Page 10 of Falling for your Fake Boyfriend

“And no one likes a grumpy Aria,” we all said in unison.

She’d changed out of the purple-striped socks and Austen T-shirt, but Ella was still on a quest to find out more about my fake boyfriend. She was feverishly scrolling through something on her phone as I stepped out of the dressing room in a dress that was far too pink and fluffy. I cleared my throat, twice, loudly.

She finally looked up from the phone. “According to this article about Lucas Greyson, owner of Green Wave Technologies, your fake wedding date is the grandson of Lucas Evan Greyson, shipping magnate. Luke—your Luke, not mutton chop Luke—is heir to the whole shebang. His family follows that ridiculous old, English gentry rule of leaving everything to the first-born son. Boy, I’d have something to say if I was a younger sibling in that family.”

I cleared my throat again, held out my arms and circled around, trying to get her back on task. “What do you think?”

“You look like cotton candy,” Ella said. “I’m telling you, try the light blue, off-the-shoulder dress. It’s sexy and elegant, and that’s a hard combo to achieve.”

I grabbed the hanger with the blue dress. I tended to shy away from lowcut dresses because of my ample breasts. They’d garnered far too much attention from the boys in high school, and it made me so self-conscious, I started wearing oversized T-shirts. Aria used to tease me that I might as well wear a big, floral muumuu to school. I’d since grown more confident about my hourglass shape, but I still hated to bring too much attention to it.

Ella’s hand shot over the top of the dressing room door. My phone was in her hand. “It’s him. The fake lover,” she teased.

I was standing half in and out of the cotton candy disaster, but I reached up and grabbed the phone. Luke had texted me four times this morning, mostly with simple questions like am I allergic to any foods and is a room with a view of the stables all right? They were nice, thoughtful questions that made me feel less queasy about the whole thing. I swiped open the text. “Do you ride?” he asked.

I texted back. “Bicycles?”

“Well, that, too, but I meant horses.”

My fingers flew over the screen. “Does a carousel horse count?”

“I was thinking more of horses whose hooves touch the ground.”

I laughed at his response. It was silly because it was just a simple conversation, like the four other conversations, but somehow, it felt like we were flirting. I needed to get out of that mindset. “I don’t ride horses. But I do love to ride a bike,” I wrote back. There was no response. Maybe he was rethinking the whole thing. I was going to be so wholly out of my element at this weekend wedding.

“Horses are overrated,” he wrote back. I decided to end the conversation there. I needed to choose a dress and pick up my canine clients for their walk around town.

I pulled off the pink dress. Ella continued to entertain me with Lucas Greyson trivia as I wriggled and squirmed into the snug blue dress. “Green Wave Technologies is considered one of the top new companies on the Forbes list. It works with developers and building managers to create plans for environmentally friendly buildings and houses.Peoplemagazine named him the country’s most eligible bachelor last year. He’s dated many famous and rich women but never for more than a few months. He’s really good-looking, but I guess he’s one ofthoseguys,” she said with a tone that I was sure accompanied an eye roll.

I hopped up on my toes and peered at her over the top of the dressing room door. “What guys?”

“The kind who refuse to commit. You know—rich playboy who can’t be bothered with a woman’s feelings because they’re too self-absorbed.”

I laughed. “You’re sure wearing your psychology degree on your sleeve today.” I reached back and tried hard to zip the dress, but the bodice was so tight, I could only move the zipper a few centimeters. “Besides, none of this matters. It’s a fake relationship, a business deal. The seven thousand is going straight into my savings account.” I grunted in frustration and pushed open the door.

Ella’s face lit up. “It’s gorgeous. I knew that color and style would be right for you.”

I raised a cynical brow and turned around to show her that the zipper was half open.

“Oh, I suppose that won’t do. But it’s so gorgeous.”

“Yes, well, I can’t very well walk around with the zipper down. Maybe they have this in a larger size?”

“This was the only one.” Ella sucked in a deep breath, which lifted her chest and sank in her belly. “Do this,” she said through gritted teeth before releasing the big breath. “Maybe we can, you know, pull an old-fashioned corset-cinching session, only with a zipper.” She twirled her finger in the air. “Turn around and grab hold of the edge of the dressing room. You know, like they used to do with the post on a bed.”

“Yes, and we’ll call in all the lady’s maids to help,” I said. “You spend far too much time in your nineteenth-century London fantasy world.”

She ignored my comment and twirled her finger again. I sighed, causing the zipper to slip down more. I knew Ella wouldn’t give up unless she gave it the old Victorian try, so I spun around and grabbed hold of the edge of the dressing room. Two teen girls giggled as they walked past us to the next dressing room.

“This is very humiliating,” I noted as I gripped the edge of the doorway.

“Now suck it all in,” Ella said.

I took a deep breath and held it as she grunted and growled and worked the zipper up to the top of the bodice. “There!” she exclaimed triumphantly.

“Only one problem,” I said weakly. “Can’t breathe.”

“Please. A little discomfort is a negligible sacrifice for beauty.” She spun me around rather annoyingly and stepped back. “Oh my gosh, Issie, it’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.”

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