new right now.” Her quiet words are a balm to the burn of rejection. Maybe this means I still have a chance, just in the future. I’m not known for patience, but for Sloane, I can challenge myself. “Then let’s be friends.” The look she gives me is not encouraging. “What? You don’t think we can be friends?” “I’ve seen you flirt with every woman you cross paths with at the gym, so forgive me if I’m a little doubting of your capability of being just friends,” she drolls. I chuckle at her attitude. “Have you been watching me, Rose?” Her cheeks deepen a shade, but then she points at me. “That was flirting. See? You can’t help it!” “I wasn’t flirting. I was asking a question.” “In a flirty tone,” she accuses. “What makes a tone flirty?” “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what ...

I look over my shoulder, half expecting Grayson to laugh and say he was joking. Two stunning women carrying bulging tote bags walk toward me. One is a petite blonde who looks like she spends her days studying in the library of a mystical academy. The other looks like an explosion of color with a dash of 1970s flare. They’re both much more fashionable than I am in my sweaty workout clothes. “Oh. My. Gosh,” the woman who embodies everything bright and colorful stops in her tracks. “You’re Sloane Rose.” My stomach tightens like a fist inside of me. I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and muster a smile. “That’s me.” “Rose, these are my friends Dahlia and Juliette,” Grayson says as he stands. I follow suit, shifting from one foot to the other as the colorful girl twirls a silver ring and bounces on her toes in excitement. “I signed books for one of you, right?” I ask in an attempt to make coherent conversation. The girl who recognized me nods, her short waves bouncing with the movement. “You signed my books. I’m Dahlia, and you’re my favorite author. I have wanted to meet you for years now but you never do signings–which is totally fine, I’m not saying you should–so I can’t believe that you’re here right now–” Grayson cuts her off by placing a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, Dahlia, you’re scaring her,” he says with a laugh, then looks at me. “Sorry about her, you’d think a therapist would know when she was overwhelming someone.” I force a laugh, tugging on the hem of my tank to...

“I’d love to get a photo with you though, if you don’t mind.” “Me too!” Dahlia says. She holds her phone out to Grayson. “Will you take the photos?” “I’d be happy to.” He meets my eyes. “As long as Sloane is okay with having her picture taken.” It feels as though champagne is bubbling through me, sweet and sparkling. I can’t remember the last time someone besides my two roommates checked on how I felt about something. Sure, a photo request is nothing big, but he still wanted me to be comfortable. I tilt my head to the side, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I try to decipher who the man standing across from me is. He’s clearly a flirt and the kind of extrovert I couldn’t even dream of being. But he’s also read my books–if only to support his enthusiastic friend–and is thoughtful enough to pause and check in. It has me intrigued, which isn’t good. I can’t afford to end up enamored with a man who has no problem flirting with one woman one day, and a different one the next. If he’s gone through as many girls as I suspect, he either thinks commitment is synonymous with the plague or has standards so high I’d never make the cut. “Oh!” Dahlia cringes. “I got overexcited again. If you don’t want to take photos, that’s perfectly fine. You signing my books was enough to make my whole year.” “No, it’s okay, thank you for asking though,” I direct my gratitude toward Grayson.

I try not to look nervous as I smile for the pictures. “Thank you so much,” Dahlia half-speaks, half-squeals into my ear as she wraps me up in a hug. I stiffen for a moment but hug her back so she doesn’t think I’m rude. “Thank you for reading my books,” I reply, then accept Juliette’s hug. Grayson opens his arms with a smirk. “What about me?” “This feels like a trap,” I say and the girls laugh. “Friends hug,” he defends his actions with his arms still open wide. “Are you going to hold your arms out until I hug you?” He shrugs, his smirk morphing into a playful grin. “You’re going to be holding them up for a long time because I’m not falling for this game.” “There’s no game,” he says in a tone that makes it seem like there very much is a game afoot. “And I can hold this pose for a while; you’ve seen me at the gym.” Translation: You’ve been watching me, Rose. My face flushes because, well, I have been watching him. Only because it’s hard not to admire a tall, dark-haired, sculpted masterpiece. Especially when said masterpiece also has a smile as bright as the sun and makes everyone he comes in contact with laugh. “I hug Dahlia and Juliette all the time,” he adds. His words make me realize the two women are still here too. Grayson seems to have an uncanny ability to make me forget other people are around. “Are both of you really just friends with him?” I ask. Dahlia laughs. “We’re about to be family. I’m marrying his older brother.” “And I’m marrying his twin,” Juliette says...

