LIVE TO TELL: A Fake Fiancé Romance (Material Girls Book 2)

by Sophia Henry

  “Bourbon?” Erik asks.

  My mind floods with wonderful memories highlighted by bourbon drinks. Mint Juleps at the Kentucky Derby—a yearly tradition with my family and friends. Daddy handing me an Old Fashioned in a highball glass to celebrate my promotion to Vice President of Feminine Apparel and Cosmetics at Commons. Countless batches of Mississippi Punch with my friends and debs over the years. In those moments, I felt on top of the world. I had everything: a successful career, the most loyal and loving friends and family, and a seemingly bright future with Trent.

  The thought of Trent mars the memories and I push them out of my mind.

  “Why do you sound so surprised, Erik? You were raised right here in the South.”

  He grins. “I was, but my grandparents are from Chicago originally. Southern traditions elude me.”

  “Well, you’re officially dating a Southern belle. So, you best get used to the tradition. You’ll need to know me inside and out if we’re to get married in six months.” I nudge his arm with my shoulder.

  “Yeah, Maddie, about that.” He turns so we’re facing each other. “It was a silly idea. You could get in a lot of trouble and I don’t want to put you in that position.”

  “I’m not going to get into trouble, Erik. It won’t go that far. We just make it look real until we come up with a plan to keep you here. Heck, by then, laws may have changed. You never know in these crazy times. Seems like things are changing every day.”

  He stiffens. “I couldn’t live with myself if you got in trouble.”

  “Sugar, this is not your decision. It’s mine. I’m not doing anything illegal right now. We have an arrangement that suits both of us. You are helping me get away from Trent, and I’m helping you stay in the country. Easy peasy.” I wave my hand as if the entire situation is light and easy. It’s not. The fear of what Trent might do next is at the front of my mind. “You better start acting smitten with me if we want anyone to believe this.”

  “I won’t have any trouble acting smitten with you.” His lips slide into an irresistible smile. “Can you say the same?”

  I push my hair behind my shoulder and stand up straight. “I’m a good actress. I starred in the Christmas pageant twice.”

  “You landed the Virgin Mary role twice? That’s impressive.”

  “Are you some kind of heathen?” I stare at him. Maybe he’s not religious. I never even asked. That would certainly be a hiccup in the plan. Not a deal breaker, but—

  What in the world am I thinking? It’s all fake. I don’t have to worry about taking him to church on Sunday.

  “Everyone knows the Virgin Mary isn’t the star. I played the Baby Jesus right up until I grew out of that manger,” I say, turning back to the beer list. “I was a tiny thing.” I can feel Erik staring at me. “What?”

  “You are something else, Madeline Commons.”

  “You’re just realizing that now? After all these years?”

  “You’re serious about our arrangement?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  When Paul returns, I ask for a sample of both the brown ale Erik mentioned and the amber ale I watched him pour. After tasting, we both decide on a full pint of the brown.

  Erik follows me back outside to the front porch. Fall is closing in, and though it’ll stay warm well into October, I relish every minute I get to be outside. Lots of people complain about the heat and humidity, but summer in the South is my favorite time of year.

  I set my beer and pocketbook down on one of the rustic, red picnic tables.

  The chatter around us calms my mind. I can totally see coming up here with friends. With the exception of four years in Savannah for college and two summer internships in New York and London, I’ve lived in Charlotte my entire life. I’m familiar with many of the different neighborhoods, but this one isn’t an area I usually hang out in. It’s got a great laidback vibe. Not pretentious or trendy. It’s actually relaxing—which is what I needed after the intense conversation with Trent.

  There’s a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me things are not over with Trent. I don’t want to be with him, but I know he won’t let our relationship go that easily—and neither will our families. I already committed one of the biggest crimes I possibly could—I gave up on someone. If I’ve learned anything in my family, it’s to be loyal. We work out our differences with the people we have relationships with—personal and business. You don’t just cut someone off.

