Fake Fiance Christmas Collection: Countdown to Christmas

by Taylor Hart

  “Yeah, I sprain it every so often.” She rubbed her hand, looking agitated. “My sister got me a brace this morning. It helps a lot.”

  “You walked here?”

  She nodded.

  He couldn’t figure out why she’d hobbled down to his house. “What were you going to say?”

  Her eyes widened like she’d been caught in a trap. “I was just thinking that you are in a pinch with the whole missing fiancée thing and … Never mind. This was my sister’s idea.” She turned away again, aiming for the stairs.

  “Wait.” He grabbed her arm; his mind was whirling. “What are you saying?”

  She stared at his hand.

  He pulled it back like he’d touched something hot. “Sorry. What was your sister’s idea?”

  She threw up a hand. “What if you were engaged to someone else?”

  “I’m not following,” he said, puzzled.

  “Uh-huh. Larissa and her stupid ideas.”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “I was telling my sister about how you lied about having a fiancée, and she told me about this Christmas book about a fake fiancée situation.”

  “Oh.”

  She rushed on. “What if, when all your family gets here, you tell them how you and Susan broke up and how you didn’t want to tell them, but then instead of it being this huge deal and everything, you tell them you met someone else and you’re engaged to her now.”

  He blinked, then blinked again and shook his head. His brain was trying to catch up.

  She waved a hand. “I know. Stupid, right?”

  The idea worked its way into him. A fake fiancée. He felt like it was fourth down and he had to get the touchdown. It really would help a lot, take the pressure off. Sure, his family would be mad they hadn’t been told sooner, but if he already had a new fiancée, what could they say? “Are you offering to be my new fake fiancée?”

  Augusta’s face went bright red. “It sounds even worse when you say it. Doesn’t it?”

  “No,” he drawled, still thinking things through.

  She shifted awkwardly. “Look, you just gave me a new phone and I can’t pay you for it. I also need money for next semester’s tuition. Meanwhile, you kinda need a fiancée, so I could …”

  “Yes,” he interrupted, taking the ball and running with it. “I like it.”

  She threw up a hand. “No, never mind. I knew this was too crazy.”

  “No takebacks,” he said. The idea gained more merit as he continued to process possible scenarios.

  “No takebacks? What are you, five?”

  He let out a light laugh, getting more hyped up. “I get why you don’t want to just take the phone. And I respect that. I think it’s awesome you want to earn money for tuition. So, let’s negotiate. What are you thinking? Ten grand for five days of pretending to be my fiancée?”

  Her jaw went slack. “What? No, that’s way too much. I’m not going to be doing anything that would warrant … I mean …” She trailed off, her face positively scarlet.

  “I know you’re not—” He choked on his words, suddenly embarrassed himself. “I would never ask that.”

  Her eyes met his. “I know you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were that kind of guy.” She sighed. “My sister has totally stalked your family and everything with your brother, and she thinks you guys are, like … kinda awesome.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Good.” Was this really going to work? Why hadn’t he thought of something like this before? He gestured to his sliding glass door, feeling like he might have just won the jackpot on how to fix this very big problem of his. “So, what do you say we go inside and eat some Oreos and hammer this out?”

  “Oreos?” She beamed. “So that’s the black in your teeth?”

  He rubbed his mouth, then laughed sheepishly. “You never let a guy off the hook, do you?”

  She grinned wider. “I do love Oreos.”

  Sweet relief. “Okay,” he said, motioning to the door, again. “Great. Let’s go inside and talk this out.” This was the answer he’d been looking for. Instead of being a loser, he would look like the dutiful son, and his mother wouldn’t worry or even cry. No crying!

  As she walked into the house, she looked around in appreciation. “Modern. Classy. I like it.”

  He closed the door behind them. “Thanks. I didn’t decorate any of it.”

  “Figures. Somehow I keep forgetting you’re really a pampered football player.”

  “True, but I think I like egomaniac football player. It sounds less prissy.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He gestured to the barstools in front of the counter. “I’ll get you some milk.”

  “Whoa.” She pointed to the paintings in his living room.

  Crap! He’d forgotten his art was out. He’d intended to ship them out to the gallery in Jackson Hole today. He had been selling his art under a fake name for about two years now, and he was proud that it sold well, though not proud enough to tell anyone. He rushed to the nearest canvas, knowing it was already too late and she’d seen his work. He picked it up.

  “Oh my gosh, this is really good.” She examined the one he was picking up. “Did you paint all of these?”

  Ocean picked up another and moved toward the room he painted in most of the time. “No.”

  She picked one up and followed him. “I’ll help. Where are you taking them?”

  He paused next to the door, feeling caught and embarrassed. “Here,” he said, opening the door. “I need to get them into the mail so I brought them out there, but let’s just put them in here for now.” No one was supposed to know about this, least of all a near stranger who scrambled his brains.

  She walked inside, looking everywhere. “So you don’t paint these?” She put down the ones she held and walked over to another one. The painting was of the ocean with a pink sunset and a huge bird flying away.

