Page 50 of Things We Fake
The idea that Britt had already set something in motion didn’t just feel possible—it felt inevitable. She was always two steps ahead when it came to spin. I knew how vengeful she could be. I could already hear her spreading the story over mimosas: “He’ll come back. He always does.”
Not this time. I had been young and dumb once, but not anymore. When I first met Britt I was star struck to the point where it clouded my judgment. After a while I’d started to see the cracks, the darkness slipping through her perfect façade. Then she’d screw my brains out and I’d forget. Until the next time.
She’d been my first serious relationship. I was still missing my dad and she’d made me feel I finally had a goal in life—to please her. It had taken me a long time to realize her only goal was to please herself. I’d learned my lesson the hard way, which is why I was never going to fall for her bullshit again. I’d wasted years before I finally managed to escape that toxic tie. Afterward, I’d felt like a blind man who could see once more.
The day was golden and clean, the kind of spring morning that made the whole city feel freshly scrubbed. Crisp air, blue sky, people smiling for no reason. We walked to Friedman’s, fingers laced as though we’d done it a thousand times. Bagels and lox helped mask the thrum of anxiety I hadn’t fully admitted even to myself.
This fake engagement was brilliant in theory, but questionable in execution. The longer we faked it, the more convincing it had to be—to Britt, to Sue’s family, to Sue’s work mates… How much of it would be fake and how much real? What did Sue expect from me? I needed some clear guidelines, but this whole thing was so new to both of us I decided not to rock the boat and just wing it.
After brunch, I flagged down a cab and insisted we go hat shopping. We both needed a distraction.
“You really don’t have to do this,” Sue said again as we rode the escalator up to the third floor.
“Don’t have to—want to. I’ve never been Easter bonnet shopping. Or bonnet shopping.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m only doing this because the girls made me.”
I smiled. “One of these days, you’re going to have to stop letting everyone else boss you around.”
“Says the guy staging a fake engagement to avoid his evil ex.”
I tilted my head. “Ouch.”
The escalator deposited us into a battlefield of hat boxes and feathers. The millinery department was a circus—ribbons, netting, flowers, and colors brighter than a kindergarten classroom. People everywhere. Noise layered over noise.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” Sue muttered, gesturing to a stand of what could only be described as post-modern bird casualties.
“You weren’t joking.” I picked up a peacock-themed monstrosity and examined it. For a moment I feared it might peck me.
I turned to Sue, evil creeping up my face.
“Don’t even think about it.” She stepped back. “The swan was bad enough. I had actual nightmares.”
She grabbed a cloche and fascinator and popped them on her head. She looked so ridiculous, so adorable that I lost it, laughter rumbling up before I could stop it.
“You’re loving this,” she grumbled as I pulled out my phone.
“Oh, I am.” I snapped a few photos.
She retaliated with a hat that looked like a Christmas bow that had lost a bar fight and slapped it onto my head. I played along for the laugh, but dropped it fast.
“You look stunning,dahling,” she said in a ridiculous British accent. “Straight out of the royal court.”
“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t get many invites to royal weddings.” I pointed at a particularly sinister-looking feathered thing. “That one belongs in a zoo. And that black one? Either Hitchcock or Poe had a hand in that.”
“Did you know Poe almost used a parrot instead of a raven?”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “Imagine the poem ending with,Nevermore... Polly want a cracker?”
“Doesn’t exactly have the sameje ne sais quoi.”
My face hurt. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. God, the woman was funny. Witty, warm… Addictive if I weren’t careful.
She arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“I vacationed in France after university. Picked up a few words—and a bad habit of eating croissants for breakfast.”
