Filthy Fiance: A Fake Engagement Romance

by Cat Carmine

  I can safely say that never happened with Martin.

  “That was … wow.”

  He grins. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

  My toes curl inside my stilettos.

  Jace leans forward and kisses me, his lips sweet and musky with the taste of me still clinging to them. I walk him backwards, over to the couch and then push him down so that he’s sitting. I straddle his lap and then reach down for the hem of his t-shirt. I can’t wait to finally get my first glimpse of Jace The Bartender’s body. The one I’ve been imagining for so long.

  I peel the shirt off of him and suck in my breath. He’s nothing like what I imagined …

  He’s better. His pecs are hard and smooth, perfect wide mounds across his chest. His abs are deep and defined, and even sitting like this, they’re hard enough that you could bounce a beer cap off them. The waist of his jeans cinches in neatly, I can see a small trail of hair leading down to the treasure below.

  I run my fingers over his chest, marveling at how sculpted it is. Then I swallow. If his chest is this good, I can’t even imagine what his cock must be like.

  “What?” Jace asks, studying my face.

  “Nothing.” My cheeks go pink. I lean forward and kiss him again so that he won’t press the question. I can already feel him hard underneath me, and I grind my naked hips against him as I kiss him.

  Just as we’re starting to get into it again, and I’m thinking about unzipping his pants and letting loose his monster cock, we’re interrupted. By his phone.

  He stops kissing me for just a minute, but doesn’t make any motion to answer it. He leans back in to kiss me again but I can feel the hesitation in it.

  “It’s okay,” I say, breathless. “If you need to answer it.”

  He hesitates, and then reaches for the phone. I feel a wave of disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, seeming genuinely apologetic. “It’s just that it might be work. We have a new bartender on right now and I’m not sure how well he’s working out.”

  “Of course.” I guess I can’t be irritated with him when I’m the one who said he could answer it.

  But now he’s glancing down at the display and frowning. “It’s my brother.”

  There’s something in his voice that I can’t read. Concern? Apprehension?

  He hits the answer button. “Hey. Hi. Is everything okay?”

  He’s quiet for a minute as he listens and then he looks up at the ceiling.

  “Yeah, I got your invitation. I can’t believe you’re getting married.”

  He glances at me and gives me the one-minute sign, so I reluctantly climb off his lap. I head into the little galley kitchen to get a glass of water and give him some privacy. Jace gets off the couch and paces to the far end of the living room, into the hallway near the washroom.

  “Yeah, that’s great. Mom must be thrilled.”

  I don’t mean to listen to his conversation but the spot where he’s standing, just outside the bathroom, is causing his voice to echo throughout the small condo. I grab a magazine off the coffee table and flip through it distractedly, trying to ignore his conversation. It feels strange to be sitting here naked and reading Oprah’s tips on how to start a bookclub but that seems to be just how I roll tonight.

  “I’m not sure if I can make it actually, you know, with work and everything.”

  Jace is running his hands through his hair. He glances back at me and mouths a silent apology at me. I give him a little wave to let him know it’s fine. I’ve got Oprah to keep me company, anyway.

  Jace sighs loudly into the phone and then turns to face the bathroom. I think he’s aiming for privacy, but the positioning makes his voice echo even louder.

  “Well, I guess I could get the time off. And funny thing, I’ll be bringing my own fiancee. Yeah, that’s right, I’m engaged too.”

  I drop the glass I’m holding, causing cold water to spill all over my lap and the magazine I was reading.

  What the fuck? He’s engaged?

  Oh no. Just … hell no.

  I stalk over to the bathroom, where he’s standing with his back to me.

  “You’re engaged?” I screech, not caring if his brother can hear me. Not caring about anything but the fact that I just got played by a player. And worse, that I did to another woman what was done to me — I helped a man cheat. Something I swore I would never do.

  “You’re engaged?” I shriek again. I throw the soggy magazine at him. “You bastard!”