“I’m home and I’ve decided I’m never going out in public again,” I announce as I kick off my sneakers by the front door of our apartment. “I’m guessing that means your lunch with your dad didn’t go well?” One of my roommates, Simone, asks as I walk into the living room. She’s propped up on our blush pink couch, her laptop balancing precariously on a flower-shaped throw pillow as she twists her auburn hair up into a claw clip. She must be in the middle of writing. Simone is of the belief that like Violet Baudelaire from Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, she thinks better with her hair up. Last time I checked, she was nearing the end of the latest installment in her fantasy romance series, so it makes sense that she’s doing all that she can to focus. “It went terribly, but I don’t know if that’s even the worst thing that happened today.” Her eyebrows shoot up at my words. I sit down in my favorite circle chair and our cat Roman–short for Roman C. Kitten–jumps up next to me. I hold him to my chest and sigh. “Well, spill,” Simone says, setting her laptop on the curved acrylic coffee table next to a half-empty iced coffee and a bag of goldfish. “Have you eaten more tha...

After relaying the lunch with my dad and Monica, I jump right into the bookstore story. Myla and Simone know enough about my family to not be surprised by them insisting I marry Topher. “So then Grayson’s sisters-in-law come up, and they’ve both read my books–” “Wait a minute, I think we need to pause right there,” Myla says, while Simone smirks. “Why?” I ask, even though I know. “Because Grayson was flirting with you! And you were totally flirting back.” She smiles like this is the best news she’s heard all day. “I was not,” I say. Simone and Myla share a look, then turn back to me. “You were,” Simone confirms. “You’re both wrong, and that’s not the point of the story.” “Haven’t we heard of Grayson before, too?” Myla asks, tilting her head like she’s thinking. Nerves bubble up within me. I was hoping they wouldn’t remember. Myla snaps her fingers. “Oh! He’s the one who brought you his friends’ books to sign. The one who you said made you realize that Topher was the worst.” “Those were not my words.” I give her a flat look. “I told you that a stranger being so flirty and forthcoming with me made me realize that Topher had never truly acted that way. Which was only a part of why ...

“Looking good, ladies!” I call out as I walk past the elderly Zumba class. They all titter and wave. “We’ve missed you!” Doris, one of the most talkative class members, shouts out. I pause at the door, leaning against the frame. They’re all stretching to prepare for the next hour of dancing. “I’ll have to sign up for the next class. I’ve been busy with work and only had time for my regular workouts,” I say, earning an admonishing look from most of them. My excuse is true, though. Running my private security company alongside my brother Adrian makes for a busy schedule at times. “Our classes aren’t the same without you,” Cheryl–another one of my gym favorites–says. “Stephanie doesn’t let us film our TikToks when you’re not here,” Doris grumbles. I shoot an apologetic look to the instructor Stephanie, who’s watching patiently at the front of the room. They wouldn’t even attempt to film themselves if it wasn’t for me. She likely doesn’t let them try to film because none of them know how to do anything other than FaceTime their grandkids on their phones, and they barely know how to do that. “Y’all be nice to Stephanie, she works hard to keep you ladies looking as good as you do,” I say. Stephanie smiles, while the ladies in the class fluff their hair and giggle. “Has anyone told you that you’re a bit of a casanova?” Cheryl asks. “Once or twice.” I wink. “I’ve got to go now though, you young ladies have fun for me.” Their giggles follow me down the hall.

