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

by Emma St. Clair

I picture a man with short, dark hair. Maybe a five o’clock shadow. Khaki pants, a button-down shirt, open at the throat to show off nice collarbones. I’m a total sucker for a good set of clavicles.

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.

But I believe the fabric of a person can be known by their stitching. That is, the small parts helping to make up the whole quilt.

And if it matters, I’m Team Oxford comma all the way. But I doubt Thayden knows, uses, or cares for my ride-or-die punctuation.

This woman is my spirit animal. 🥰

The jaded part of me—which, to be clear, makes up eighty percent or more—is suspicious of his charm.

Girl, same.

with grass-green eyes the same color as his.

“You're already thinking about children?” She gives me a sly sideways glance.

😂😂😂 MISUNDERSTANDINGS ARE THE BEST

Her hair is the color of a jar of honey with the sun shining behind it, and blue eyes like the sky on the best kind of lazy summer day.

And is it so wrong that it feels so right when Delilah gives me a hard time? I could listen to her insult me all day long.

I grab a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream from his bookshelf, pleased that he has my favorite Shakespeare play, and flop down on the couch.

MINE TOO.

Because licking your finger is much more ladylike than licking your plate—etiquette 101.

My own thoughts are all over the place, like someone has dropped a handful of bouncy rubber balls in a concrete room.

“What was your endgame with me? Out of curiosity. You don’t want to marry me. You just want to … what? Make out? Make love? Make me yours but not for keeps?”

👏👏👏 girl, yes!!

“I would marry you in anything you wore,” he says. The words drop from his lips like a vow, and they cause something to shift inside of a deep, locked and heavily guarded vault of my heart.

Another day, it was a gorgeous leather-bound edition of Shakespearean sonnets and a coffee mug that reads, Talk Literary to 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.”

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

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

“Sweet dreams, my Southern belle. This could be real, anytime you want it to be. Just say the word.”

“I’ll make every meal for you if you want. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I don’t need to go to work. I’ll just stay here and be yours.”

I’m going to keep pushing her, keep pursuing her, and keep spoiling her until Delilah stops thinking that she doesn’t deserve every single thing I want to give her.

😭😭😭

“Delilah, I know I’m a mess. I’m not the best man. I’m not what you probably envisioned in a husband. I know I drive you crazy sometimes. But I want to spend the rest of my life figuring out how to be a man who deserves you, even if I’m doing so one mistake at a time.”