Just Fake It & It Was Always You

JUST FAKE IT.

****

“Holy shit!” I exclaim.

My heel slips on the ice near the first step and I narrowly keep my face from colliding with the sidewalk by holding onto the railing for dear life. Whoever said wearing heels while walking on ice was easy, was a damn liar. This is the third time I’ve almost busted my ass just trying to get to the front door. After I collect myself from my brush with death, I walk up the few remaining steps and ring the doorbell.

My coworker, Jessica, answers the door a few seconds later, accepting the pastries I brought before letting me in and taking my coat. I usually don’t do parties. I prefer to stay at home, working on my online business or watching movies, but being that I’m in desperate need of meeting people at the moment, I've made an exception. The shock on Jessica’s face when I’d accepted the invitation to her New Year’s Eve party had been enough to make me cringe, but in my defense, I’ve had a lot going on.

I have to make the time now, though. I need to find someone to marry me and quick. I’m running out of time. I have six months to find a man, convince him to marry me, make us look like a real couple to my parents, and have a wedding that I’ve already announced is taking place in June.

When I walk into Jessica’s living room, there are a few other people from work already here, with their drinks in hand. Heading over to the table, I say, “Hi,” to some of them along the way. I grab a shrimp cocktail, then a brownie, then some chocolate cupcakes, anything to pass the time until it’s almost midnight.

Although I came to meet new people, it’s entirely too comfortable and safe to stay near the table, watching everyone else instead of talking to them. How do you begin a conversation, when you’re trying to figure out if that person will be a suitable fake fiancé?

“You must really love chocolate.” I hear a deep voice say from behind me.

I turn around, another cupcake in hand. Standing before me is what can only be described as the epitome of sexiness. He has to be at least 6’2. He’s broad shouldered and has an easy smile on his face. And what a face it is.

The bottom of it is covered by a beard that’s long enough for me to fist. I look at his high cheekbones and when my eyes finally meet his, they’re alight with amusement at, what I can only assume, is me checking him out in silence for the last few seconds. His hair is cut low, but it’s his beard that my eyes go back to, which has me looking at his smile when he speaks.

“Uh or not.” He arches a brow.

“What?” I ask, feeling like I’m coming out of a stupor.

“I said you must love chocolate, but your silence has me second guessing that.”

I look down at the cupcake in my hand.

“No, you’re completely right.” I chuckle. “What gave me away?”

“I’ve seen you come to this table about five times and get something chocolate all but once.”

“So, you’ve been watching me?” I smirk.

“I definitely have.” He smiles.

“I already know you liked what you saw.”

“Confidence. I like it.”

“So, I’m confidence and you are?”

“Tristan.” He extends his hand.

“Angela,” I say, placing my hand in his.

“How do you know Jessica?”

“We work together over at the jewelry store. You?

“My younger brother”—he points at a slightly younger and shorter version of himself—“is dating Jessica’s sister. So, he made me tag along tonight, with strict instructions to get to know our host.”

“And have you gotten to know her, or will your brother have to pummel you?”

He gives a deep belly laugh. “He wishes he could. I haven’t spoken to her much, but my excuse is going to be she was busy entertaining her guests.” He shrugs.

“Naughty.” I shake my head.

“All right, everyone,” Jessica shouts. “It’s almost midnight. So, grab a glass and someone to kiss.”

Everyone laughs as Tristan and I lock eyes. Someone comes around with a tray and he grabs two glasses off of it. He hands me one and I hesitantly put my cupcake down to accept it. The ball begins to drop on the TV and when it hits midnight, we both take a sip of champagne. When we bring our glasses down, I see people around us kissing, some quick pecks, others long, passionate kisses.

When I look back at Tristan, he’s smiling at me, not expectant, but wondering. I put my glass on the table behind me and step closer to him, giving him all the permission he needs. His smile grows before he steps closer as well, leaning in until his lips are a breath away from mine. Then he closes the distance and his lips are on mine, soft and warm. I step a little closer, not ready for the kiss to be over.

He ends the kiss after a few seconds, but then leans in for another quick one before completely drawing his head back.