I pass by the next classroom and look through the window to see what class is going on. A line of women hold a ballet barre with one hand as they bend their knees into a plié–a term I know thanks to the show Dance Moms and my niece Maddie’s love of dance. I plan to keep going to the end of the hall, where my mobility trainer is waiting on me, but a familiar face catches my eye, making me pause. Sloane is at the front of the line, facing the mirror. She’s wearing a long-sleeved top, a sheer skirt, tights, and leg warmers, all in various pastel shades. The softness of her attire contrasts with the strength of her movements. Every lift of her arm and bend of her knees showcases her elegance. The instructor–an older woman dressed in all black–walks around correcting everyone but Sloane. The pliés stop and the instructor gestures toward me, though I’m sure she’s really gesturing toward the cubbies holding the water bottles. But since I’m standing here, all of their eyes land on me. I recognize a few faces other than Sloane, but hers is the only reaction I’m looking for. Her eyes widen when she sees me. I shoot her a grin. The women in the room go over to their water bottles and bags, but Sloane walks out the door to me. “What are you doing here?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips. I let my eyes rove over her for a moment, taking in her beauty up close. “This is my gym too, you know.” She rolls her eyes.“I meant here as in outside of the window of my class.” “I was passing...

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 ...

The other class members are moving the barre to the back of the room. “We’re about to start again,” she says, then looks back to me. “Go do whatever you came here for and quit spying on me.” Her lips are turned up at the edges, even though her words are shooing me away. “What if I came here to watch you?” She pushes my shoulder, fighting a smile. “Go.” “All right, all right. I’ll go. See you around, Rose.” I back away, holding her gaze with a grin. She turns to go into the classroom with a smile on her lips. The sight makes me feel like there are Pop Rocks in my chest, a sweet fizzy feeling that I don’t want to lose. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way about a woman before. I’ve barely spoken with her, but I’m anxiously awaiting our next meeting. Her laugh is on repeat in my head, and I can already tell it’s going to be one of those songs you can play over and over and it never gets old. And if I think about her books on top of all of that, I’m a goner. Every word of hers is crafted with masterful intention. Nothing is ever merely filler. I’ve reread her books, thinking that the allure would wear off, but it neve...

“I don’t know why I bother,” I say with a sigh as my brother Levi sinks the eight ball into the pocket of my pool table. “Me either.” He chuckles. “But it keeps my wallet full, so keep it up.” “Why did you bet money on a game you were likely to lose?” my twin brother, Adrian asks. “Because I thought putting money on the line would make me play better.” It did not. Or at least not better than Levi. He’s way too good at this game, but that doesn’t stop all of...

sorry I’m late, had to close the bakery myself today,” another one of my brothers–Maverick–says as he walks down the stairs of my basement. Most of the time, if all of us brothers are getting together, we end up down here in my basement. I bought a two-story home in a quaint, family-friendly neighborhood because I felt like buying a ‘bachelor pad’ was foolish when I knew I wanted a family one day. But I also am a bachelor, and like having my brothers over, so I turned my basement into a man cave of sorts. There’s a giant TV on the wall, every gaming console available, a pool table, a huge sectional, and a closet full of board games that have caused many fights between all of us. I’ve even got a Georgia Thrashers helmet that’s been signed by all of the players of the last championship-winning team on display in a glass case, perks of my sister marrying their coach. “It’s no big deal. I thought you stopped doing that though?” I ask as I put my cue on the mounted wall rack. Maverick runs his own bakery, and as it’s grown in popularity he’s hired a few employees to help him. He still likes to go in early in the mornings to do a lot of the baking himself, but he rarely works the coun...

“How’s wedding planning going?” Adrian shrugs. “Fine.” Levi stares, waiting for him to elaborate. “Did you think he was going to gush over floral design with you?” I laugh. “I thought he’d give me more than a one word answer!” Levi leans back, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. “Because he’s known for lengthy monologues,” I deadpan. Adrian watches us in silent amusement. “Fine, I’ll ask Dahlia. I’m sure she and Juliette have shared every detail with each other.” “How’s your wedding planning going?” I ask Levi. He and Dahlia got together in the fall, after being apart for five years. Now they’re planning a late summer wedding with a few friends and family. “It’s going great. We just booked the condo for our honeymoon in Rosemary.” “That’s not wedding planning,” I say and his lips stretch into a crooked grin. “No, it’s not.” I shake my head, laughing at his thinly veiled enthusiasm for what comes after their wedding. “In all seriousness, it is going great. Dahlia got The Secret Door to agree to let us book a private event there so we can get married amongst the shelves.” “That’s great, I know she’ll love that.” Levi continues talking about the planning process, telling a story ab...