  We were supposed to get married. He hadn’t proposed yet, but that was the unspoken plan. Everyone thought our future union was a sure thing. It was only a matter of time after he got back from Georgetown before he proposed.

  No one will understand why I broke up with Trent. Which is my fault for keeping things secret. But that’s the other part of being loyal. I had to keep his behavior under wraps. If I said anything, I’d be accused of trying to smear his reputation.

  Mama’s gonna be pissed. So unbelievably pissed.

  “To our unconventional arrangement.” Erik raises his glass, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I grab my glass and lift it, clinking. “Fake it till you make it.”

  We both take a sip of our beers. I set my glass down.

  “You look absolutely beautiful tonight,” he says.

  “Thank you.” I’m not sure if he’s saying it to establish the fake relationship, or if he’s being serious, but either way, it’s sweet and makes me smile. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

  “Are you okay?” He reaches across the table and places his hand on top of mine. The touch brings both warmth and comfort. I lift my eyes to his. There’s a crease in his forehead between his eyebrows. This might be an arrangement, but I believe Erik really cares about my well-being. He’s seen Trent’s temper twice now.

  “Honestly? I’m still shook up.” I take a deep breath and glance around the patio. I’m not looking for Trent—I’m looking for normal. Like the three people at the table behind Erik, going about their night, chatting happily. Or the group behind me playing a lively round of UNO.

  “You can talk to me, Maddie. We may be doing this for very specific reasons, but please know that you can talk to me if you need to.”

  I bring my gaze back to him, and give him a half-smile. “Thank you. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

  “You don’t have anyone you can confide in?”

  “I can’t tell anyone, Erik. My entire life would be ruined if I say anything. Not his—mine. Not that anyone would believe me anyway. They’d brush it off. They’d harass me until I let it go.” I’d seen it before. Hell, I’d been one of the people on the firing squad. Loyalty is fierce and strong. Even if it’s not always correct—or what’s right.

  How do I expect anyone to believe me—or stand up for me—if I never did for others? Too woven into the fabric of going along with the masses—of what would serve me and my interests.

  Maybe it’s time to go against the grain. Why did it have to take something happening to me before realizing that?

  “That’s fucked up, Maddie.”

  “Yes, but that’s the way it is.” I rub my finger over a patch on the table where the red paint has chipped away.

  “When did you start to realize things with Trent weren’t right?” Erik asks.

  “It was slow at first. I’ve known Trent for a long time. His sister, Suzanne, and I are very good friends. We went through debutante together.”

  “Excuse me?” Erik interrupts. He leans in and blinks as if trying to hear or understand. “You met how?”

  “Suzanne and I came out into society together,” I explain. He tilts his head in confusion. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  He shifts on the bench. “I’ve heard of debutantes and coming out, but I didn’t think it was still a thing.”

  “It’s absolutely still a thing! A grand tradition Mama talked about ever since I was a little girl.” I close my eyes at the memory of waltzing the night away with sweaty-ha
nded boys at various parties and my beautiful white dress that cost more than some people’s wedding dresses. When I open them, Erik is smiling at me. I know people who don’t understand, who think it’s silly, but it doesn’t make me think any differently. “I’m the only one of my sisters that came out. I loved it. I met so many vibrant, outgoing ladies. I still have lunch with a few of them once a month.”

  “It sounds like you enjoyed it.”

  “Absolutely. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I learned so much. Not just about etiquette, dancing, and poise, but also about presenting myself in a strong, confident way. I can hold my own in any situation.”

  “I have no doubt.” Erik’s lips slide into a smile. He takes another drink.

  “I’m charming the pants right off you now, aren’t I?”

  “Hey now! Save that for the second date.”

  I laugh. “That’s second-date talk?”

  “Well, we can skip straight to marriage if it helps? Colors? Locations?” He winks.

  “Slow and steady wins the race.”

  “Well, we’ve known each other for over ten years; I’d say we’ve taken it very slow.”

