My Fake Fiancé

“
My Fake Fiancé”

By

Lisa Scott

“My Fake Fiancé”

“Bridesmaid Blues”

“The One That Got Away”

“Wedding Auditions”

“Do Over”

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Lisa Scott Macdonough

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any
information storage and retrieval system, without prior written
permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is
appreciated.

All characters in this short story are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

“
My Fake Fiancé”

By Lisa Scott

Sorting through the mail, my fingers closed
around the thick, glossy envelope that screamed wedding invitation.
I passed it to my roommate, Micki, who was sipping her coffee while
grumbling about men who tie up the bar, then leave lousy tips when
she refuses to hand over her phone number.

“Shocking news,” I told her. “Another wedding
invitation.” She was scheduled to be a bridesmaid in eight weddings
over the summer and had been invited to another five. It was
costing her a fortune. Thus, the grumpy attitude as she detailed
the night from bartending hell. She’d been moonlighting to pay for
all the wedding costs. Affordable bridesmaids’ dresses are the
thing of fairy tales, apparently. But she’d created a wedding
advice blog detailing her adventures, so she was making the best of
it. “Did you get invited to this many weddings when you lived in
Boston?”

She sighed. “Nope. But Springfield’s my
hometown, so I know lots of people here. Guess they were all
waiting for me to move back before they got married.” Micki held
out her hand and took the envelope from me. She looked at the front
of it and laughed, tossing it back to me. “Sorry, Sammie, this
one’s for you.”

I jumped back and let it drop to the floor
with a thwack. Micki didn’t mind standing up in weddings because
she had no plans to get married. At least that’s what she told me
privately. It was another story on her blog.

I, on the other hand, should’ve been married
by now, or at least had a close call, and hated going to
weddings—reminding me that at age twenty-nine, I’d never had the
pleasure. I didn’t even have anyone I could bring as a date. All
this, and I had twenty thousand dollars in a savings account my
mother had left me before she died, specifically set aside to throw
the wedding of my dreams. A wedding she’d never see. So yeah, I had
a few good reasons to hate weddings.

Reluctantly, I picked up the envelope, and
slid out the card. A trail of fine glitter and dried rose petals
spilled out. I read the invitation and groaned. “No, no, no. Not
Carrie LaMont. Anyone but Carrie LaMont.” I was waiting for a dove
to fly out of the envelope next, the way she did things.

Micki poured herself another cup of coffee
and doused it with creamer. “What’s wrong with Carrie LaMont?”

I slumped onto the stool and propped my chin
in my hand. “She was my number one frenemy in high school before
the word was coined. Anything I could do, she could do better.”

“Carrie La Mont. Sounds familiar.” She held
out her hand and I passed her the invitation. Reading over the
details, she nodded. “Didn’t recognize the name at first. I’m in
this wedding. She’s marrying my cousin.”

“Your cousin the brain surgeon?” My voice
squeaked.

“Pediatric brain surgeon,” she clarified.
“Yes. Despite the gaggle of models and lawyers and beauty pageant
queens following him, Carrie LaMont won the game.”

I whimpered. “Why? Why her?”

“You haven’t seen her in a while I take
it.”

I shook my head.

“She’s gorgeous, her father’s loaded, and she
apparently does things in bed that are illegal in some states.”
Micki shrugged. “My cousin’s a talker when he’s drunk.”

“She’s also a natural blonde with a
supermodel figure and the prettiest teeth I’ve ever seen.” I
stomped my foot. “Why isn’t life fair?”

Micki shrugged. “So don’t go.”

“She’ll think my life is so miserable I’m
ashamed to show up.”

Micki tucked her hair behind her ears,
showing off the new blue streak she’d added after moving back home.
Some people get tattoos to mark life milestones, Micki changes her
hair. “But isn’t it true? You were just telling me your dating life
is so slow that you only shave your legs once a week.”

I cringed, thinking about my prickly legs. “I
can’t let her know that! Besides, there should be some perks to
being single, right? Not having to shave every day is one of them.”
I went right for my stash of emergency chocolate in the cupboard by
the fridge, then settled for a cookie when I realized the chocolate
was long gone. I looked for the shopping list stuck on the fridge
so I could add chocolate. But chocolate was already on the list. I
grabbed the last cookie and then jotted cookies on the list.

Micki snorted. “I guess unlimited sympathy
sweets is a perk of being single too?”

I ignored her. Micki could eat anything and
stay a size four. “I have to bring a fabulous date and slightly
tweak the truth about my life.” I made a teeny-tiny gesture with my
fingers. “Oh, and new highlights. Botox? Should I try botox?” I
paced around the kitchen wondering if there was any way to make
Carrie LaMont squirm.

“You could just go and wish her well.”

I gave Micki a dirty look. “Of course I can’t
do that. Liam Streeter was all set to ask me to prom and she stole
him away once she found out I was interested. Then she dumped him a
week later. He was really into me until she came along. I could be
married with two kids if it weren’t for her.”

“Okay. She sucks. Tell you what—I’ll help you
find the perfect date. Come to the bar Friday and we’ll find the
hottest guy, create a drool-worthy history for him, and pay him big
bucks to go with you.”

“Micki!”

“What, you think you’re going to find a Brad
Pitt look-a-like CEO in three weeks? For free?”

“Three weeks?” I looked at the invitation. “I
must’ve been on the second-tier list of invites.”

