Fake It: A Fake Fiancé Romance Page 2

  “No, I’m good.”

  “But we were gonna find a room after! I’m sure you’ll still want a New Year’s kiss, right?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Come on! You said we would only a second ago.”

  “I didn’t.” I look away.

  “Hey, more for me,” Tristan interjects, grabbing Tammy’s hand and yanking her toward him.

  The show is over, and the lights have come back on.

  My cue to leave.

  I’m thinking of one thing—finding Molly. The guests start to get up and move around. I maneuver my way through the crowd, keeping my eyes dead on the stage in case I catch a glimpse of where she ends up.

  By the time I get to the front, most of the guests are up and socializing. It’s a mosh pit of people gathering around one another. While I survey the area, an older couple stops me—Dr. Richards and his wife. They’re my father’s friends, so I recognize them right away. As teenagers, my brother and I went to their house all the time.

  “Carlyle, is that really you? It’s been forever.” Mrs. Richards goes in for a hug. “Oh Arnold, look. You remember Carlyle? He was just a little boy when he was in the neighborhood.”

  I smile at them. I know they only want to ask me questions I don’t want to answer. They probably want to pick things up from when I moved to New York and now back to Calabasas. The regular: How’s your mother these days? How’s your dad? Is he still in a coma? Is your brother still in trouble with the law?

  I interject before they can get another word in. “I’d love to catch up, Dr. Richards, Mrs. Richards. There is lots to talk about. But I think a quiet place and some good wine would be more suiting.” I pivot in the other direction.

  They don’t seem too offended. Good thing I didn’t waste time, because I finally find her in the middle of the crowd. She’s standing there like a sheep among a pack of wolves. There are guys surrounding her like she’s the last woman on earth.

  I slip to the front of the horde of men, catching her by surprise.

  “Kind of a weird fall earlier.”

  She turns around to face me.

  Her face flushes. “Good thing you were there to catch me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’ll take a lot more than that to scare me. That was quite a performance up there. I didn’t know you could sing.”

  “You saw all that? Oh god—it wasn’t my idea. It’s one of my hobbies, I guess.”

  Green and blue lasers light up the dance floor. From the corner of my eye, I see Dr. Richards coming toward us with some wine. And it looks like someone else is trailing behind him. Molly runs to the guy behind Dr. Richards and wraps her arms around him. He looks familiar too. I think he’s her father.

  They hug. Then he looks between her and me, and then at the company he’s been brought along with. Dr. Richards was in the crowd not a moment ago and suddenly, he’s bringing Molly’s dad to her in the middle of the dance floor.

  Out of nowhere, a big burly dude dressed awkwardly in a suit shows up.

  He towers over us and looks like he hasn’t quite hit puberty yet. If it weren’t for his facial hair, I’d have to guess he were still a kid.

  Her dad, who seems to notice the weirdness in the situation, breaks the ice. “I hope we weren’t interrupting anything between you two. I just happened to run into Dr. Richards at the bar, and I thought I would introduce you to his son, Sam.”

  Molly looks between her dad and me, then does a double take at Sam.

  “Oh, Dad. Thanks. But yeah, we were in the middle of something. It’s nice to meet you, Sam.” Molly flashes me a nervous look.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, sweetie, but I’d love it if you could maybe show Sam around sometime. You remember him, right? He’s traveling for work and is in the area.”

  “I’ll catch ya later, Molly.” I start turning away, but a hand catches my wrist.

  “Wait—”

  “I was about to go dance, if you want to join me.”

  Her mouth forms a smile, and she seems relived that I’ve just offered to save her from her dad and Mr. Big & Tall.

  Mr. Stanley turns to Dr. Richards and reassures him with a pat on the back. And judging by the kid’s face, he’s not happy either.

  “Hey, Carlyle, right?” says Big Boy.

  “Yeah, don’t think we’ve met before. What’s your name, again?”