  Jace looks terrified. He cups his palm around the phone. “Trent, I gotta go. I’ll call you back, okay?”

  He hangs up the phone and shoves it quickly into his pocket.

  “No, Celia, listen, I can explain.”

  “No explanation needed, you asshole. Just get the fuck out of my apartment.”

  I start hunting around for my clothes. I can’t find the blouse I was wearing but I pull my soggy charcoal jacket on over my narrow shoulders. I realize I’m shaking.

  “No, please, let me explain. It’s not what you think.” Jace takes a couple of step towards me and I back up, bumping into the hallway console. I reach around behind me and grab the first thing I can find, a stone vase filled with yellow tulips. I hurl the whole thing at him.

  “Get out!”

  Jace puts his hands up defensively. The tulips crash to the floor at his feet. There’s a sadness in Jace’s expression and something else I can’t quite understand. Regret? Well, it’s a little too late for regret, buddy.

  “Fine.” He steps over the smashed vase and the soggy pile of crushed flowers. “This was a mistake anyway.”

  “I’ll say it was.”

  Jace steps out into the hallway and turns to say something, but I close the door in his face. As soon as he’s gone, the tears come, and I lean against the door and cry.

  Suddenly this day seems much closer to being in the running for worst day of the month.

  Maybe even of the whole year.

  4

  Jace

  I push open the door of Celia’s apartment building and step out into the pouring rain. I should try to get a cab but… fuck it. This weather suits my mood. I’m going to walk for a bit.

  What the fuck was I thinking, I berate myself. I must be seventeen kinds of moronic. I’m suffering from a mental illness — I must be. That’s the only explanation I can think of for how I managed to let this get so out of control.

  There I was, having a great time with Celia. I’d had my eye on her for a couple of years now, ever since she’d been coming into the bar, and suddenly she wasn’t with that prissy asshole boyfriend anymore and she was actually propositioning me. I mean, I get hit on at the bar all the time, but not by women like her. I thought I’d won the fucking lottery when she asked me what time my shift was finished.

  And I’d blown it. Not just blown it — fucking torched the thing. Because that’s what I do, apparently.

  On top of that, I’d lied to my brother. A stupid, pointless lie, one I told just to soothe my own damaged ego.

  Because the truth is, I don’t have a fiancee. I don’t even have a girlfriend. I’ve got plenty of women happy to share my bed for a night, but that’s all I ever give them. Other than that, I’ve got me and I’ve got my cat Steve and that’s it. One-night-stands are as deep as my emotional entanglements go, and I like it that way.

  So why had I said that to Trent? I like my life the way it is, but somehow, talking to my older brother makes me feel like I’m still the fuck-up I was ten years ago.

  My brothers, Trent and Luke, are incredibly successful and run their own international home furnishings company back in Chicago, where we grew up. We barely speak since I moved out here, and up until I got the wedding invitation a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know Trent was engaged.

  I guess when he called I just felt stupid. That there was so much space between us, that there was so much of his life that I didn’t know anymore. I guess I wanted him to feel like there were things about
me that he didn’t know either.

  Except there really weren’t. And I wasn’t exactly going to start bragging to him about the fact that I work at a dive bar. Even if I did practically run the thing at this point, even if it was true that the place had tripled its profits since I took over.

  No, the thing to come out of my mouth had to be that I was engaged.

  What a fucking idiot I am.

  I trudge home along the Manhattan sidewalks, almost enjoying the way the rain pelts down on my face and the puddles splash up around my Blundstones. Let it fucking rain.

  Celia doesn’t actually live that far away from me — though judging based on aesthetics alone, her place might as well have been light years away. She has a polite doorman and I have a front door that barely even latches anymore. She has marble tile in her bathroom and I have a toilet that you need to jiggle the handle on every time you flush. I could afford something nicer, but I just don’t see the point, not when I spend all my time at the bar.