  He was rather proud of that one.

  She checked the corner. “BM. Who is that?”

  His hands shook slightly as he waved her away put the ones he was carrying down. “I’m just holding them for a friend, uh, Bob Martin. That’s all.”

  She moved on to a painting of two little boys next to a sandcastle. The boys were laughing, and the ocean was deep aqua and purple as the sun reflected down on them. She put her hand out but didn’t touch the canvas. “It’s really good.” She whirled to face him. “Why are you hiding the fact that you painted these?”

  Caught. “I’m not. I told you, I’m just holding them.”

  She let out a light laugh. “You sound like a teenager who’s hiding his alcohol problem. She pointed to a bag of paint supplies next to one of the empty easels. “Really? Did Bob Martin keep his paints here, too?”

  He sighed.

  Her eyes were wide as she perused his stock of paintings propped around the room. Paintings he hadn’t sold yet. She pointed up toward the skylight. “Oh my gosh, this is awesome. So much light. It’s brilliant.” She moved from painting to painting, commenting on each one. “So good. Wow. Dang, you’ve got talent.”

  Ocean shifted his weight from foot to foot, annoyed that he liked her praise so much.

  She paused next to a painting of five little girls playing on the beach. “I love this.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from commenting, even though it would be an admission. “I don’t have any sisters, and I thought it would be fun to imagine what they might have looked like.”

  “I love it.”

  He knew right then that he liked this woman. So many feelings had sprung to life inside of him as she’d stared at his art with genuine appreciation.

  “Why do you keep this a secret?”

  He shrugged.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going through with this deal unless you tell me why you hide this?”

  He recognized the look in her eyes. After all, running backs were all about determination. “Fine. My dad never liked me painting, okay?”


  She narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  His heart raced. He’d never told anyone about this before. “My dad told me I was better at football and that art probably wouldn’t amount to much.”

  Her lip turned down. “You’re vulnerable about this.”

  He didn’t react, but moved to the door. “I’m fine, let’s get out of here please.”

  For a second she didn’t move, then she walked out.

  He shut the door behind her feeling better they were done with that.

  Her face softened. “I get being vulnerable. I’m a middle child.”

  “It’s fine. Hey, I’m Ocean freaking Brady, and just because you’re not impressed doesn’t mean there aren’t plenty of other people who are.” He moved passed her back to the kitchen.

  She followed. “But pain is pain. And obviously you were hurt that you’re dad didn’t appreciate your art.”

  It stunned him that she understood. He never talked about this, because who would care that he preferred painting over football? He picked up the package oreos and held them out. “How about we just focus on the cookies, okay?”

  Hesitantly, she took a cookie, then sat at the counter next to him.

  Brushing away his earlier awkwardness, he sat next to her and focused on the problem at hand. He took an Oreo too and nodded to the milk carton. “I’ll share.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and pulled out another cookie. “I don’t share, I’m a germaphobe.”

  He dunked his cookie. “Suit yourself.”

  She munched on her cookie.

  The girl was smoking gorgeous and she ate Oreos. Two touchdowns in one.

  “Okay, so tell me what you want to know,” he prodded. “To be my fake fiancée.”

  She sighed. “We should probably get to know more about each other a little bit before we agree to this.”

  “Okay.” He’d hash out whatever they needed to hash out. Could she really pull off playing his fiancée while his family was in town? It would fix a lot of problems.

  “I took the pleasure of looking you up today. There really isn’t that much about your dating life—other than Susan, the war reporter, and a woman who appeared to be your girlfriend a couple of years ago and posted all over that you bought her a car for her birthday. Are you dating someone right now?”

  “Nope.”

  “And will you explain the car buying?”

  Ocean thought about the cleat chaser he had bought a car for. “With Clarissa, I was young. Buying the car for her was me trying to be something she wanted. It was stupid.”

  A smile played at Augusta’s lips. “Part of your overpaying thing.”

  He grunted. “You like the phone. Admit it.”

  She lifted and lowered her shoulder, red creeping up her cheeks. “Yes, but …”

  “I know.” A pang hit the center of his chest. “Listen, I don’t date a ton, okay? I don’t like the games. I thought I would marry Susan. She was legit. Smart. Fun. Interesting in saving the world. Just—” How could he describe it? “—not interested in being there for me once I heard about Ty last year. I know that might sound stupid, but I needed someone and she wasn’t there.”

  Augusta’s eyes turned sad. “I’m sorry.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Man, I sound whiny. Can you believe I’ve actually never told anyone this?” The words hung in the air between them.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  It was strange. He wasn’t great at talking about his feelings, and he’d never admitted this to anyone else. What was it about Augusta that made him so uncharacteristically open? “What about you?” He wagged his eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood. “Any old boyfriends or fiancés I should know about?”

  She stood abruptly, her face tightening. “Where are your cups? Can I get some water?”

  He waved her back down. “I’ll get it.”

  She grinned at him, but it looked a bit forced. “But I should know where your cups are if I’m your fiancée.”

