Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series

by Lilian Monroe

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Don’t ask me any details about it though, because I don’t know them.” I laugh. “So you shouldn’t turn your nose up at my humble twist-off bottle.”

  “I’m not turning my nose up at anything,” Max says, leaning against the counter and staring at me. His eyes drop to my lips. A shiver passes down my spine and I clear my throat.

  I came here after Max called me and told me his mother had a dinner planned for tomorrow. I was prepared to tell him about my life, to learn about his, and to come up with a believable back story for us. I printed and signed the contract.

  I’m here to get paid. I’ll pretend to be his fiancée for a month, maybe two, and I’ll have enough money to pay for my mom’s treatments. It’s supposed to be simple.

  But it’s not.

  Right here is where he kissed me. Where I kissed him. In his house—this is where I felt my whole body turn to liquid heat as his hands sank into my hips and pulled me into him.

  Every time he looks at me, I need to squeeze my thighs together to try to ignore the desire that flames to life inside me.

  I clear my throat.

  “What about you, you ever been suspended?”

  “No,” he replies. “Model student.”

  “Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Mr. Goodie-Two-Shoes.”

  “I did light a small campfire on the school grounds, but I ran away when a teacher came to investigate. My friend Joel took the blame.”

  I drop my jaw in mock horror. “You let your friend take the fall for you?”

  “I know, I know. Coward.”

  “Awful. I might have to call this wedding off.”

  He grins, leaning closer to me. His eyes are glued on mine and I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away. I want to get lost in the blue depths of his gaze and melt against him. I want to smell his hair and feel my skin spark when he touches me.

  As if he can read my mind, he puts his hand on my thigh. Even through my jeans, the heat of the contact makes my head spin. The space between my legs turns to fire as my heartbeat races in my chest.

  It would be so easy to kiss him—and more. I could just lean over and press my lips against his. I could let my body do the talking, and run my fingers over his chiseled chest. I could reach down between his legs and feel his length against my palm, and do all the things that my body is begging me to do.

  Instead, I glance down and take a sip of wine. I grab my bag from the floor and fish out the thick contract. Max straightens, clearing his throat and taking a sip of wine. He drops his hand from my thigh and I miss his touch the instant his hand slips away.

  “I signed this.”

  “Did you have a lawyer look it over?”

  I laugh. “Yes, I called the lawyer I have on retainer. She cleared her schedule to look it over.” I glance at him, eyebrow raised. “You and I live in very different worlds, Mr. Westbrook.” He grins, and I continue. “I read it, and it seems fine. It’s signed, anyways. Here.”

  I slide the papers over, and he pushes them to the side. “I’m more interested in the flashcards right now.”

  My heart flutters and my lips twitch into a grin. I nod, handing him a stack of blank ones. “Write down some facts about yourself. We need to come up with a good story about how we met.”

  “We met at physio.”

  “I know, but we need details. How, when, what’s happened since then. That kind of thing. I only met your mom for a few minutes, but she won’t be satisfied with ‘we met at physio’.”

  Max chuckles and nods. “That’s probably true.”

  “Did you ask them why they want you to get married so badly? You told me you thought it was weird, even for them.”

  He looks away from me, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “No, not yet.” I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

  Not wanting to push the issue, I just nod.

  “Okay, come on, let’s get to work.” I fish out a pen from my bag and hand it to him. I top off our wine and try to forget about the ache between my legs and the fire in my veins.

  19

  Max

  My heart skips a beat when Naomi appears at her apartment door. She looks incredible. Her red hair is falling in loose waves around her shoulders, and the way her navy dress is hugging every curve is doing crazy things to my body. Earrings are glittering next to her face as she tucks her hair behind her ear, clutching a small purse an making her way down the steps.

  I jump to stretch my arm out to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

  God, she smells incredible.

  “Hey,” she says, smiling.

  “Hey.”

