Falling for Your Fake Fiancé (Love Clichés, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

Oh, no you don’t, Apollo. I’ve seen 101 Dalmatians. And I am not about to be set up by a dog. Nuh-uh. Stick to planning which tree to water next, buddy. Because you are not playing matchmaker with me and your donkey’s butt of a human.

“I’m going to miss you, big guy. Even after that stunt. No one filmed it, so it’s like it didn’t happen. Right? All’s forgiven. But you can try it on your owner any time you want. In fact, try it as often as you’d like. Good boy.”

And who always loses in this kind of scenario? The woman. Of course.

Delilah: Got it. Will do our best to avoid men. You’d better. I refuse to type that out and send it. Delilah already knows that I’m interested. No need for her to understand how much. The phone goes still, and I watch until my screen goes black, then unlock my phone and reread the whole thread, smiling until my cheeks cramp.

I realize she’s holding my clothes in her arms the moment before she tosses them in the pool. I watch them floating in the moonlight for a moment. “I didn’t want you to forget your things when you go,” Zoey says sweetly. Then she gives Gavin a look that says they’ll be talking later. She starts to walk away, pauses, and throws both our towels and Gavin’s shoes in the pool. “And this is because you’re entertaining an unwelcome guest. I’m Team Delilah, for the record.”

“You’re not invited,” I say. “I’m Delilah, by the way. You must be Duke.”

One kiss turns to another, then another. I’m vaguely aware of the door slamming as Duke leaves.

“You know what I’m going to enjoy?” “What’s that?” My breath catches as his lips lightly brush my ear. I know I should step away, but I can’t. Especially because other people in the office are watching. I’m sure he’s using that to his full advantage too. Just before the elevator doors slide open, he says, “Finding every single loophole.” My, my. I hope he does.

The sweetheart neckline and wide straps are classic, reminding me of something Audrey Hepburn would have worn—simple, elegant, classic beauty.

It’s perfect. Exactly the kind of dress I can see myself getting married in. Which means, of course, I can’t choose it now. It would be cruel, a lie. This isn’t the kind of dress you wear to a fake wedding. It’s the kind you wear when you’re going to marry the love of your life.

“Thayden!” I turn, hearing his mother call his name, and there he is, standing in the doorway of this little salon.

crosses the room to me, a terrifyingly determined look on his face.

In a move so swift I can only draw in a shallow breath, Thayden lifts the veil away from my face. With that tiny barrier gone, the moment is even more intense, the very air alive and electric. It’s what I felt between us the night of our kiss, but more.

His eyes, so green.

“You’re breathtaking.”

“I’m doing this all wrong. You said I should pursue her without the contract or strings or whatever, but she wanted to sign. So I did. That was mistake number one.”

“Please just let me get this out! I’m going to explode otherwise. So, we’re getting married. And get this: I want to marry her. I know I’m not exactly experienced in serious relationships. Or relationships at all. But when you know, you know, right? Or is that just a phrase people say?”

So, today, I saw her in her wedding dress. Or a wedding dress. And my heart”—I thump my chest two, then three times with my fist—“it’s like the thing woke up for the first time. I would have recited my vows right there in the dressing room. Which is … insane. Am I insane? Look at me?”

“The point is, I never wanted to get married. Enter Delilah.

I am serious. And apparently, I need to get my Jane Austen on if I want to figure out the magic that’s going to help me win over my fiancée.

First of all, the man has insisted on stocking his kitchen for me.

I mean, I’m not saying that the way to this girl’s heart is through literature, but I’m not denying it either.

“Come live with me, and be my love, and we will some new pleasures prove of golden sands, and crystal brooks, with silken lines, and silver hooks.”

I catch sight of myself in the mirror, and my smile matches theirs.

And then Apollo has leaped into the tub, knocking me and Thayden in with him.

And still, Thayden cradles me to his chest. “Eternal Flame” starts to play, because OF COURSE it does. With a sigh, Thayden tilts his head until our eyes meet. “Hi,” he says. “Hi.”

I think I’d peg you as more of a … big bad wolf.”

Side note: I’d like to put in a request for a working lock, please. To keep out all the dogs.” Thayden laughs. “And what about the mice?” “Them too.” “And the wolves?”

If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the way to a woman’s heart is through her Pinterest boards.

and even the kinds of actors she finds attractive, thanks to a board she titled Man Candy. I’d probably be more irritated if most of them didn’t have dark hair and facial hair. I’m not saying they’re my not-as-hot clones, but … okay, sure. That’s what I’m saying.

Not that I’m obsessive or anything. I happen to like spreadsheets. And Delilah’s eyes.

The thought is like the first dab of peroxide on a skinned knee. But it only makes me more determined to do better, to show her the man I’m trying to become. For myself, but also, for her.

“And I already didn’t sleep last night.” My eyes snap up to her face. I can tell she didn’t mean to say that by the way she dips her chin, avoiding my gaze. Honestly, I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only one. Last night, all I could think about was having this woman here in my house, sleeping a bedroom away, with only layers of wood and drywall between us.

I normally don’t use the espresso maker, or even find myself in the kitchen this much, but Delilah is giving me excuses to do a lot of things I haven’t done in a long time. Or ever.

Though she didn’t say much, I saw the wonder in her eyes when she saw her newly decorated room. I would have loved a hug, don’t get me wrong, but seeing that look was enough. I’m like a starving dog, hanging out under her table for the smallest scrap. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly. But I’m still down here, head on my paws, waiting with those same doleful eyes Apollo gives me when I've grilled a T-bone.

That’s right. Suspect away. I DID figure out all your favorite things so I could win you over. Yep.

I want to drag her into my arms and kiss her just as much as I would have if she were wearing something lacy or that revealed more skin.

All I need is a list of names and I will be tearing off people’s limbs.

I look around the room, where the only thing out of place is Delilah. Though to me, she looks like what was missing in my little house.

“Let’s move on to physical touch.” And like THAT, I am focused on the conversation.

And I, a fully grown man, have a five-minute cuddle limit, which I get only if my fake fiancée smacks me.

But I simply watch her, becoming the best student of this woman I can, because I have big plans to ace this class and go on to get my doctorate in all things Delilah.

“Nice try. No, I mean if you have other women sleep over.” She tries to keep that same amused look on her face, but it’s all wrong. Her eyes aren’t blinking, and her mouth is pinched. She is legitimately concerned about this possibility. My cement heart hardens, then cracks wide open.

“No other women have crossed this threshold, save my mom and housekeeper. And now you. I have no plans, now or ever, of having any kind of sleepover with any woman other than you.” Too much? Probably. I have basically committed my life or a life of celibacy to her. At least as long as I live here. I guess if I can’t win her over, I’ll have to move.

One look at my dog, with his boxy gray head in her lap, and I know just who will be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future.

“I can’t sleep with you looking at me,” I call to Thayden. “And I can’t sleep with you in my view. But neither of us was having much luck anyway. Is the bed okay?”

wonder what that was like, having a mother who would help you sleep? As opposed to one who was always sleeping with the kind of men that made me wish I had a double lock on my door.

“Are you serious? Thayden, you can’t sing. And if you really don’t know that, you’re tone-deaf.”

In the morning, I have a fuzzy memory of lips brushing my cheek and Thayden whispering, “Sweet dreams, my Southern belle. This could be real, anytime you want it to be. Just say the word.”

“Are you standing outside with a bunch of hot firemen hitting on you?”