Fake Girlfriend

by Berri Fox

  Fake Girlfriend

  Berri Fox

  Its Her Books

  Copyright © 2019 by It’s Her Books

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Join My Facebook Group!

  Contents

  Description

  1. Sara

  2. Lucille

  3. Sara

  4. Lucille

  5. Sara

  6. Lucille

  7. Sara

  8. Lucille

  9. Sarah

  10. Lucille

  11. Sara

  12. Lucille

  13. Sara

  14. Lucille

  15. Sara

  16. Lucille

  17. Sara

  18. Lucille

  19. Sara

  20. Lucille

  Description

  I finally have the family I want. Except it’s fake.

  I have two kids from my recently deceased sister, a dead end job, and an eviction notice. I need a way out and a fresh start.

  Along comes Lucille.

  She’s got a problem. Her dad’s will says that she needs to be in a stable relationship by Easter or she loses out on her massive inheritance. She asks me to be her fake girlfriend.

  This woman must be crazy. But I’m crazy about her.

  We have an age gap but she’s so gorgeous the she could have anyone. And did I mention she’s loaded?

  Now though, we’re lying to everyone, telling them we’re happy and in love. It’d be great except her cousin seems very suspicious and will stop at nothing to get to the bottom of her secret. Against it all, we manage to develop real feelings for each other.

  Will our love pass the test?

  Or will it all end up being a big fake?

  Author’s Note: This romance contains steamy scenes.

  One

  Sara

  T he rising sun filters in through the mesh drapes that hang across the window. I twist around, burying my face in the pillow and allow one long groan to escape up my throat. It should be illegal to feel this tired.

  Rolling off the bed, I trudge down the short hallway to the small room that Lucas and Liam share. Their tiny, six-year-old forms are swallowed up by the twin beds where they sleep. They look so innocent in this state of unconsciousness.

  Only a mop of thick auburn hair is visible near the corner of the pillow where Lucas sleeps. Liam, on the other hand, is completely uncovered. He’s curled up in a tight ball near the corner of the wall.

  The sour scent of urine hits my nose causing my eyes to sting. I sigh, already defeated before the day has even begun. My sister’s death hangs like a dark cloud over us all.

  I wake up Lucas first. He grunts and moans crankily as I try to pry him from beneath the covers. After an all-night nightmare fest, he’s still exhausted. I’m quickly realizing that small bodies mixed with little sleep are not a good combination.

  “You and me both, buddy,” I say, as he finally rolls over and opens his tear puffed eyes.

  “Is my mom coming home today?” The sadness in his voice sends an aching loss through the fissures in my heart.

  “No, sweetie. I need you to get dressed and ready for school, please.” He stumbles to the dresser across the room and begins digging through the drawers for clothes.

  Liam is next. He’s easier to wake up, but I have to help him get out of his soiled pajamas and into a bath so he can get cleaned up. Then, I need to strip the wet bedding and get it into the washing machine before it turns rancid.

  We’re down to a few precious minutes by the time I get into the kitchen to fix them breakfast. Mornings are crazy these days, and I’m finding it difficult to get a good routine in place. Not for the first time, I wonder how my sister did it.

  I’m supposed to be at the diner for an early waitressing shift this morning. If I keep showing up late, I’m bound to get fired, and then what will I do? We have to figure something out, but the boys don’t seem to be adjusting to our new life together any better than I am.

  When the boys are finally dressed and fed, we hurry from the apartment. I open the back door to my old beat up sedan and they hop in. After making sure they’re both buckled tight in their booster seats, I slam the door and climb in front.

  “Can we go to the park after school?” Liam asks.

  He’s constantly asking to go to the park. I know he misses his friends and needs some kind of outlet besides school and my shabby apartment, but the neighborhood isn’t safe to be out in. The crime rate is outrageous, and I can’t afford to move us somewhere safer.

  It was fine when it was just me, but now that I’m responsible for their lives, I’m terrified every time we walk out the door. I meet his gaze in the rear-view mirror.

  “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s just not safe. You’ll have fun on the playground at school.”

  His face falls and I can see the sheen of tears in his eyes. I need to find a safe place for us to go, so they can have some fun playtime, but I can never seem to find the opportunity.

  Between the job at the diner and reading to the children at the bookstore, there’s no time for anything else. That’s not even mentioning my new responsibility of taking care of Liam and Lucas, which I’m pretty sure is one hundred full time jobs rolled into one.

  I pull up to the curb in front of the school with seconds to spare. Running around to the other side of the car, I open the door. They both slide slowly from the seat.

  “Love you bunches,” I say, ruffling their hair. “Have a good day.”

  “Bye, Aunt Sara,” Lucas says solemnly. Liam walks away silently, his head hanging down and his shoulders slumped.

  The door attendant motions the boys through before offering me a sympathetic smile and a small wave. I send her a halfhearted wave in return, before walking around to the driver’s door and folding myself into the seat.