  So maybe it was just as well that things with Celia weren’t going anywhere. There’s no way a girl like that would ever set foot in an apartment like mine — in fact, there’s no way a girl like that would ever be happy settling for anything about me or my life. I was cold pizza and drinking beer on fire escapes, and she was … well, I didn’t know what she was. Cab francs and expensive face creams and weekly manicures, probably.

  I finally get to my apartment building and yank the door open, shaking my head at the fact that they still haven’t fixed the damn door. I really need to fucking move.

  I climb the stairs to the tiny apartment and unlock my door. Steve is there to greet me right away, brushing up against my pant leg.

  “Hey buddy,” I say, leaning down to scratch his ears. “How’s life?”

  He meows crankily so I dump some more food in his green plastic bowl. He digs in right away, and I grin a little, thinking how easy it must be to be him. Not a care in the world, besides where his next meal is going to come from. And since he has me, that’s not even a real concern.

  Me on the other hand … well, I had concerns enough for the both of us. Like what I was going to do about Trent, now that I’d told him this stupid lie. And what I was going to tell Celia, next time she came into the bar.

  I realize with a start that she might not ever come in again. After what I did to her — or at least what she thinks I did to her — well, I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to see me again.

  The thought fills me with a sense of sadness that’s way deeper than it should be. Who cares if I don’t see her again? She’s a pretty girl, but those are a dime a dozen in New York City.

  So why does this bother me so much? And why am I hoping against hope that she’ll show up at the bar tomorrow, looking for an explanation?

  The next day my shift passes agonizingly slowly. Every time the front door of the bar creaks open, I find myself looking over, hoping it’ll be Celia.

  It never is.

  I tell myself maybe she’s working late, that she’ll be in after she gets off work, but the evening gets later and later and there’s no sign of her raven hair, her creamy skin, those perfectly pouty red lips.

  And why should there be? If I’m being honest, Celia isn’t the type to come in demanding an explanation. That’s crazy chick territory, and Celia’s way too dignified for that. That girl is all class. Which means she’s probably doing what women like her do, which is getting drunk with her girlfriends and talking about what a dog I am.

  For once, I find myself wishing a girl was just a little crazier.

  Everything at the bar goes the way it usually does — we’re kept busy with random college kids and a few Wall Street types and a handful of women who try flirting with me. Normally I’m happy to flirt back — that’s half the fun of the job — but tonight I just take their drink orders and skip the chitchat. I have too much on my mind to conjure up any witty repartee, and definitely too much on my mind to give them what they’re really hoping for, which is a dirty fuck.

  I still haven’t decided what to do about Trent and my stupid lie. I guess I have to tell him the truth, but God, that’s going to suck. It’s going to be just like when I was twenty, when I used to work at his company, and he thought I was the world’s biggest fuck-up.

  I’m relieved when two o’clock in the morning finally rolls around and we can close up the bar. I pour myself a beer as soon as the last patron strolls lazily out, and I drink it down quickly while I clean up and reconcile the cash.

  The alcohol gives me just enough courage and decisiveness to know what I need to do. I need to call Trent. First thing in the morning. I’ll tell him I was just kidding around, that I wanted to see if he’d buy it. He’ll still think I’m an idiot, but I don’t know what other choice I have.

  Despite my decision, I sleep terribly that night. All I can think about is Celia — about her wild tumble of raven black curls, about her sharp green eyes, about the sinful curves that her dour business suits do so little to contain.

  And all I can see is her face in my mind, the horror in her expression when she thought she’d been complicit in helping me cheat … on my imaginary fiancee.

  In the morning, my phone wakes me up. I grope blindly on the nightstand for it and hit the answer button before I even check to see who it is.

  “Hello?” My voice is groggy and gruff with the sleep that eventually overtook me.

  “Jace! Hey, man, it’s Luke. Don’t tell me you were still sleeping, you lazy fuck.”

  Shit. I sit up and scrub my hands over my face. Luke is my other brother.