  “You’re mackin’ on my girl, man.”

  Tough guy, huh? Molly looks like she wants nothing to do with this pinhead. Her dad is preoccupied with Dr. Richardson and doesn’t seem to notice.

  Without causing too much of a scene, I size myself up to Big Boy, right close enough so he can hear what I’m about to say. “Who says she’s your girl?”

  Molly is still my friend even though I haven’t seen her in years, and even though she’s not my girl, it doesn’t seem like she wants him either. If this guy wants to get with Molly, he’s already ruined his chance. What kind of weirdo gets his dad to wingman for them? In case I get lost from Molly, I slip one of my business cards into her hand.

  There’s that deep voice over the intercom again. “New Year’s in ten…nine…eight…”

  “The lady looks like she’s not that interested.” My nostrils flare while I stare at the unwanted guest.

  “Five…four…three…”

  When I turn around, Molly grabs my neck and plants her lips on mine and kisses me hard. She pushes a bit of her tongue inside my mouth, and I’m so caught off guard, I’m not even sure how to react.

  “Two…one…Happy New Year’s!”

  Streamers and confetti fly everywhere. Everyone is hugging from left to right. The DJ is playing the most killer tune, and the entire backyard is flooded with cheers. When Molly and I break from our kiss, she’s beaming. When I look over my shoulder, I see Big Boy is lost for words, his father the same. And moreover, Molly’s dad is smiling ear to ear.

  3

  Molly

  Dad’s dream for me was to become the family company’s treasurer. But who wants to keep track of numbers for the rest of their life? Not me.

  After a million frustrating arguments, cost control and revenue generation are still things that puts me right to sleep. After whacking my dad away with a bat for all these years, I finally got him to stop asking me to work for him. Which, in hindsight, was a mistake on my part. Dad slowly stopped caring about my career, but then he became seriously obsessed with my dating life.

  My dad put Xander in charge of vetting me a suitable husband. Someone to whisk me away, preferably on par with our family’s stature, and he needed to fit into the family. Xander and Jesse will be having lunch with me so we can discuss a plan I have.

  There’s this quaint but bustling breakfast joint just up Rupert and Meadows Avenue. Reservations were booked into the next month, but nothing a Benny can’t fix to get me to the front of the line. The most buttery of croissants are waiting for me in this place.

  I see Xander across the street waiting to cross, punctual as always. He’s dressed in a three-piece suit. Imagining myself being in a getup like that at all times like he always is makes me want to cringe. Crazy brother.

  I turn back to the hostess, who is looking for a table for me, but Xander appears behind me and over my shoulder tells her he already has a reservation.

  I look up at him. Sly guy has already booked a table! I look back at the girl, who gives me a smug look but doesn’t give me back the hundred-dollar bill.

  We’re ushered past chandeliers and light jazz music. Everything’s made of granite from the tables to the stools. I can’t help but draw my attention to the beautiful abstract paintings on the wall, quarreling reds and deep vivid blues. The canvases set the tone alongside the polished surfaces. We’re seated at one of the tables in the back, and we take our spots facing each other.

  Looking around, I drink in the artwork. “I wonder what it would be like if I could paint such beautiful works of art.”

  Xander has his p
hone glued to his face. “You could probably make a lot of money.”

  “Is that all you care about?” I deadpan.

  “I bet some of these artists make a ton. I just heard the latest DiCarlo is going for fifty-five million. He’s not even dead.” He throws his phone on the table. “Jesse’s late again. No surprise.”

  “Well, I would just love to paint. Something about expressing yourself through art.”

  “Coffee?” our waitress interrupts.

  “Please.” Xander holds up two fingers and keeps his eyes on the menu on the table. “Is there an option to have the hollandaise made with egg whites?”

  “Certainly, sir. I can check with the chef.”

  “Thank you.” Xander waves her off. “Now, where were we? You know, Moll, you have lots of mediums to express yourself. You’re talented. You can do whatever you like. Like you did at the New Year’s Eve party last week. You were the star attraction at that one.”