  “And look, it’s about to get steady again,” I say. Is that why being with him is so easy—because we already have an established relationship? After seeing each other almost every week during all four years of high school, maybe we’re just picking up where we left off, muddling through the gap years we missed in between.

  “Did you meet Trent through Suzanne?” Erik asks, bringing our conversation back.

  I nod. “Yes. We knew each other for a while, but we didn’t start dating until we were in college. I’ve always dated guys in my social circle. They all fit the same mold. They all came from money. They were going into majors that would set them up for prestigious careers. They were smart and charming and active in organizations on campus, be it fraternities, political groups, or something else.”

  “They wore collared shirts and boat shoes—even to sleep,” Erik interrupts. He’s hiding his smile behind his beer glass, which is still raised to his lips.

  “Yes, Erik. They were all Chads. And I’m a Becky.” I laugh, mostly because his description really does fit most guys I’ve dated—or even know. I reckon I fit the stereotype too. My youngest sister calls me Becky—which is a mean term for a self-absorbed rich girl. She said it’s from a nineties rap song.

  “You wouldn’t be a Becky,” Erik corrects. “You’d be a Stacy. Stacy’s are the perfect, beautiful, unattainable rich girls, Becky’s are plain.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Shit, Maddie! I wasn’t calling you a Stacy or Becky. I was just explaining the difference.”

  “I’m fully aware of how some people choose to see me, but I’m completely comfortable with myself, so their opinion doesn’t matter.”

  Erik rubs a palm over his jaw. “Let me start that again. You don’t fit into either of those lame stereotypes. You are a smart, strong, sexy, successful woman—Southern woman,” he adds with emphasis.

  Heat rushes from my cheeks straight up to my ears. Hearing Erik compliment me is like listening to my favorite song. It makes me smile, and I want to put it on repeat forever.

  “Thank you,” I say, “but if we’re talking about Trent—he’s a total Chad.” I laugh. “He had similarities to the other guys, but he was more, um, aggressive, I reckon. He came on strong and that made me feel good—wanted. After our first week of knowing each other, he told me he loved me. It was weird, but also flattering. I don’t know. It sounds so stupid to explain.

  Out of all the guys I’ve dated, Trent was the one Mama and Daddy were really pushing me toward. He’s handsome, from a great family, and was on his way to Georgetown Law at the time.” I pause, realizing how shallow all of that sounds, but he checked off all the boxes of what I should’ve been looking for in a future husband.

  “It doesn’t sound stupid, Maddie. I’ve heard about the whole ‘ring by spring’ philosophy. I mean, I didn’t think it still happened, but I’ve heard of it.”

  The only time I’ve ever heard the term “ring by spring” was from friends who went to Christian colleges, but when I think about it, that describes exactly what many traditional Southern parents want for their daughters—an engagement ring by graduation.

  My education route was a bit different, since I chose to go to the Savannah College of Art and Design, which—even though it’s one of the most prestigious art and fashion schools in the South—it wasn’t necessarily the place my parents wanted me to find a husband. They don’t want me with a creative type. Which is why they set me up with Trent, a good old boy majoring in pre-law at Duke. I really can’t mock it, since it’s what I wanted, as well. Trent just isn’t the right person.

  My back stiffens and I sit up straighter. “Maybe the idea seems archaic to some, but not me. I am college-educated, hard-working, and active in my community. I’m still a modern woman. But no matter how successful I am in my career, I will always choose to put my family first. It’s part of who I am and the way I was raised. I’m proud of both.”

  “I’m not insulting you, Maddie, believe me. I’m not from a traditional Southern family, so it’s an old-fashioned concept to me.”

  “Old-fashioned isn’t always bad.”

  “I didn’t say it was.” He slides a hand across the picnic table and places it on mine. “I’m not making fun of you. I respect you and your family. We can be different and think differently and still be friends, right?”

  My shoulders soften a bit as the tension leaves. “Of course.”