  I open the door for her, watching her move fluidly as she sits down in the passenger’s seat. She smiles at me as I close the door and jog to the driver’s side.

  “You look beautiful,” I say when I get in.

  “Is this okay for meeting the parents?”

  “It’s okay for anything,” I answer. She could wear a paper bag and she’d look perfect. We drive in silence for a while, and then Naomi takes a deep breath. When she says nothing, I clear my throat.

  “What’s up?” I ask, reaching over to touch her leg. She puts her hand over mine, forcing a smile on her lips as she glances at me.

  “I’m nervous. I’ve never been a great actor. Or liar.”

  “Just be yourself. We’ll keep the lying to a minimum, and I’ll do my best to keep the conversation neutral. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I squeeze my hand over her leg, and she takes another deep breath. By the time we make it to the restaurant, she’s still tense. She’s holding my hand though, and I’m not complaining about that. I drop the keys with the valet and lead her inside. We’re ushered to my parents, who are waiting with a bottle of champagne already uncorked and ready for us.

  My mother stands up and stretches her arms out in the type of exaggerated affection that she reserves for public appearances. She kisses both my cheeks and I turn to shake my dad’s hand. My mom turns to Naomi, who stumbles through the kissing charade and giggles nervously, leaning over to kiss my dad’s cheek.

  Once we’re settled, I reach under the white tablecloth to squeeze Naomi’s hand. The waiter pours us some champagne and my mother raises her glass.

  “A toast,” she proclaims. “To your happiness.”

  “To your happiness,” my father grunts.

  “And yours,” Naomi replies graciously. We all clink our delicate crystal flutes and take a sip. Frustration burns in the pit of my stomach as the fakeness of the whole interaction starts to bother me. I can’t even imagine how Naomi must feel.

  None of this is real—not the engagement, not my parents pretending to take an interest in our happiness, not the forced affection in their relationship. And yet, it still sends warmth coursing through my veins when Naomi squeezes my hand under the table. My eyes soften when I look at her, and my heart jumps when she flicks her beautiful green eyes in my direction.

  I want to kiss her.

  I want to do a lot more than kiss her, but right now, I’d settle for a kiss. She’s wearing soft pink lipstick, and her lips look so incredibly kissable it’s making it hard to think about anything else.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Naomi,” my mother says. Her voice is neutral and she has a smile on her lips, but I know this is the start of the test. She approves of the way Naomi looks, that much is clear, but now the real minefield begins.

  Naomi smiles, folding her hands in her lap. “Well,” she starts, “I grew up about two hours from the city, with my mom. We grew up in the country growing our own vegetables. My mom’s a painter—I guess you could call her a hippie. I couldn’t have had a more different upbringing than Max,” she laughs. “But maybe that’s why we get along so well.” She puts her hand on my forearm. “Don’t they say opposites attract?”

  “They do say that,” my dad grunts.

  “And now you’re a physical therapist?”

 
; “I am. I went to college in Ithaca and moved to the city about oh—almost eight years ago. Our physical therapy practice is one of the best in the city. We get lots of professional athletes and high-level clients coming through. I’ve been lucky.”

  “You’ve worked hard, I’m sure.”

  “Of course.” Naomi smiles, taking a sip of champagne. I squeeze her hand under the table again, clearing my throat.

  “So, Mom, how’s that fundraiser going? Which charity are you working on now?”

  My mother smiles, turning to Naomi. She talks about her charitable donations for the next fifteen minutes with minimal prodding and encouragement from the rest of us.

  When all else fails, get her to talk about herself. I learned that a long time ago.

  Finally, the meal draws to an end. We order coffees after dinner, and Naomi leans back in her chair. She sighs, and I can see the tiredness lining her face.

  Maybe it’s having a dinner like this after a full day of work, or maybe it’s just the effort of pretending to be engaged when she isn’t. I put my arm around her chair, kissing her temple.

  God, she smells good.