I don’t know why I’m still here. I sigh and swirl my straw around in my mostly melted strawberry banana smoothie. My ballet class ended a half hour ago, but I can’t bring myself to go home. I know when I get there, I’ll go into my room and see my laptop on my desk taunting me. I haven’t been able to write all week. Every time I sit down, I get the urge to throw my laptop into a trashcan, pour gasoline on it, and light a match. My eyes wander around the gym, finding their way to where Grayson is working out in the free weights section. Again. Because even though my silly brain knows that he is trouble, I can’t help but be drawn to him. He picks up two large dumbbells and starts lifting them, doing lateral raises. I’m not close enough to pick up on the details of his appearance, but even from here, I can see his muscles working and the sheen of sweat on his skin. His head lifts and I whip back toward my smoothie, taking a drink to hide my flaming face. There’s no way he saw me watching from this far away, but somehow I think he would know. He probably already does. My face twists up at my room-temperature smoothie. What a waste of eight dollars. Simone makes better ones, and would probably make me one if I asked. But again, home is where my laptop is, so it must be avoided at all costs. Even if the cost is an overpriced smoothie. I look up once more, determined to look everywhere but the free weights section.

When my gaze lands on the front desk area, I stiffen. Topher is here. And my stepsister Brooke. They take their passes from the front desk clerk, then look around as if they’re searching for someone. They must be here for me. My delusional, overbearing father and stepmother must have sent them to find me and convince me to marry Topher. Anger surges to life within me, drowning out my anxiety. I push to my feet, grab my smoothie cup, and throw it into the trashcan before walking over to them. I can feel the adrenaline in each step I take. Brooke’s eyes land on me first, her perfect face twisted into a smirk as per usual. “I cannot believe you two are here,” I say as soon as I’m close enough to them. Topher’s eyes blow wide, likely not expecting the venom in my voice. I’ve always been soft-spoken, and he tended to talk over me even when I wasn’t. “Mom told us–” I cut Brooke off, my disbelief at my stepmother’s audacity fueling my boldness. “I don’t care what she told you. I’m not marrying Topher. So you can turn around and leave. Nothing you can say would convince me to marry him.” Brooke’s eyes light up, her lips pressing together like she’s trying to contain laughter. My stomach drops. She should be frowning, or angry, but she’s not. “That’s not why we’re here.” “What?” My brain buffers, unable to comprehend any other reason why these two are standing in front of me. “The club has a gym, so I know you aren’t here to work out. Don’t lie to me, Brooke, I know you’re just her...

“We’ll be getting married next month,” Brooke squeals, then calms herself and flips her platinum hair over one shoulder. “Oh, and Mom also wanted me to invite you to the engagement party this Saturday. I’m assuming you won’t have a plus one?” Brooke asks, still wearing her shiny, smug grin. Her question stings. She’s won and she knows it. They came here with the intent to catch me off guard, to hurt me, and then leave me feeling alone and unworthy. I glance away, trying to gather my thoughts, and my eyes land on Grayson. He’s walking toward a machine nearby. Before I can talk myself out of it, I call out to him. “Gray!” I say and his head snaps in my direction. A grin spreads over his face, bringing a rush of warmth over my skin. If only he didn’t look at everyone like that, like they’re the best thing he’s seen since he opened his eyes this morning. I wave him over and he saunters up to us. His confidence is infectious, and I find myself standing a little straighter. My boldness from before returns, and a very, very stupid idea comes into my mind. But when I glance back at Brooke to find her nuzzling Topher’s arm like a cat, I throw caution to the wind. “Brooke, Topher,” I say, then take a deep breath of courage. “I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé, Grayson Carter.” Brooke’s mouth drops open, and Topher looks as though someone took a crowbar to his Porsche. Their shocked faces boost my mood, but there’s one more reaction I need to check. I look up at Grayson, and he s...

