His Fake Girlfriend

by Amber Nox

  France is beautiful, and although I’ve never been to that area I’m sure the weather trumps the south-west of England.

  “But you got the memories.”

  “Yeah, I got the memories.” He runs a hand over his beard and I watch the movement, a little enthralled. “Will you divulge anything about yourself if I ask it, or should I save my breath?”

  “You can ask. I grew up in London and I’ve lived in the city my entire life. I’m a city girl through and through.”

  “Oh, so Cornwall’s going to be a bit of a shock to the system for you then? There’s no high-rises here, Evelyn. It’s no concrete jungle.”

  My lips lift at the corner.

  “I’m sure I’ll survive the loss of the urban sprawl.”

  “I hope so. There’s nothing out there other than a few farmsteads, although the nearest town is Bodmin, so we’re not completely cut off, but you do have to drive it. You can’t walk it.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I don’t plan on sightseeing anyway. I’m here to work.”

  This makes all the tension return to his frame. “Right, work, of course.”

  I don’t want to make things formal between us, but this has to remain the case. Getting close is a dangerous game, and it’s going to be difficult to maintain a distance as it is when we’re acting like a couple for two weeks.

  “You’re not what I was expecting,” he says after a long beat of silence.

  This makes me frown. “You picked me from the book.”

  This means he saw my photograph, my stats. They told him everything from my height, to my weight, to my shoe size.

  “I don’t mean looks wise. I thought you’d be more…” He breaks off with a shrug. “Well, less down to earth, I suppose.”

  I snort at this. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

  “Who says I’m disappointed?”

  Heat rises up my neck and I turn to look out the window, so he can’t see my reaction. He’s a smooth-talker, this one. Then again, these men usually are. I don’t know why I’m so affected by him, but I am. I need to lock it down and regain control. He’s a client. He’s also a man—a highly attractive man—and I’m not blind.

  “You’ve known me less than an hour. How would you know if I’m disappointing or not.”

  “I’m good at reading people, and from what I’ve seen so far, I’ve got the measure of you.”

  “Jacob, I hate to disappoint you, but my job is to make people believe whatever I need them to.”

  “You think I’m a naive little boy. I can assure you, Evelyn, that I didn’t get to where I am today by being naive.”

  I have no idea what he means by this, but I’m not sure I want to know, so I keep quiet. Thankfully, so does he.

  Urban sprawl gives way to a more rural landscape and by the time we hit the Cornish countryside, I’m itching to get out of the car. The tension between us is thick, and honestly, I’m not sure if we’re going to pull off this ruse if he’s going to be so standoffish. He needs to understand we don’t need to be friends. We just need to project the image we are.

  I’m considering how best to broach this with him when the opportunity passes, because I see a sign for ‘Hansen’s Valley’. He turns the Range Rover down a single lane track that spans for about a quarter of a mile, passing by rows and rows of what looks like the vines on either side of the lane.

  Eventually, it opens out and the house appears at the end, with all the outbuildings. I’m a little overwhelmed by the size of the estate. The house itself is huge and built in old stone. It must be at least five, six bedrooms—judging from the number of windows alone. There’s a huge double garage over to one side and further down through a gate is a series of buildings I assume belong to the vineyard. It’s impressive, to say the least.

  He pulls the car up in front of the garage and hits a button under the visor. The door slides up and he drives inside it.

  My heart begins to thump in my chest. This is it. Two weeks living as this man’s partner. Two weeks without being able to turn off the charm.

  I have to put on the act of my life.

  Can I do it?

  I have no choice.

  He cuts the engine and turns to me. “Show time.”

  Show time, indeed.

  4

  Jacob

  Evelyn isn’t what I expected at all. Appearance wise, yes, but personality, no. She’s curiously making her way around the estate while I follow on her heels, watching her almost child-like joy when she finds something new or different.

  I grew up here, so the magnitude and beauty of the place is lost on me, but she’s walking around with wide-eyed wonder that is, I’m afraid to say, becoming a little infectious. I can’t stop my mouth from tugging into a smile when she steps into one of the storerooms and gasps as she’s greeted with rows and rows of bottles that span the length of the room.

  Her fingers trail over the labels in complete awe.

  “This is a lot of wine,” she says, her hair dancing around her face as she turns towards me. “Where’s it all going?”

  “Various places,” I tell her, leaning against one of the nearby columns that supports the roof. “This particular storeroom is dedicated to our contracts with bars and pubs. If you’ve ever drank any of our wines while on a night out, it probably came from this room.”

  She snatches her hand back and clasps her wrists behind her back, as if touching them is stepping over some unseen line. Maybe it is. This is the inner sanctum of the Hansen’s empire.

  “I’ve never seen so many bottles.” She sounds a little awed and I’m not sure why, but I like that I’ve managed to surprise her.

  “Come on, let me show you the house.”

  I hold my hand out to her. She hesitates, and I see the indecision on her face for a split second before she slips her small fingers into mine.