  She leans into me. “We’ll go soon,” I whisper in her ear. She nods slightly, and smiles at me.

  My father clears his throat, reaching into his jacket’s breast pocket. He pulls out a little black velvet box, putting it down in the center of the table.

  “That’s for you, Naomi,” he grunts. My eyes widen and I look from him to my mother. She nods, her lips pressed into a thin, self-satisfied smile.

  “Go ahead,” she says.

  Naomi looks at me with wide eyes, and then reaches hesitantly toward the box. She opens it up as a lump forms in my throat.

  I don’t need to look—I already know what it is. Still, when she opens it and I see the bright green emerald surrounded with dozens of brilliant diamonds. The gems sparkle in the restaurant’s low light, and my heart skips a beat.

  “Oh my goodness,” Naomi breathes. Her eyes are shining and they’re as wide as dinner plates. She shakes her head, snapping the box closed. “I can’t accept this,” she says, pushing the box back toward my dad. He clears his throat, drawing his thick eyebrows closer together. My mother straightens in her chair, her mouth opening slightly.

  “What do you mean, Naomi?”

  “I just…” Naomi looks at me and I see the panic in her eyes. “It’s too much. I can’t…”

  “Of course you can,” my mother says, pushing the box back toward her.

  “That was my mother’s ring,” Dad explains. “It’s been in the family for almost a hundred years. I noticed you aren’t wearing an engagement ring yet, I thought Max would have explained.” He looks at me, nodding his chin down slightly.

  I take the little box in my hand, feeling the smooth velvet under my fingertips as I flick it open. I take the delicate ring from it, remembering how my grandmother used to cherish it.

  Turning to Naomi, I meet her gaze. Her eyes are still as wide as I’ve ever seen them, as if she’s trying to keep the panic from spilling out of her. I take her left hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. She’s trembling, and my chest squeezes.

  I glance at my parents, who are staring at us expectantly. Tears are forming in Naomi’s eyes as I bring the ring toward her left hand.

  It slides onto her finger as if it was made for her. My mother grunts appreciatively and my dad crosses his arms over his chest. I see him nod in my peripheral vision.

  My eyes are glued on Naomi’s. Her mouth has dropped open. She glances at the ring on her finger, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

  I put a finger on her chin, tilting it up toward me. I lay a soft kiss on her lips, running my fingers along her jaw and pulling away after only a second. She clears her throat, glancing at the ring, and then at me, and then at my parents.

  “Thank you,” she finally says. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “Welcome to the family,” my mother says with a benevolent smile.

  20

  Naomi

  I take the ring off as soon as I get home, placing it back in its little black box and shoving the box in my underwear drawer. I curl up on my bed, eyeing my dresser suspiciously.

  This is too much.

  I knew this was a bad idea. ‘Welcome to the family’?! It sounds like something an Italian mafioso would say. What have I gotten myself into? What will happen when we have to ‘break it off’? What will Max say to them? What will they say to me?! I didn’t know how connected—how rich—they were before all this. I had an idea, but I didn’t know. Would they be vindictive? Would they go after me?

  We should have worked all these things out beforehand. Now it’s too late. We can’t go back. I’m part of the family now, for fuck’s sake!

  I jump up, heading to my kitchen. I stand in the middle of the room with one hand on my hip and the other on my forehead. I stare at a spot on the wall, thinking of nothing and everything all at once.

  My phone rings, and I practically jump out of my skin. My heart races until I see Meg’s number on the screen.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Oh my god,” I answer, sinking into a chair. “Meg, they gave me a family heirloom.”

  “What?!”

  “Yeah. His grandmother’s ring.”

  Meg laughs. “So it went well, then.”

  “This is such a bad idea.”

  “Well, yeah, obviously,” she laughs. “I could have told you that days ago. In fact, I think I did tell you that days ago. Maybe the first time I saw that little flirtation between the two of you.”