  Since school is basically ready to start, there are no cars waiting behind me. Even though I’m running late, I take a minute to check my phone. There are three new alerts that I didn’t hear come through earlier this morning.

  They’re all for payments that I already scheduled, but for some reason the bank didn’t post them. This isn’t good. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up drowning in debt and then I might lose the boys.

  I refuse to let them end up in foster care. That isn’t what my sister would have wanted for them. Although, why she thought I was the best choice to raise her babies, I’ll never understand. I can barely keep my own head above water.

  My heart sinks as I steer the car into the street and head in the direction of the diner. It’s only a half a dozen blocks away, and with no traffic, the drive is quick. It’s not fast enough, however, to keep worry from filling every corner of my already jumbled mind.

  By the time I pull into the parking lot, it feels as if the world is tumbling down around me and I’m helpless to hold it up. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.

  I don’t know how to be Lucas and Liam’s mom, and their aunt, taking care of all of us on top of working. It’s too overwhelming. Tears spring hot and fiery behind my closed lids, and I press my palms against my eyes.

  As I peel myself from the car, I can see the manager watching me from behind the bank of windows along the side of the building. When I meet his gaze, he holds up his wrist and taps the watch that’s wrapped there.

  With a heavy sigh, I trudge through the doors. It’s going to be another tough day.

  Two

  Lucille

  I ’m sitting in the family lawyer’s
office in a state of complete and utter shock. Unable to move, unable to speak, as numbness creeps across my skin, enveloping my mind, which refuses to process the words that are being spoken to me.

  Could I possibly have heard him correctly? My lawyer gets up from the long mahogany table where half a dozen people, the majority of them in suit and tie, sit. His chair screeches loudly against the gleaming cedar floor.

  When he returns, he sets a plastic cup filled with water in front of me. My hand automatically moves forward and my fingers wrap around the smooth plastic before lifting it to my lips. I drink greedily, the icy liquid flooding my throat. But in my stunned state, I don’t really taste it.

  When I got the phone call a few days ago to meet at the family law firm this morning, I was certain it would be just a formality. Perhaps removing my name from some paperwork.

  Instead, I arrive only to find that my father has died and no one bothered to tell me. To top it off, he’s left everything to me. I don’t understand.

  I haven’t spoken to my father in years. Not since he disowned me when I was twenty for the simple fact that I was gay…am gay. It wasn’t a phase, as I’m sure he hoped.

  There’s a letter in the will and the lawyer picks it up now. He slides it across the table for me to read for myself, as if the contents are too fragile to be heard by the entire room.

  I stare down at the sheet of paper. The inky contents are blurred by the unshed tears that pool along my lashes. I blink them away, reaching for a tissue to blot them with before they have a chance to trail down my cheeks.

  My father’s handwriting is unmistakable. The precise penmanship with its sharp angles and smooth strokes. It hasn’t changed in all these years.

  I let my eyes drift over his words, and my heart cracks in my chest. He should have spoken them to me, instead of leaving them for me to read like this. In a room full of crotchety old men who hold no sympathy or compassion for my loss.

  When I was eighteen, my father found me in bed with another girl. I’ll never forget the look of disgust on his face. The look of disappointment. He was horrified to have a daughter of that…nature.

  He was more concerned with appearances. How would it look to other people, to those of our status, our circle? What would they say about our family?

  We struggled for two long years to find some kind of common ground, before he finally had enough. I was not going to change, and he was not willing to accept me for who I was.

  It appears that, perhaps, he might actually have been sorry for kicking me out and refusing to be a part of my life, refusing to allow me to be a part of his. I don’t know how to feel about that.

  The fact that he’s left everything to me, it’s disorienting, to say the least. I’d rather have back the years that we lost. Now, I never will.

  “The terms are very clear,” says one of the men from across the table. I can’t remember what is name is, at the moment.

  “Yes?” I respond lamely.

  “Your father’s estate, his entire fortune, is left to you. There are, however, a few terms that you will be required to meet. If you cannot, it will all be turned over to your cousins.”

  “Terms?” What is wrong with me? Am I honestly incapable of multi word responses?

  “Yes. You will only inherit everything if you can prove that you will be able to carry on the family name, regardless of your…sexuality.” He clears his throat as if embarrassed, and I wonder how much he’s getting out of all this to be the one to read off my father’s stipulations.

  “As you know, your family has an annual Easter celebration. You are to arrive at the party this year with a stable relationship and a plan to have children. If you do not, you will lose your inheritance to your cousins.”

  “Is that even legal? To force me into a relationship, into a family?” I wonder aloud.

  “If you want the money, then yes. If the money isn’t important to you, then you’re free to walk away.”

  I’m tempted to do just that. Especially, after he tells me that it will be my crazy Aunt Adelaide who will decree whether or not my relationship is acceptable. What kind of farce have I walked into?