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

“Personally, I think next spring would be great. Both my brothers are getting married this year, so we probably shouldn’t overshadow them,” I joke after Sloane doesn’t say anything. She stares blankly at the door that her ex and stepsister just walked out of. I can’t blame her for being in shock. I’d be shocked too if I was her. This level of toxicity is new to me since I come from a good family. It makes me want to go home and hug all of my siblings. It makes me want to hug her, but I’m not sure she’s ready for that level of physical affection after everything that just happened, so I settle for something more subdued. “Rose,” I say in a low voice, taking her hand and running my thumb over her knuckles. “Take a breath.” Her pink lips part as she drags in a shuddery breath. “It’s okay.” She looks up at me with wide hazel eyes. They’re a touch more green today, the color brought out by the emerald workout set she’s donning. “It’s not okay,” she says, panic lacing her words.

“How are you so calm right now?” She turns in the seat, positioning her body toward me. “I just grabbed you and forced you into a fake engagement. And that’s another thing–why did you go along with it?” Her words come out rapidly, tumbling one after another. “It’s not a big deal. Friends help friends.” I smile at her, but she doesn’t return it. “This is too much. I shouldn’t have brought you into this.” She puts her face in her hands. “I’m going to have to tell everyone I lied.” “Why?” My one word question hangs in the air between us. She lifts her head, her eyes glassy. “Because I can’t ask you to be my fake fiancé, Grayson. It was sweet of you to play along, but meeting my family?” She shakes her head. “I think it sounds fun,” I tell her and she lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m serious. That ex of yours seemed like a jerk, and your step sister would definitely fit into the cast of Cinderella. It would be awesome to help you stick it to them.” Her lips turn up in an uncertain smile. “We can’t stay fake engaged forever though. Eventually, the show has to end.” I shrug. “So, you say we broke up. You’re a brilliant author, I’m sure you can come up with something. Tell them I got obsessive and you had to get a restraining order. Or that we had a falling out because we both like to eat just the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms instead of being the perfect balance of one liking the cereal and the other liking the marshmallows.” She lets out a real laugh this time, and all I ...

I guess I need to prepare you for this weekend,” Sloane’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You are free on Saturday, right?” I nod. “ Luckily, I am. But I do have some work to do today, so how about I pick you up tonight for dinner and you can tell me everything I need to know?” She tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Sure, that sounds good. I can give you my number, then text you my address.” I hand her my phone and she opens up the contacts. Pauses. Then looks at me. “There are other girls’ numbers in here,” she says in a stilted voice. “There are,” I reply, confused at her tone. “If we’re going to do this, you can’t–I mean–” She cringes. “Are you okay not dating anyone while we’re together? I’m sorry–I’m not trying to be controlling of your personal life–but if someone saw you…” I ignore the sting of her implications. She doesn’t know me, but I wish she didn’t think I’d be the type of guy to date around while I’m dating her–fake or not. “Rose.” I meet her eyes. “I won’t date or flirt with anyone while we’re doing this. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m yours for the summer.” “Thank you,” she breathes out. Then she types in her number and hands my phone back to me.

“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.

“We have a lot to learn about each other before this weekend if we’re going to convince everyone.” She starts to slide out of the seat. “Yes, we do. Prepare to share all your secrets, wifey,” I say, and she shakes her head, giggling. “Please don’t tell me that’s my new nickname.” “I think it has to be now.” “I prefer Rose.” She gets out of the car, then bends down to look at me with a playful scowl. “One thing about me that you should know, wifey, is that I love nicknames. There will be no shortage of terms of endearment this summer.” “You like nasty cereal and terms of endearment, got it.” I place a hand over my heart. “It feels like you’ve known me for years.” She laughs. “I’ll see you tonight, Gray.” “See you, honey bunches of oats.” I can still hear her laughing even after she closes my car door and steps back onto the sidewalk. I watch her walk back inside the gym, then I Google search jewelry stores nearby. “Time to make it official.”