  I flash back to that moment on stage, when I was scared out of my wits. Thank god my voice didn’t crack and I didn’t fall on my face. The whole song went off without a hitch, but it was still a needless plug I didn’t want to be a part of.

  “The party was nice. Extravagant. You know how I feel about them. I’ve always felt like they were too much.”

  “I know. But we are who we are, and we have a name to uphold. How was singing for the crowd? You did a great job, you know. It wasn’t too frightening?”

  The only casualty was the bombardment of guys afterward.

  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be,” I choke out. “At least I got through it, right?”

  Our waitress is back with our coffees and sets them on the table. I know Xander usually likes his black, so I take the liberty of hoarding all the cream and sugar.

  He snickers and takes a sip of his coffee. “Yes, you did. How was it after? Got some good picks?”

  I shrug and look into the black depths of my coffee.

  “Did you end up talking to anybody?”

  I look around.

  “Molly. Sis. Come on. You have to work with me. You’re my baby sister and I’ll always be on your side, but we’ve been over this. You have to help me come up with an answer for your lack of marital ambition. I mean, if nothing comes out of this, you know Dad’s going to—”

  “Actually, you know our old friend Carlyle Cartier? He ended up talking to me that night. I only saw him once at the party.” I rub my hand on my thigh. “I know he moved away for a bit, but now he’s back.”

  I can’t help but shift in my seat when I go back to both encounters with Carlyle. I didn’t want to mention that I forced a kissed on him to Xander. There is a thing as too much information, for god’s sake.

  “So, you have my best interests in mind, right? Being my older brother and all?”

  My knees feel weak and my heart’s suddenly beating loud enough I can hear it. Crossing my fingers, I lean forward.

  “I don’t know where this is going,” he says and raises his hand, “but sure.”

  Electricity runs down my spine as I muster up all the courage in my body.

  “I want to marry him,” I state. Strongly.

  “Come again?”

  “Yeah, I mean, the whole point was for me to pick somebody, right? Anybody. You know how Dad’s been lately. Pestering me for almost a year now. I know he’s put you up to vetting someone first. But, I think after seeing Carlyle again, I felt a spark between us.”

  Xander’s glaring at me through his hooded lids. “And you want me to do what, exactly?”

  “You’re one of the most persuasive people I know. I need your help here. I think I can get him to pretend to be in a relationship with me. That way, I don’t have to marry the guy Dad picks.”

  “Pretend? Please elaborate.”

  I reach inside my purse and grab the piece of paper I prepped for this and push it across the table. “Read it.”

  Be it known, this agreement is entered into on the fourteenth day of January, between Carlyle Cartier (hereinafter known as the first party) and Margaret (Molly) Stanley (hereinafter known as the second party). The parties shall continue to retain all rights, free from any estimation made by the other in lieu of this agreement. Both parties agree to the confidentiality without any interference or future claim of the existence of this agreement. Both party shall not include any substitutions and exchanges of property in existence or income derived from such property, only and exclusively limited to the martial status of the second party. Both parties must uphold the responsibility and confinement of each other until the fourteenth of August or until both parties decide to mutually part ways.

  Xander looks at me in disbelief, “Okay…is this even a legal document? Are you serious? This is madness, Molly. You can’t expect me to be an accomplice in your little scheme.”

  “It’s called an agreement of conditional premarital engagement. I drafted it up with my lawyer friend.”

  So it has come down to this. To the point where I have to pull these kinds of stunts so I won’t be married to a money-hungry jerk who just wants me for my last name. If someone can help me, it’s my brother, the son of a multibillionaire.

  “How am I supposed to convince a guy to get into a fake relationship? A fake engagement, nonetheless,” Xander protests. “I approve of him, I do. Why don’t you just date him for real?”