  I bet my father is rolling over in his grave with laughter at this very moment. It feels like even in death, he’s trying to force me into the kind of life he thinks I should have.

  I could walk away now. Put this entire thing behind me. Mourn the loss of a man who was never willing to accept me, love me. It should be easy.

  The money would make a huge difference, though. Not just in my life, but it would also allow me to pursue my dream of giving back to the LGBT community.

  There are so many people, especially young ones, who are going through the same thing that I did. They come from families who refuse to accept them, who give them ultimatums, or purposely hurt them by turning their backs.

  This much money, even a fraction of it, would go a long way to helping those who truly need it. I’ve always regretted that I couldn’t do more. Now, I have the opportunity.

  I’m at a complete loss. On the one hand, I don’t want to give my father that kind of power over me, even if he’s no longer alive. On the other hand, it might only be a small price to pay to be able to do so much good.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Three

  Sara

  B y the time I reach the bookshop after my shift at the diner, my eyes are burning with fiery tears. I inhale several shaky breaths in a vain attempt to ebb the flow, but they continue to scorch an agonizing trail down my cheeks.

  They splatter across my blouse, leaving dark stains on the soft fabric. Get it together! I mentally scold myself. How am I supposed to read to a room full of children if I can’t keep my composure for five lousy minutes?

  The weight of the day, of my situation these past few weeks, crushes down on me. It feels as if the universe itself has turned against me, and I’m helpless to do anything about it.

  My shift at the diner was horrendous. Patrons kept screaming at me. I barely made any tips. To top it off, my boss said that if I’m late one more time, I’ll be fired.

  This was the only job I found with a flexible enough schedule that I could work around the boys’ school schedule and the kids’ corner shift at the bookshop. If I lose it, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Without a job, I won’t be able to support Lucas and Liam. If that happens, they’ll be taken away and put into foster care. I won’t let that happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t.

  Wiping my face with a ragged tissue I find in the glovebox, I force myself to calm down. I don’t want to give Rachel a reason to question if I’m capable of continuing on as the story time reader. I refuse to screw things up here, as well.

  Stepping out of the car, I steel my shoulders, plaster a pained smile across my face, and walk into the shop. Heather looks up from her place behind the register and smiles warmly when she sees me.

  My smile clearly isn’t fooling her, as her features morph into a look of concern. “Is everything alright?” She asks.

  “Great. Everything is great.” I lie.

  She opens her mouth to say more, but I beat her to it, not wanting to spread my problems around the shop. “How’s everything going here? Any new gossip I should know about?”

  “Well, since you mention it.” She leans across the counter, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner. Her eyes dart around the room before meeting my gaze. “Lucille got some really big news earlier. She left in a rush a few days ago and hasn’t been back since. No one’s sure what’s going on.”

  “I heard she’s some kick ass secret agent and got sent on a mission to assassinate the leader of a terrorist organization that’s planning to destroy the world.”

  “Oh my god!” Heather gasps in mock horror, as we both turn to look at Cody. “Where in the world did you hear something like that?”

  Cody pulls her beanie down lower over her ears, and shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “Oh, you know. People
talk.”

  “What people?” Asks Jess as she sidles up beside me.

  “People.” Cody insists, her gaze bouncing between the three of us. “You all don’t think I do anything around here, but I hear everything. I’m privy to all the ins and outs of this place.”

  “I could go for some ins and outs right about now,” says Abbie wiggling her eyebrows up and down. I hadn’t noticed her walk over.

  “That was terrible, Abbie.” Jess tries to scold, but the giggles bubbling from her lips dull the admonition.

  “Thank you, I try.” Abbie replies.

  “Maybe Lucille had a secret lover, and she got a call that her lover passed away in a tragic accident. Now her heart is irreparably broken. She’ll never love again, doomed always to wonder, what if,” Jess exclaims with all the drama and intensity only a writer can possess.

  “I bet,” Heather begins, but is interrupted as Rachel appears at the counter.

  “Ladies, I’m sure there’s some kind of work you could be doing instead of standing around the register gossiping like a bunch of old hens.” There’s a twinkle in her eye as she says this, and I get the feeling that it’s more about giving Lucille her privacy than anything else.

  “It’s just that no one really knows much about her,” says Heather.

  “If she wants us to know, then she’ll tell us. In the meantime, we have plenty of work to keep us busy,” Rachel states.

  I follow her as she heads past the register to her office. “Rachel, can I speak with you for a minute?”

  “Sure, love, come on in.” She motions for me to follow her into the office.

  “Don’t come too hard.” Abbie’s voice trails behind me. “Or do,” she giggles.

  I look back to see Jess swat Abbie’s arm playfully. “You are so bad.”

  “That girl. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her,” Rachel says as she closes the door behind us.