Rose: I don’t have an engagement ring. I smile down at my phone. I just texted Sloane so that she had my number after getting back to my desk post-engagement ring shopping. Rose: Oh, hi. I should have started with that. Before I can type a reply, my phone buzzes again. Rose: Also, I’m attaching my address to this message before I forget. Rose: Oh no, you’re at work, aren’t you? I shouldn’t be texting you so much! I’m sorry. I chuckle, leaning back in my chair, watching the three little dots appear once more to let me know she’s not done. Rose: Where do you work? I should probably know that. Rose: I DID...

Grayson: Don’t be. Now I know you like to send multiple texts instead of one long one. That’s a key detail for me to know as your fiancé. Rose: And now I know that you can spin anything to make it positive. That will come in handy while you’re engaged to me. Grayson: See? We make a great couple. I got you an engagement ring, by the way. I’ll show it to you tonight at dinner. Rose: Should I be concerned that you bought something without me? You didn’t need to do that. I hope you didn’t spend a lot of money. I spent more than I thought I would when I walked in there, but that will be another harmless little detail I’ll keep to myself. Go big or go home, as they say. Grayson: Don’t worry, I got something reasonable. But I just realized I never asked, what ring size are you? Rose: I have no idea. I haven’t worn a ring since I was a kid. I guessed in the store because I didn’t want her to offer to buy her own. And then once I was in there, I found myself drawn to a ring that seemed so very her. Said ring was also a real diamond when I planned on buying a fake one, 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? Grayson: Th...

There’s no way I can sneak out without my best friends seeing me. Especially since Myla invited me to have a movie night after dinner. I stammered out a yes because I hadn’t worked up the courage to tell her or Simone what happened today. I’m not even sure if I should tell them. Then they’ll have to lie for me if they end up seeing any of my family in the coming months. Once again, I’m second guessing my decision to go on this date. When Grayson asked to pick me up tonight I was in the middle of writing. Or rather trying to write. Even after all my research, it’s been difficult to wrap my head around this new genre. I had all these ideas, but the execution has been … questionable to say the least. So, I almost said no to him in order to stay home and bang my head on my desk the rest of the night. But I figured I got myself into this fake engagement, so I should commit. Plus, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Grayson again. I sigh and open my bedroom door, walking down the hall into the living room. Might as well get this over with.

She looks up when I enter the room, her brows furrowing. “Where are you going?” I knew she’d call me out immediately. Around the house I’m usually in pajamas, and anywhere else I go I wear athleisure. So coming out in a yellow sundress is akin to hanging a flashing neon sign over my head that reads look at me, look at me! “I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. Simone narrows her eyes. “Who?” “You sound like an owl.” I let out a nervous laugh. Myla comes out of the kitchen, a frilly red apron with white polka dots pulled on over her pastel blue dress. She’s wearing matching red lipstick that makes her teeth look extra white when she smiles at me. “Are you dressed up for girls’ night too? How fun! Simone, you should go change. We can take photos before the sun goes down all the way.” “Sloane is going out with a friend,” Simone says and Myla frowns. “We’re her only friends.” “Hey, I have other friends,” I defend myself, though I can’t think of any. “Again I ask: Who?” Simone’s voice conveys her suspicion. A knock sounds at the door and my stomach flips. The dainty gold watch on my wrist reveals that Grayson is eight minutes early. Another detail about him to file away. Despite his lackadaisical attitude, he is punctual. “If I tell you, you can’t ask any questions or talk to the person on the other side of that door.” “Or I can go answer the door right now,” Myla says and takes a step in that direction. “No!” I hold my hands out. “I just need ...

“If you’re anxious to get to the post-date kiss, I’m happy to oblige you now.”

“We are not kissing.” I pull him into the elevator as soon as it opens. “We are making sure my roommates don’t talk to you.” “I can’t believe my betrothed is embarrassed of me.” Once the elevator doors close, I sigh and look at him. He’s wearing navy blue shorts and a white linen shirt with a few buttons undone, exposing a triangle of smooth, tan skin. The sleeves are rolled up too, which I’m convinced is every woman’s kryptonite. I realize I’m still holding his hand, and I drop it. It’s suddenly much too warm in here. “I’m not embarrassed of you. I simply don’t know how to tell my two best friends that I’m engaged.” “Do you want to tell them it’s fake? I assume you can trust them, since you live with them.” “I don’t know if I want to drag them into this, but I also hate the idea of lying to them.” “I think you should tell them. You shouldn’t have to keep up the story in your own home.” His reasoning is sound. I don’t want them to lie for me, but it’s rare that they’d run into anyone they’d have to lie to on my behalf, now that I think about it. “That’s a good point. I’ll tell them, then.” “Good.” He pauses, and I fiddle with my watch. “You look lovely, by the way.” “Oh, thank you.” I blush. “You don’t have to compliment me, though. I know it’s all a game.” “Complimenting you will never be a game, Rose.” I look up at him, meeting his sparkling blue eyes. His sincerity hits me like a tidal wave, stealing my breath. The elevator dings, saving me from having to formulate a co...