I think I’ve just found my husband.

*

It’s a week later when I’m waiting for Tristan at the restaurant. We’d exchanged numbers before leaving the party and texted our way to this date today. Grabbing my glass of lemonade with both hands, I try to ignore the fact that they’re shaking. I don’t think I could possibly be more nervous. Based on what I’m about to ask someone who’s essentially a stranger, I think my nervousness is warranted.

Tristan walks in and the hostess directs him to the table I’m already waiting at. When he reaches the table, he leans down and kisses my cheek before taking the seat across from me.

“You look beautiful,” he says while he pulls his chair in.

“Thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself.”

“Pretty and handsome in one sentence, huh? I must look damn good.” He chuckles.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

“Did you order yet?” he asks.

“No. I’ve only been here a few minutes.”

He nods as the waiter comes back over and we place our orders for dinner and appetizers.

“So, I have a confession,” I begin.

“Interesting. Go on.”

“I have a reason for asking you to come here.”

“You mean, other than going on a date?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He draws the word out.

I take a deep breath in and let it out. “I would like you to marry me.”

Talk about bad timing. Right as the question leaves my lips, the waiter brings Tristan’s drink back. The waiter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he puts the drinks down and quickly leaves. Tristan, on the other hand, is still looking stunned when my eyes come back to him.

“It wouldn’t be a real marriage,” I hurry to add.

He takes a sip of his drink before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’m gonna need you to explain that one a little more.”

“Well, at least you haven’t run out the restaurant yet.” I give a small smile. “My dad is sick. Cancer. According to the doctors, who I don’t believe, by the way, he has about eight months to live.”

Tristan’s eyes soften at my words. “I’m sorry.”

I nod. “My dad has one wish before he…goes, and that’s to walk me down the aisle. I may have told him I was engaged and getting married in June, when I don’t even have a boyfriend, let alone, a fiancé.”

Realization hits his face. “Ahh, I see. If you don’t mind me asking…why did you tell him that?”

“It was during his last hospital stay. It didn’t even look like he would make it through the night, and I wanted to give him something to fight for. It was lousy of me, but I was desperate.”

Tristan nods in what I hope is understanding.

“So, now I’ve got my mom basically planning a wedding and my dad itching to walk me down the aisle to an imaginary groom. I don’t have it in me to break his heart and tell him I’m not really engaged and there’s no wedding.” I sigh. “And so here I am, asking a complete stranger to meet me at the altar in June.”

“Hey, not a complete stranger. We did kiss already. Have you forgotten?” He smiles.

“I definitely did not forget that kiss.” I grin.

The waiter brings back the appetizers, giving us a moment of silence. Or, in my case, a moment to freak out inside, imagining Tristan making up an excuse to leave at any moment.

I place a few loaded nachos on my plate before looking back at Tristan. His eyes are on his empty plate, his face very serious.

He finally speaks. “Okay.”

“What?” I blurt out, almost choking on my mouthful of food.

“I’ll do it,” he agrees.

“That easily?”

“My parents died when I was sixteen. A car accident.”

My heart twists at his words. I can barely handle my dad being sick. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I actually lost him. And both of Tristan’s parents had passed away.

“If I could have given them something they wanted before they’d died, I would’ve done anything in my power to make it happen. So, I understand why you’re doing this.”

I have to swallow around the lump in my throat to say, “Thank you.”

He nods and puts some nachos on his plate. “So…where are we getting married?”

I laugh at the casualness he asks the question with, as if he hasn’t just agreed to something downright crazy.

“New Jersey. Looks like the first week of June, if my mom gets her way with the venue, and trust me, she will.” I chuckle.

“Okay. And this whole thing being fake means, what, exactly?”

“Well, obviously my parents will think it’s real, but the wedding official won’t actually be marrying us, and we won’t be going down to city hall to get a license or anything like that. But everything else will look real. We’ll get to know each other before you meet my parents, so it’ll seem like we’re endlessly in love when we spend time with them. My dad’s threats to end you should you ever harm me will be very real.” I laugh again.