  “I work at a bar, man. I don’t keep your fucking farmer hours.”

  Luke laughs. “Right. Still living that frat boy lifestyle, I see.”

  Fuck. I shake my head but there’s no point in trying to get Luke to see that I take my job seriously. To him, I’m once a fuck up, always a fuck-up.

  I don’t have time to say anything else, though, before he’s already launching into the real reason he called.

  “Listen, Trent told me you’re engaged. I just wanted to say congratulations. That’s great news.”

  Double fuck. I should have known Trent would say something to Luke.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. I don’t know what else to say.

  “Yeah, man, the whole family is so excited. Mom is over the moon. We can’t wait to meet her.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I’m sitting up now and I stare down at my feet on the aged hardwood. “Great.”

  “What’s her name? Trent didn’t say.”

  “Celia,” I blurt, then blink furiously. What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?

  “Celia. Great. She sounds smart,” he teases.

  “She is,” I say defensively, unable to help myself now. “She’s a lawyer.”

  Great job, Jace. Why not just dig yourself an even deeper hole?

  But Luke lets out a low whistle. “Good for you, man. Sounds like you’ve really cleaned up your act. Like I said, we all can’t wait to meet her. And to see you. It’s going to be so great to have everyone back together again.”

  “Yeah, sure. Listen, I gotta go, okay?”

  “Sure, man. I just wanted to … reach out, you know?”

  “Yeah.” The stupid thing is, I actually feel kind of touched. I’m happy that he’s happy for me, even if the reason is a complete and total fabrication.

  I get off the phone with Luke and wander out into the kitchen. Steve is sitting on the kitchen island and I glance down at his bright green eyes.

  “This is … not good,” I tell him. Steve stares at me with a steady unblinking expression.

  I open up the cupboard and get a glass, then fill it up with tap water and drink half of it in one gulp. I set it back down on the island and scratch Steve’s fuzzy grey ears.

  “What do you think, buddy? Got any bright ideas for your old man?”

  Steve blinks his green eyes up at me innocently and then, without breaking my gaze, reaches his paw out and
knocks my water glass off the island.

  It crashes onto the floor, sending water and broken glass shooting everywhere.

  “What the fuck, man?” I glare at him but I’m kind of laughing too because it’s so typical. Classic Steve. He just stares at me unblinking. I could swear I even detect a hint of smug pride in his expression.

  I shake my head and then bend over to start picking up the pieces of glass around my bare feet.

  As soon as I do, I’m struck with the memory of helping Celia clean up the spilled red wine and broken shards of her wine glass at the bar the other day. Right before she’d hoarsely asked me what time my shift ended.

  I stand back up and consider Steve.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  His ears go back a bit and his whiskers twitch, just once.

  “You devil,” I mutter, as I bend over again. “You’re a fucking evil genius in disguise, aren’t you?”

  Steve just swishes his tail and strolls off, leaving me to clean up his mess.

  But already I’m starting to hatch a plan.

  5

  Celia

  By day three of my forced leave from work, I’m already going crazy.

  I’ve watched about twenty hours of house-flipping shows and more Lifetime movies than I thought I’d watch in … well, a lifetime. I’ve cleaned out my closet and scrubbed the grout in my shower to within an inch of its life. I’ve made two batches of cookies and a loaf of banana bread and a pineapple cheesecake, which I pawned off on some of my neighbors. I’d even tried making homemade cat treats for my cat, but of course he’d turned his nose up at them. I’d pawned those off on a neighbor too.

  Yet I’m still restless. Lost.

  To be honest, I’d probably be enjoying my time a lot more if I didn’t keep thinking about him.

  This time him isn’t Martin, though. It’s Jace.

  I still can’t believe he’s engaged. I mean, it’s true that I don’t know much about his personal life — I don’t even know his last name, for God’s sake. He’s just Jace The Bartender to me. So I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that he has a woman in his life.