“My car is this way.” He gestures to the left and we walk in silence under the setting sun. The scent of azaleas floats on the breeze, the bright pink blooms dotting the bushes that line the building. My fingers continually twist my watch around my wrist, my stomach feeling like a popcorn machine of nerves. “I’m worried,” I say, and he glances over at me, concern lining his face. “You’re too quiet. I haven’t known you long, but that can’t be good.” My words come out less joking than I want. It sounds like I’m worried he’s going to kill me, not that he’s simply up to something mischievous. “Your beauty stole my words.” He gives me a crooked grin, and I roll my eyes. “I was really just thinking about our date. I’m hoping you’ll enjoy yourself. Though you are gorgeous enough to render a man speechless.” My cheeks heat and I duck my head, focusing on my feet walking down the sidewalk. My stomach backflips, but the blossoming giddiness within me withers when I realize that he’s not serious. He’s like this too often for his words to have meaning. “What do you have planned?” I ask him, working to not sound as breathless as I feel. “It’s a surprise, remember?” he teases as he walks to his silver car to open the passenger door for me. “I think I changed my mind. I’d rather know.” I slide into his car. “Too late.” He shuts the door with a wide smile. I buckle my seatbelt while he walks around the front of the car. “Can you give me a hint?” I ask him when he gets in. A fresh out of t...

“I’m sorry for manhandling you,” I say. A wicked grin spreads over his face. “You can handle me any way you like, wifey.”

“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 have a feeling that you could come up with a line in response to anything I say.” “...

trying to decipher where we’re headed. Every time I think he’s going to pull over, he doesn’t. We pass several restaurants, an arcade, and a movie theater. We’re nowhere near the aquarium, so that’s out too. He finally pulls off in front of a small pizza place. From the looks of it, it’s not even big enough to have tables. “Be right back,” he says and hops out. I watch him jog inside, make the clerk laugh, then come back out and put two large boxes in the backseat. “What if I don’t like pizza?” I ask once he’s back in the car. “Then I guess we’ll need to make another stop,” he answers like he knows I’m teasing. “Do I?” “No,” I mumble, making him laugh. “We’ll be there soon, then your curiosity will be satisfied.” True to his word, we pull into a suburban neighborhood not long after grabbing our pizza, and then he pulls up in front of a gorgeous craftsman home. “Is this your house?” I ask him. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and I follow suit. “Yes. I hope that’s okay. I thought it was better to have some privacy since we’re going to be divulging our life stories.” I didn’t plan on giving him my whole life story, but I suppose he’s right about needing privacy. I don’t want to run into...

“I can give you a tour another day if you’d like, but we’re out back for tonight.” We walk through his living room. It’s spacious and cozy, with no TV in sight. Instead, there’s a large painting of a field of sunflowers, surrounded by photos of what looks to be friends and family and a few smaller art pieces. If Grayson wasn’t heading for his sliding back door, I’d stop and look closer at the wall. Instead, I follow him outside back into the warm summer air. I suck in a breath when I step onto the porch. The entire backyard has string lights hanging over it, and there’s a picnic blanket in the center of the yard. “Gray,” I whisper, but he’s too far away to hear me. He sets the pizza boxes on the blanket then turns to look at me. “What is this?” I speak louder this time. “It’s a picnic,” he says like it’s nothing. “I know it’s not much, but I thought if I went elaborate you’d be overwhelmed.” He sits down and gestures for me to come to him. Considering I am overwhelmed, that was a good c...