  It’s another stark reminder of the strangeness of this situation. What on Earth possessed me to do this? I have no idea. Quiet desperation, most likely. My mother is like a bull in a china shop when she has her mind set on something. If I hadn’t acted, I would find myself married by the end of her stay to some random woman I’ve never met. I love my mother, but her meddling is not fun to be on the receiving end of.

  But hiring an escort might be a new low, even by my standards. I only hope Evelyn can pull off the lie, because I don’t want to explain to my family that I hired a high-rate call girl to fake a relationship with.

  Saying it like that, even if it’s only in my head, makes me realise just how crazy this idea is. There’s no chance in hell my family will believe I suddenly settled down with this woman. She’s nothing like me.

  I risk a glance at her as she walks a little ahead of me, stopping to smell the flowers or to study some of the garden ornaments in the flower beds.

  Francesca’s agency was recommended to me by a friend. I would never have considered this crazy plan if not for Arlo’s input. She’s a well-kept secret in certain circles, and her girls are used for various means. I’m not sure what I asked is a regular occurrence, though. Francesca seemed surprised by my request—a request that is costing an arm and a leg. Not that I can’t afford it. I’m more than comfortable when it comes to money, but it’s still a crazy amount to spend on a two-week date.

  It will be worth it if it gets my mother off my back, however.

  I repeat this to myself over and over until I believe it.

  Luckily, Evelyn isn’t difficult to be around, or so it seems so far. The two weeks shouldn’t be too torturous. She’s pretty, seems smart and a good conversationalist—far better than I am, anyway. We just have to pull this off for a short time and then I’m free again. Mum will head back to Australia and I can continue with my bachelorhood.

  I have no interest in marriage, I never have. Most of my time is spent working and my past partners tended to get annoyed about that. Anna claimed it was one of the reasons she screwed around on me. I wasn’t attentive enough. I wasn’t there enough.
I didn’t love her enough.

  Maybe I was a little remiss in my relationship duties, but my life is busy and complicated. I’m dedicated to my work. I don’t want the hassle of a wife.

  As for what my plans are after this charade is over…

  I’ll keep up the pretence for a short time after my parents return to Australia, and then Evelyn and I will ‘break up’. I have it all planned out.

  I just have to hope Evelyn is as good as Francesca told me she was, otherwise my web of lies will start to unravel.

  Unlocking the back door of the house, I push it open and gesture for her to step through first, which she does. It goes into a small mudroom before opening out into the kitchen, which has her gasping again.

  “This is beautiful, Jake.”

  It really is. It’s an old farmhouse style kitchen that was put in by my parents before they left. It’s all solid woods against a backdrop of cream walls. It’s a beautiful, large space with a double oven and a huge breakfast bar that I usually take my morning coffee at.

  “It’s my favourite room in the house,” I admit.

  She glances back at me. “I think it might be mine too.”

  I watch as she opens drawers and cupboards, trying to familiarise herself with where things are, I assume.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would be an escort,” I tell her after a moment.

  She freezes and straightens from the cupboard she was bending down to. “No offence taken,” she says.

  “I don’t mean to offend. You’re just not what I would picture.”

  Evelyn’s head tilts to the side. “You do know what they say about judging books by their covers, right?”

  I laugh and rub at the back of my neck. “Sorry. That was kind of a jerk thing to say, but it’s true all the same.”

  “Francesca runs a completely different service. It’s aimed at providing high-class experiences.”

  I can’t stop my eyes from lingering on her perfectly styled hair and manicured nails. “I’m getting that.”

  Head turning slightly to the side, she says, “Truthfully, you’re not what I was expecting either.”

  “You thought I’d be hagged? Old?”

  Her lips quirk as she considers her words. “Not particularly, but you’re far quieter than my usual clients.”

  Hearing her say that word—clients—doesn’t jar quite as much as it has previously, but it still has an impact. My life is one big fat lie that is about to take a whole new dive into the realm of fake.

  I clear the lump from my throat and say, “I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  We walk from room to room, and she gushes over the decor as we go. I can’t tell if she’s being polite or saying what she thinks I want to hear, but the sincerity in her voice is better acted than your average movie star. I can see why the woman is able to fool people with ease.

  When we reach the upstairs, I show her into the master bedroom. It’s got a four-poster bed and all the furniture is old oak. It’s a gorgeous space that looks out over the vineyards and has its own balcony and bathroom. She glances at the bed.

  “To pull this off, we’re going to have to stay in the same room,” I tell her.

  She smiles. “I know.”

  “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Her eyes linger on the bed a moment, and I see a splash of pink stain her cheeks. I’m not sure what it means, but she’s pretty when she blushes.

  “I don’t want to throw you out of your bed,” she counters.

  “I wouldn’t be much of a host if I made you sleep on the floor now, would I?”

  “Right,” she murmurs. “You are a gracious host.” She clears her throat. “That sounds fine.”

  I consider her for a moment. “Do you honestly think we can pull this off?”

  Moving around the end of the bed, she comes to stand in front of me and her hands go to my biceps. I swallow hard as a tingle works through my body at her touch. My eyes search hers as she peers up at me, her big, beautiful eyes taking me in. “I think it will be fine, Jake. Trust me.”