  “There’s no flirtation,” I say.

  “Yeah, right. And Ariana is a celibate monk.”

  I laugh. “Fine. But we agreed. Business is business. No sex. No kissing in private.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s true!”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m not doing anything with him.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Meg.”

  “Naomi.”

  I huff, and try to stop the smile spreading across my face. “I’ll tell you everything at work tomorrow.”

  “Bring the ring, I want to see it.”

  “I’m not bringing that ring anywhere. Can you imagine if I lost it? I’m terrified of wearing it anywhere.”

  “Send me a picture, then.”

  “Okay,” I grin. “See you in the morning.”

  I hang up and bite my lip. Clutching my phone to my chest, I tip-toe back toward my bedroom. I look at the dresser, breathing deeply. Shaking my head, I gather the courage to open my underwear drawer. I fish out the little black velvet box and put it on top of the dresser. I flick on a light and take a picture of it, sending it to Meg and Ariana.

  It only takes a few seconds for them to answer with exclamations about size and carats and cost. I shut the box up again and stuff it back with my undies, curling up in bed and answering the texts. My eyelids are heavy and the panic in my chest has subsided with my friends’ help when my phone buzzes again. It’s Max.

  Goodnight, beautiful. Thank you for tonight.

  I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t skip a beat. I smile despite myself and answer him right away, putting my phone on the nightstand and closing my eyes. I see his face painted on my eyelids, and the way he looked in that crisp white shirt of his. I see the cut of his jaw and the way his biceps bulged against the fabric of his top.

  Sighing, I try to ignore the tendril of desire that curls in my stomach every time I think of him.

  I wake up to banging on my door.

  “Naomi! Naomi, open up!”

  I frown, rolling over in bed and squinting at my alarm clock. Six in the morning.

  “Naomi! I know you’re in there!”

  “Mom?” I mumble. Is that my mother’s voice? What is she doing in the city? What is she doing at my house?! The banging on the door continues until I stumble out of bed and wrap a housecoat around m
yself.

  “Coming!” I yell, and the banging subsides. I rub the sleep from my eyes and stifle a yawn as I make my way to the door. I shuffle along the rug, listening hard for noise on the other side of the door.

  I open my door and my mother rushes past me in a flurry of anger and outrage.

  “Finally! I’ve been knocking on your door for ages!”

  “I was asleep.”

  “What is this about?!” She says, brandishing a newspaper in front of me. Her hands are shaking and I can’t make out the headline.

  “What’s what about?”

  “This!” She says, waving the newspaper harder. “You’re engaged?! To Max Westbrook?!”

  My heart drops to my stomach. My throat tightens and my palms get sweaty.

  I need coffee. I can’t handle this right now.

  I take a deep breath, looking at my mother’s disheveled hair and the anger flashing in her eyes. She looks down at the newspaper, handing it to me. I take it from her and see the headline:

  Heir to Billion-Dollar Fortune Engaged to Physical Therapist

  My heart hammers in my chest, and I avoid my mother’s eye. There’s a photo of me and Max leaving the restaurant last night. His parents are behind us. I remember the flashing of cameras and Max’s hand on the small of my back as he ushered me into his car, but I didn’t think that this would happen. I didn’t think I’d be in the news! Is this news nowadays?

  “Did you drive all the way here to ask me about some newspaper article?”

  “No,” she replies, taking a deep breath. “I have a doctor’s appointment this morning.”

  “You never told me that. Your doctor’s in the city?”

  “Stop stalling,” She stabs the newspaper. “What’s going on?”

  My mother stares at me expectantly, so I take a deep breath and turn toward the kitchen.

  “You want coffee?”

  “No, I do not want coffee,” she proclaims. “I want you to explain what the heck is going on here! You never wanted to get married!”

  “No, Mom,” I say as I spin on my heels toward her. “You never wanted me to get married because you don’t believe in marriage. You never actually asked me what I want!”