  Ocean ignored the sudden tension and pretended he was doing a tour of the kitchen. “Here is the land of glasses.” He filled one up before handing it to her, then pointed to the silverware drawer. “Spoons, forks, knives.” He opened another cupboard. “Plates, bowls, assorted things I never use.”

  She giggled.

  He caught her eye. Being around her felt so natural and he liked that giggle, even if she was nervous. He moved back to the kitchen stool and sat, dunking an Oreo. “Still your turn.”

  She hesitated, her own Oreo waiting halfway to her mouth.

  “Start with what you want to be when you grow up.”

  Her eyelids fluttered and she let out a long breath. “An attorney, actually.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I wanted to go to Harvard Law at one point, but I don’t think that’s in the plans now.” Her face fell. “But I’ll go to law school somewhere.”

  “Why do you want to be an attorney?”

  She bit the side of her lip. “I want to help people. My father got sued a couple of years ago, and it took almost all of his retirement to pay off the legal fees. I really hated that.”

  “Attorneys earn their money,” he countered.

  “I know. I just want to help good people like my dad. Hardworking people.”

  “Ah, an idealist. I like it.” He sized her up. “What else? Tell me about anything.”

  Augusta put down her Oreo. “I guess you should know I’ve been devastated since I lost my dad last summer.”

  He inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. How did it happen?”

  “Accident. Car crash.” She let out a sardonic laugh. “The lawsuit that almost bankrupted him didn’t end up mattering in the end. Well, except we had to sell the ranch when he passed.”

  “I’m sorry again.”

  “Thanks, but we all have stuff.” She lifted her hand. “I really am sorry about your brother, Ty.”

  A splinter of pain entered his heart but didn’t pierce it. He pushed it aside. “Thanks.”

  For a moment, they were quiet.

  “Since everything with Ty, it was like this magnetic force brought us closer because we all want to help him. So it’s been good in some ways.” But they couldn’t help him. Not really. No matter what they did, they’d lose him in the end.

  “It’s the whole reason you lied, right? About being engaged, I mean. Because you don’t want to take away from what’s been happening to your brother, and you don’t want your mom to worry.”

  “Right. Sounds little-kiddish, right?” He took another Oreo and dunked it.

  “No.” She leveled her eyes to his. “I get it. Like I said, I’m a middle child, too. We try to bring harmony to the family.”

  They shared a smile.

  He let out a breath. “So you’re really okay with being my fake fiancée?” He still couldn’t believe it.

  She shrugged. “Do you really want me to be?”

  He couldn’t help teasing her a bit. “I guess if you can stand hanging out with an egomaniac.”

  “Okay, but we need some rules.”

  He picked up his phone and dialed.

  She gave him a quizzical look. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m putting together a contract with my attorney.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  His attorney answered before he could respond. “Ocean, how are you?”

  “No!” Augusta said.

  “Uh, I’ll call you back.” Ocean hung up. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want an attorney to write anything.”

  He scoffed. “You should always have a contract. Everything in my life has a contract.” His father had been an attorney, so the Brady brothers had been taught about contracts since they were little.

  She gave him a level stare. “Can’t I trust you?”

  He laughed.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Be
cause yes, I would say I’m trustworthy, but most people aren’t.”

  “People still do business in good faith.”

  He coughed to cover a smile. “Stupid people.” He thought of all the times players were jerked around because of an overlooked contract stipulation.

  She glared at him.

  He surrendered. “But we’ll do it.” He pulled out his phone and went to his Venmo. “What price are we agreeing to? I’ll send you half right now, then half at the end of the five days.”

  “Wait. Let’s nail down terms first.”

  “I thought you didn’t want a contract.”

  She waved a hand. “Terms we agree to in good faith.”

  Dang, he liked her smile. “Okay. We have been engaged for …?”

  She put up two fingers. “Two months, but you didn’t want to steal all of the thunder away from your brother, Boston, and his recent wedding.”

  He nodded. “I like it.”

  “We met through my sister.” She flashed a grin.

  “Yes, because she has been catering different events for me.”

  “What?” she asked.

  He spun his hand. “Dinner parties.”

  She laughed.

  “What?”

  “Are you a dinner party kind of guy?”

  “No. Why are you laughing?”

  “Sorry. Okay, we met last Easter. I was here for Easter.”

  “We were running on the beach.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s keep it close to the truth. I watch crime shows, and they always say the criminals who fool people try to keep their story as close to reality as they can.”

  “Good to know you watch crime shows.” She nodded. “But how about we say I helped my sister cater some dinner party you were at, and then later, we saw each other on the beach and you asked me out?”

  “We are so including the pepper spray. You tried to pepper-spray me.”

  Her face turned red. “Fine. And then we became close. I told you about losing my dad in June.”

  “Okay, maybe you were here for the summer and we dated.”

  “I could make that work in this fake universe. You know I’m going to have to tell Larissa this fake story.”

  “Right. Will it be weird to have her cater now?”

  “No, she’ll be great. She did theater in high school, so I’m sure she’ll be all drama.” She rolled her eyes.