  Internally, I’m cursing myself for getting so defensive. Trying to explain to people who don’t understand is something I’ve battled for years. I’m not stupid. I’m not uneducated. I don’t think everyone has to share my core beliefs, but it also doesn’t mean I’ll be mocked for them. Family above all isn’t a bad philosophy.

  “When did you start realizing Trent wasn’t as perfect as he seemed?” Erik asks, bringing me back on track.

  “He was always complimentary and touchy-feely.” I lift my eyes to Erik. “Thinking back on it now, I should have seen early signs, no matter how subtle. I thought he was being complimentary when he’d say he loved how I looked in a certain color or when my hair was styled a particular way. Because we attended different schools, I went on with my life and did my own thing, not thinking too much about Trent’s preferences. But when I was going to see him, I’d do things that made him happy—because that’s what you do in relationships, right? You think about the other person and do the little things that make them happy. He loved when I wore my navy pencil skirt and had my hair tied back in a chic, loose chignon. It was easy enough for me.”

  Erik nods as if he understands what I’m talking about.

  “I didn’t realize until about a year into our long-distance relationship, that when he appreciated something about my appearance, it wasn’t a compliment as much as a command.”

  “His comments weren’t about being sweet, they were about control,” he says.

  “Exactly!” I say. Knowing Erik understands makes me think it wasn’t all in my head, which is what Trent wanted me to believe. “There’s so much that I see now, that I didn’t see when I was in the relationship. Does that make sense?”

  “Of course,” Erik says. “That happens to everyone. It seems minor, but what Trent was doing was major. That’s the thing about people who are good at manipulating. They make you feel like you’re the one who needs to change. They make you think you’re the one who has issues when really they’re projecting their issues onto you.”

  “Wow. Sounds like you really get it.”

  “I’ve been in a few relationships.” Erik winks. “I’ve gotta use the restroom. Be right back.”

  I know he’s had girlfriends. I’m not naive. I also know we’re only here together because he’s helping me get out of my old relationship, and I’m helping him stay in the country, but hearing him talk about other relationships sends a
ridiculous jealous twinge to my heart. And I’m not a jealous person. At least, I didn’t think I was.

  All this crap with Trent really has me out of sorts. I know making the decision to leave is the right choice, but I’m already at one of the lowest points in my life, and I don’t really want to hear about any other girls that my long-time crush has been with.

  After Erik excuses himself, crazy thoughts start to race around my head. What if Trent has been watching us from the parking lot? What if he saw Erik go inside and uses the opportunity to confront me now that I’m alone?

  Goose bumps break out across my arms. I roll my shoulders back and clasp my hands in my lap. Then I scan the patio, trying to look nonchalant as I check out the people occupying the other picnic tables.

  At the table next to ours, the conversation two Americans are having, with a guy from New Zealand, is both entertaining and enlightening.

  “Have you ever had a BLT? A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich?” the lady asks.

  I almost laugh, because it seems like such a silly question. Then I realize, though I’ve traveled quite a bit, I’ve never been to New Zealand. Different countries and regions have their own types of cuisine. What seems common to us, may be completely unheard of to someone from another country.

  I lean their way slightly to hear the answer.

  He responds with, “Um, yeah. Bacon sandwiches are quite common where I’m from.”

  I straighten up in my seat. Mama always told me I should learn something new every day. I’m fairly certain this wasn’t what she meant, but knowledge is knowledge.

  And it took my mind off Trent for a minute. That alone was reason enough to appreciate it.

  I thought the knot in my stomach would subside when Erik returned to the table, but it’s still there. As he throws a leg over the bench, he flashes me a smile. That’s when I realize the knot isn’t fear, like it was walking to the brewery, but excitement. Being with Erik brings back all those innocent emotions of years ago, when I was just a girl with a huge crush on a boy.

  And now we’re on a date.

  It’s fake. But for some reason, my mind refuses to allow that minor detail to stop my body from having all the feels. The butterflies that started in my stomach have moved south. Lust zings through my limbs and settles with a pulse between my legs. Just being around him turns me on.