  And for some reason, I do trust her—even though I’ve only just met her, I trust her with this lie.

  Even so, I say, “I hope so. For both our sakes.”

  5

  Scarlett

  After an awkward moment in the bedroom while discussing the sleeping arrangements, Jake takes me back downstairs and offers me a drink. I accept a glass of wine, excited by the prospect of tasting it fresh from the vineyard out back—as fresh as it can be coming out of a bottle.

  He pours it into a deep wine glass and hands it to me, while he grabs a soda himself. His notes, I remember, state he doesn’t drink too much, so I probably should have abstained from the alcohol, but I couldn’t help myself.

  The first sip is divine. The wine is smooth and a little fruity.

  “Do you like it?”

  I nod. “It’s delicious.”

  He leans against the kitchen counter, his arms crossing over his broad chest. “It’s a new line we’re producing next year.”

  My brow arches. “So, I’m your test subject?”

  His mouth quirks and I watch the movement, a little mesmerised by it.

  “Something like that. I might have a survey for you later.”

  It takes me a moment to realise he’s joking. He seems so much more relaxed here than he did in the car on the way.

  I laugh. “I don’t mind filling it out. Call it part of the job description.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say. He stiffens slightly, but I don’t have time to address it, because the rumble of a car breaks through the moment. Jake moves to the window and peers out as a vehicle parks up by the garages.

  “That’s my parents,” he says, his tone a little flat.

  I wonder, not for the first time, the kind of people they must be to have pushed him to this. None of my answers are favourable, though. I have to admit, that thought makes me nervous of meeting them. I reach out without thinking, my hand going to his bicep.

  When I have his attention, I say, “We can do this. I promise you. Just act natural.”

  “Natural,” he mutters. “Right.”

  “Jacob, we’ve got this.”

  He bobs his head, and I steel myself as I hear the car doors open and close.

  It’s time. I put on my game face and slip effortlessly into my created role. I’m no longer Scarlett, but I am Evelyn—girlfriend to Jacob Hansen. I slide my arm through his.

  “Shall we go and greet your parents?”

  Fingers rake through his hair before he says, “Yeah, we better.”

  Together, linked arm in arm, we head outside to the car where his parents are bustling about, getting their luggage out of the boot.

  I don’t know what I expect, but the small dark-haired woman who beams the moment she sees her son is not it. She practically eats the space between them and throws her arms around him. It’s love. She loves him, which makes this whole situation all the more confusing. Surely, he could just talk to her about this marriage thing? A woman who loves her son this much—and it’s clear from the way she’s holding him that she does—isn’t going to push him into a loveless marriage. I just can’t see it.

  I’m usually a good judge of character, although I have been wrong in the past. I need more time with Mrs Hansen—Juliet—if I’m going to judge this properly, but first impressions tell me she’s not a monster, like I imagined.

  “Darling! You look well,” Juliet says, appraising him, her hands clutching his biceps as she does.

  I stay standing a little to the side of the reunion taking place, not wanting to come between mother and son reconnecting.

  It gives me a moment to take them both in. Jake looks like his mother. There are hints of the same nose, the same eye shape in his face. He didn’t inherit her height, though. She’s a tiny slip of a woman, standing at around five-foot two. He looms over her.

  I’m busy examining them both when Juliet’s eyes
snap to me and her warmth chills to Arctic frost as she takes me in, and she does so blatantly.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Jacob? Really, where are your manners?” She eyes me, suspicion in her gaze before she says. “You must be Evelyn.”

  “Guilty,” I respond, smiling, despite the glacial response.

  “My son has told me absolutely nothing about you.” She seems put out by this. If she knew the real reason her son had been tight-lipped, it might push her over the edge. “I had no idea he was even dating.”

  There’s more than a hint of chastisement there, which has Jake huffing.

  “I wasn’t aware I needed to give you all the intimate details of my life, mother.”

  Juliet’s eyes snap to him. “You do when you’re shacked up with some stranger. No offence, darling.” She says the last part to me.

  I fake a smile as I grind out, “None taken.”

  “Well, you are a pretty thing, aren’t you? At least my son chose well.”

  I duck my head, mostly so I can grit my teeth and say, “You’re far too kind.”

  I’m used to dealing with overbearing people, but this is something else.

  “Actually, I don’t think she’s being kind enough,” Jake murmurs, and I feel the heat climbing in my cheeks, although not from embarrassment, but because I didn’t expect him to side with me—a stranger over his family.

  I give him a small smile, which he returns briefly, before his mask falls back into place.

  “Robert!” Juliet turns to the grey haired man, gesturing with a come-hither finger, breaking through the moment. “Come and meet Evelyn.”

  Robert, Jake’s father, meanders over, dropping the bags at his feet and pulls his son into a bear of a hug. He then turns to me and I feel the full weight of his scrutiny as he eyes me. There isn’t much of Jake in him, although his eyes are similar, and it’s those eyes that lock onto me.

  “So, you’re the girl who has turned my son’s head.”

  It’s an accusation, rather than a question, and not a nice one.