  I fight the urge to relent. “Xander—Carlyle and I are friends. Who’s to say we would be compatible in a relationship? For now, I just want some breathing room away from all this marriage nonsense. I know he’s a good guy. I know he would do this for me.

  “He’ll say yes. I know it. I’ll talk to him about it first. I need your help to get him to sign those papers, and I’ll handle Dad. Can you do that? Please? For me?”

  Our waitress has come back to take our order, but Xander waves her off again. “What’s in it for him? Correct me if I’m wrong, Moll, but you like him too, right? I mean, you’re kind of going off the charts here.”

  I fold my arms. “Xander. This is a matter of freedom or imprisonment, okay? Do this for me.”

  I hear a familiar voice from the front of the restaurant. Jesse is speaking to the waitress and then heads our way. I look at Xander with imploring eyes. I push the contract across the table, insisting he take it.

  Xander takes the contract and slips it into his jacket pocket and mumbles under his breath, “You owe me.”

  Jesse plops himself down at the table with sunglasses still over his eyes. “I miss anything?”

  I look over at him. “Nothing. Coffee?”

  4

  Carlyle

  Static on a TV screen plays in front of me. The college studio I lived in during business school is arranged differently than I remember it. The perspectives of the furniture are odd, almost inverted. I know I’m sitting in a chair. The walls are run down, dark and blue, a color I’ve seen only in my dreams.

  The hairs on the back of my neck tingle. There’s another presence here. I’ve never had a roommate.

  My legs start to move on their own, pushing me up and out of the seat. I’m transfixed by a figure in the kitchen leaning over the sink. My body glides across the floor to get a closer look. As my vision refocuses, I realize it’s a woman, and she has nothing on but an apron.

  I step closer and make out her strawberry blonde hair. She’s looking down, hovering over the dishes, and I make out the side profile of her face. It’s Molly. I lazily wrap my arms around her stomach, and she rests her thin shoulders on my chest. She keeps washing the dishes without saying a word.

  My hands roam her body, finding their way up her thighs, and then in between her legs. She’s expressionless for a moment, but I can feel her pulse elevate as I bury my nose into her hair.

  “Carlyle…” Her voice is foggy and not-quite-there.

  She’s not wearing anything underneath. I lose myself to raw instinct, running my hands all over her. My insides twist and turn, building up into a hot ba
ll of fire. Her voice rings in my ear, but it still sounds so far away. I feel her grab me, and…

  I wake up in a hot sweat. My cock is throbbing while remnants of dream Molly still run through my brain. I’m back in my countryside residence. The window is slightly open, letting in a draft, and through the blinds I can see the moon still glowing like a lamp.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about Molly since the party. That kiss on the dance floor has been on my mind for days now. I’ve replayed it over and over in my head. The way she kissed me wasn’t friendly in any way. She meant for it to be more. Almost to lure me in.

  Bzz.

  Bzzz.

  Bzzzz.

  My phone dances across the nightstand, and I grab it before it falls off. The caller ID reads M Stanley.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Molly. Are you up?”

  I grab my watch and grunt—five o’clock—an ungodly hour to be calling somebody.

  “Am now.” I run my hands through my hair. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need a favor…”

  I chuckle, amused. “Finally, you give me a call and right at five o’clock in the morning. A favor, eh? What can I do for you, Ms. Molly Stanley?”

  “It’s hard for me to say over the phone. You do remember my brother Xander, don’t you? He has an opportunity for you. I wanted to be the one to tell you first. But he’s going to give you the good news in a little while.”

  “And what is this good news?”

  “You should be expecting a call from him shortly.”

  There’s a click and the line goes out. Not even a single goodbye. I place my phone back on the nightstand and start doing stretches. Right when I’m past the bathroom doorway, the phone goes off again. Normally, I’d let it ring. But I know who it’s going to be.

  I rush to pick it up. “Hello?”

  “Carlyle—”

  It’s a man’s voice this time.

  “It’s Xander.”