Micki wrinkled her nose. “More like third
tier, I’d say.”

I groaned. “Wouldn’t you think I’d be first
tier so she could be certain I was there to humiliate?”

“Maybe she forgot about you until the third
round.”

I gritted my teeth. “A Brad Pitt look alike
CEO who’s foreign,” I said, upping the ante after such a slight.
“Who builds orphanages in Africa.”

Micki pointed at me. “Let’s make him the guy
who dumped Angelina Jolie before she hooked up with Brad Pitt. She
used poor Brad to fill the void of your mystery man.”

We clinked coffee mugs. “I like it.”

***

Easier said than done, as it turns out. By
midnight Friday night, we’d found a guy with a lovely accent from
Ireland—who was going back to the motherland in a week. The only
guy who looked remotely like Brad Pitt—if you tilted your head and
squinted—was too drunk to stand up. He certainly couldn’t be
trusted to play along nicely at a wedding that was sure to have
open bar all night long. One guy who seemed like a good prospect
wanted seven hundred bucks to play the part. Would a night out with
me be that horrible?

“This was a dumb idea,” I said, slumped over
the bar, nursing the remnants of my white Russian.

Micki wiped down the bar top. “Now don’t give
up. You can always come back tomorrow night.”

I was about to call it a night when the wait
staff from the banquet hall attached to the bar spilled out; some
retirement party having ended at midnight.

Micki’s eyes widened and she whistled softly.
“Hold the phone. Looks like we’ve got a new waiter who might fit
the bill.”

I followed her gaze and sucked in a breath.
He wasn’t a Brad Pitt look-a-like, but who cared. A Matthew
McConaughey look-a-like would suffice. “Introduce me,” I whispered
to Micki.

“I don’t know him,” she whispered back. “But
we can change that.” She caught his eye and waved him over.

He looked behind him like he wasn’t sure she
meant him, and with that, I was sold. Not that I was looking for a
relationship with a guy I was going to hire. Just that someone so
hot also being so humble was a great quality.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before. I’m
Micki Keegan.”

“I’m Justin Banks. Just started this week.”
They shook hands across the bar.

“This is my friend, Samantha Cooper. Talk
amongst yourselves while I get you a drink. What’ll you have?”

“A beer would be great. What can I get you,
Samantha?”

Nice, he’s thoughtful to boot
. “I’ll
have another white Russian.” With no time to waste, I got busy.
“So, you’re a waiter?”

“It’s one of my many jobs. I’m a waiter, a
model, and an actor.” He shrugged.

One eyebrow shot up. “An actor?” Was fate
finally playing along? “You’re an actor?”

Untying his bow tie, he nodded. “Just bit
parts in commercials and industrial videos. Only because it pays
the bills. I’ve got bigger plans, but for now, I’m juggling a few
different things.”

I tilted my head, examining him. “Ever do any
live acting?”

“Like theater?”

“Sort of.” I chewed on my lip, wondering
exactly how to pose the question, when Micki arrived with our
drinks.

“Justin here is an actor,” I told her.

She clapped. “Perfect. Did you ask him?”

He gave me a wary smile. “Ask me what?”

“Geez, Micki, I wasn’t going to jump right
in.”

“The wedding’s two weeks away. There’s no
time to lose.”

Justin took a long drink of his beer. “I’m
intrigued.”

I sighed. “Fine. I’ll admit upfront this is
totally pathetic, but I need a date for a wedding in two
weeks.”

“Not just a date. She needs a fiancé,” Micki
said.

His eyebrows shot up.

“A fake fiancé. Who’s a successful CEO with
an Australian accent.”

He laughed and sat on the stool next to me.
“I’m none of those things.”

“But you are an actor.”

He sucked in a deep breath—and then another
slug of beer.

“I’d be willing to pay you.”

“Let me guess, your ex is getting married? An
old boyfriend is going to be there? I won’t get the shit pounded
out of me, will I?” I got a whiff of whatever aftershave he’d been
wearing. It was nice.

I fiddled with the straw in my drink. “No, no
it’s not my ex.”

“Then why would you need to show up with a
rich, successful fiancé?”

“The bride was this mean girl in school…”

He held up a hand. “Say no more. I have a
younger sister. I once paid a buddy to take her to some big
dance.”

“Aww, really?” Something deep inside me
hummed.

“Of course. She’s my sister and no one’s
going to tell her she can’t land a date. Even if she couldn’t.” He
clapped his hands together. “So, what do I have to do?”

“You’re interested?” I hadn’t expected
this.

He shrugged. “I need the cash.”

”For what?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s not illegal is it? Or a gambling debt?”
Didn’t want my fake fiancé getting his knees broken at the
wedding.

He laughed. “No.”

“Okay.” I blew my bangs off my forehead. I
hadn’t really expected to find someone. It’d seemed like more of a
lark. “It’s not that hard. Just pretend to be the perfect man who’s
engaged to me.”

His eyes twinkled and he leaned forward.
“What’s your perfect guy like?”

I thought about it. My perfect guy was funny,
and was passionate about his work, even if it didn’t pay well. He
was smart, liked to read, didn’t like to party too much, liked cats
more than dogs, and appreciated high thread count sheets. Weird, I
know, but it’s the little things that count, and my perfect guy
enjoys the little things. Oh, and my perfect guy is nice to his
sister. But Justin had that covered. It’s very important to see how
a man treats the other women in his life. It’s a good indicator of
things to come for you.