Page 19 of Pretend for Me

I place my plate on the coffee table before rubbing my forehead with the tips of my fingers and squeezing my eyes shut, bracing for their reaction. “Yeah, so technically, itdidget smoothed over, but he asked for a favor . . .”

“A favor,” Nisha echoes. “Like free haircuts for the rest ofthe year, because the bastard is only a billionaire and can’t afford to pay for them. That kind of favor?”

“Sort of.” I chuckle awkwardly. “Actually, he asked me to marry him because it’s his dying mom’s last wish to see her son get married and he wants to fulfill it.”

Silence follows my words for so long, I wonder if maybe I’ve accidentally activated a mute button. I cautiously peek through my fingers to check if my best friends are still there.

Unfortunately, they are. And while they both have completely different features and characteristics, they’re currently giving me the exact same look, like I just told them I’m quitting my job to become a professional armpit smeller.

Honestly, they probably wouldn’t have been as shocked if Ihadtold them that, given my extreme aversion to smelly armpits—one of the reasons I had to break things off with Jimmy Dean. He would get so worked up during sex and, well, I think his glands were a bit more active than most people’s.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand.

“What do you mean, he asked you to marry him?” Nisha asks incredulously, her expression a mix of horror and confusion.

“I mean, he asked me to marry him.” My heart hammers as the weight of my decision sinks into my stomach.

Both my friends are now sitting at the edge of the couch, as if they physically can’t be comfortable during a conversation like this.

“So, what did you say?” Sarina asks cautiously.

“He can’t be serious,” Nisha scoffs. “He’s clearly grieving and has lost his mind.”

I take a moment, tipping back my cocktail glass and downing my liquid courage, feeling the vodka blaze a trail down my esophagus. Licking my lips, I square my shoulders and face my friends again. “I said yes?—”

“What?!” they both scream.

“But honestly, I got a pretty solid favor back from him too, you guys,” I continue, feigning nonchalance. “He agreed to become our celebrity model in exchange for a few months of being married.”

“You said yes?” Sarina’s voice escalates an octave. “Are you fucking serious right now? Piper, you don’t even know the guy!”

I give her a faraway look. “Do we ever really know anyone? I’ve known my mother my whole life, but just last week, she told me she loved gorgonzola. It truly tilted my world on its axis. So, really, can we be sure about anyone?”

“Oh my God.” Sarina’s eyes connect with her sister’s before she searches my face. “You’ve officially lost it. And we were witnesses to the entire year you’d dyed your hair auburn.”

“And the time you convinced us to take a Kia Rio up an iceberg in Iceland and we got stuck.”

I muffle a snicker, recalling the helicopter rescue mission and being in the arms of this burly Viking-looking dude as we dangled over the ice. Nisha and Sarina shot daggers at me the entire helicopter ride back. Ah, good times. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?

“And the time you got Chinese characters tattooed on your ankle, only to find out months later that they translated to ‘turkey sandwich’.”

“That was a failed Google search on my part, and I still stand by the fact that the letters look cool around my ankle!” I take another breath. “Look, I know this sounds crazy, even for me, but I just . . . felt bad for the guy. It would be a temporary arrangement, anyway; you guys know I can’t do permanent and complicated, so this works out. Once his mom passes, we’ll go back to our regular lives. It’ll be like hitting rewind on the whole thing.”

“Not complicated?Piper, this is the height of complicated!” Nisha’s tone drips with disbelief. “And what do youmean, it’ll be like hitting rewind? You’ll be a divorced woman afterward. Marriage doesn’t disappear from public record.”

“Divorced-schmivorced,” I pfft. “It’s not like half the population doesn’t have a failed marriage or two under their belt. This is an understanding, a simple marriage agreement. And it’s for a good cause. You know how I love a good cause. Remember the ‘Socks Without Partners’ donation we started at the salon?”

“You mean the one westilldon’t know what to do with?” Sarina deadpans.

I roll my eyes. “It’ll be for a good cause when we figure out what that is. Anyway, my point is, this marriage will be for a good cause?—”

“Piper,” Nisha pinches the bridge of her nose. “The reason this is going to get complicated is because you already like the guy.”

I gasp so loud, I start coughing. “I do not! I would never like someone so cold and emotionless and demanding.”

And gorgeous, and selfless, and enigmatic. Yuck!

“I bet he has a micropenis with how cold he runs,” I continue, not admitting that I definitely felt something that was not micro in any shape or form when I went chest-to-chest with him that day for threatening the salon. “I’ve heard it’s a real thing, actually. Men who are cold-natured tend to have small penises because their penises shrivel into their body.”

---