“The younger brother I told you about, Jason, I will want him to know the truth, but I’ll tell him to keep it to himself.”

“That’s fair. I can’t believe I’m actually discussing this. I expected you to be back in your car by now.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He smirks.

“I know it’s a lot to ask. I planned to go visit my parents the weekend after Valentine’s Day, but let me know your schedule, as far as work goes, so this can disrupt your life as little as possible. The timing is more because my lease is up in the middle of February, so I figured I’d put everything in storage and go to my parents then.”

“I’m a network engineer, but I mostly work from home. So long as I can bring my laptop wherever we go, I’m set.”

“Okay. I was planning to stay until the wedding in June, but I know that’s a lot of time. I don’t expect you to stay the whole time.”

“I will be there whenever I don’t have to work.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, amazed at how accommodating he’s being about everything.

“Okay, so five weeks to learn everything I should know about you. No biggie.” He exhales a huge breath. “What type of cancer does your dad have? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Oh, we are well beyond the ‘if you don’t mind’stage now.” I chuckle, then sober quickly. “He has Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia or CML. Basically, it started in his bone marrow, but by the time we realized he had cancer, it had already spread to his blood. He’d been losing weight for a while. Not really eating, low on energy. He went to get it checked out, but his blood work came back with an extremely high white blood cell count. He got his diagnosis a little while later.”

“And there’s no treatment for it?”

“Right after we found out, he started taking drugs that specifically targeted the cancer cells. He tried a few before the doctor found one that worked, and he went into remission for six months. But then it came back, even more aggressive this time. He’s been doing chemo for the past year, but it has just been making him worse to sit in the hospital for hours each time, so they recently switched him to a chemo pill. The only real cure at this point is a bone marrow transplant. We’re waiting for a match. If we don’t find one, then…” I don’t want to say the words. Not wanting to believe them.

Tristan’s eyebrows lower as his frown deepens. “I’m sorry. Well, maybe I can get tested to see if I’m a match.”

I smile at such an incredible offer. It lets me know that I chose my fake husband well.

“Thank you. The best matches are siblings, but my dad is an only child. I was tested but am only what they call a half match. I could donate, but the risk would be too much for him. Should his body reject the bone marrow, he wouldn’t survive it. He needs as perfect a match as we can find.”

He nods. “I hope they find someone.”

“Me too.” I shake myself of the melancholy thoughts. “Okay, so, when would you like lessons to begin?”

“First a question.” He leans forward, putting his folded arms on the table in front of him. “How fake are we talking here?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I mean, I’m no cheater. So, while we’re in this fake-real relationship, it’s just me and you. What I’m wondering is if I can steal a kiss or two. Or are those reserved for New Year’s Eve parties?”

I would definitely not mind kissing him again, but I don’t know if I want to risk emotions getting involved. I bite the corner of my bottom lip to keep from smiling as I think about how to answer him. Tristan follows the action with his eyes and my body floods with want at the heat in his gaze. That settles it for me.

“I guess we can see what happens on the physical side.”

He smirks, as if I don’t know what I’ve just agreed to. Maybe I don’t, but I’m more than willing to find out.

“Sounds good to me. No pressure, though. Don’t think I’m in it for that.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay, so, why don’t we meet on Friday to begin our ‘lessons,’as you say?”

“Come to my apartment. I’ll make us dinner and you can go through some photo albums while I tell you all my embarrassing childhood stories. We’ll start there.”

He laughs. “I can definitely do that.”

Our food arrives and we eat in silence for a while. I can’t believe this is actually happening. I didn’t think anyone would go for being my fake fiancé, especially not so easily. But here I am, “engaged” and about to teach Tristan all about myself so we can walk down the aisle.

Tristan takes out his phone. “Give me your address.”

I say it and his thumbs move across the screen.

“Only ten minutes from me,” he tells me before putting his phone back on the table. “If I like your cooking, I might be over all the time.”

I point my fork at him, playfully narrowing my eyes. “All right, lesson number one in things you should know about me… I can cook my ass off.”

His grin is instant. “That’s what I like to hear from my future wife.”