Into You: A Fake Engagement Romance Read online

  Into You

  A Fake Fiance Romance

  Becca Barnes

  Copyright © 2020 by Becca Barnes

  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.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Becca Barnes

  Into Santa: A Secret Billionaire Christmas Romance (Sample)

  Into Trouble: A Best Friend’s Sister Forbidden Romance (Sample)

  About the Author

  One

  Penny

  "Well, what do you think?" Tish fanned the collection of eight-by-ten glossies across her desk like I was getting ready to order sushi at a fancy restaurant. Rather than what I was actually doing—picking a fiancé for myself.

  "I’ve already told you what I think. I think this is a terrible idea.” I leaned back into her squashy office sofa and buried my head in the pillows.

  "Terrible or terribly awesome?" Tish picked up one of the photos and waved it around in front of my face like she was trying to tantalize me with a slab of chocolate cheesecake. The picture was of a particularly brawny and buff gym rat. The very definition of “dude.”

  Not my type. At all.

  Not that I’d had a “type” in years, period.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said as I sat up straight and clasped my hands in my lap. “I'm going to tell everyone the truth.”

  “The truth or the truth?”

  “The truth...ish.” I mean, not the whole truth. That would be too humiliating. “I'll tell them that Joe and I are no longer together. I’ll keep it vague.”

  It wouldn’t be hard. I’d kept everything about Joe vague. Mostly because he didn’t exist.

  “It's not like my mom would be surprised at it being broken off,” I said. My mom probably wouldn’t even notice if I took off my fake engagement ring along with all my clothes and pranced around the living room buck naked. I could tuck the engagement ring in a drawer, tell everyone that I didn’t want to talk about it, and simply never mention it ever again.

  My mom was one thousand percent wrapped up in every tiny detail of my little sister Sophie’s wedding right now. Whereas, my fake breakup with my fake fiancé would be one more drop of water in the vast ocean of Penny’s screw-ups.

  Honestly, my mother’s disapproval had been what led to this big old mess in the first place.

  OK, that wasn’t entirely true. Or fair. What had led to this big old mess in the first place was me being a world-class liar. Like, Olympic-grade liar.

  I was just so, so tired of disappointing my parents. Which is ridiculous, I know. I'm a grown-ass woman. Good gravy, I’m a mother of a preschooler. I need to start acting like it.

  Hence, it was time to tell the truth…ish.

  I wasn’t even sure why I’d lied in the first place.

  No. That’s not true.

  Literally every conversation I've had with my mom for the last three years has started with the phrase, "So have you met anyone?"

  Not, “How’s your successful wedding planning business going?”

  Or, “Tell me about your fulfilling volunteer work with children’s advocacy.”

  Nope.

  “So have you met anyone?”

  And my answer was always the same: “No, Mom. You know I don’t have time to date.”

  Then, six weeks ago, I'd had enough. Something in me snapped.

  It hadn't been completely out of the blue. My sister Sophie had been dating Perfect Patrick for two years. Two perfect years with Perfect Patrick. When I went home for a family dinner, I could see it in Sophie’s eyes. She expected a ring at any moment.

  The perfect proposal was on the horizon. I knew it. My parents knew it, too.

  And I was happy for Sophie. Really, I was. Patrick was a nice guy. He was good to her. But I was also sad for me. Because Sophie would soon have a gigantic rock on her finger. A perfect souvenir from her perfect relationship with Perfect Patrick.

  And every time I headed home, I brought a souvenir with me as well. A souvenir from an anything-but-perfect relationship. That was pushing it, calling it a relationship. It had been a non-relationship. A fling. My first and only one-night stand.

  And that adorable little souvenir went by the name of Daniel.

  Don't get me wrong. No, really. Do not get me wrong.

  I love my son. Love him more than the very breath that fills my lungs. I love him so hard that it hurts my heart when I think about it too much.

  I love every tiny detail of Daniel. The perpetual dirt and grime under his impossible-to-keep-trimmed fingernails, the way he snuffles in his sleep when he’s overtired, and the snorting squeal he makes when he can’t stop laughing.

  I adore him down to the tips of his white-blond eyelashes. And I spend an inordinate amount of time looking at those eyelashes. Worrying about them—are they too blond? Did skin cancer run in his biological father’s family? Albinism?

  Those were things I would never know.

  Things I did know about Daniel’s father:

  -He worked on a cruise ship as a surfing instructor.

  -He was Scandinavian.

  -And irresistibly sexy, especially after three strong mojitos.

  -Not much else.

  I did know that he no longer worked for the cruise line. I’d tried to track him down after the positive pregnancy test. Not expecting him to help or be involved. I just thought he deserved to know that he’d fathered a child.

  Apparently, he didn’t stay put for long in any one job, though. He’d up and quit the surfing gig soon after my trip, headed out on a backpacking trek across Europe. I managed to track him to his last known address—a youth hostel near an Italian ski resort—but it was a dead-end. Letters to his family had returned undeliverable.

  And that was that.

  “Ooh. This one’s yummy.” Tish brought out another stack of photos and held one up.

  "Did you actually use the word ‘yummy’ to describe a fellow human being?" I flopped back down on the pillows.

  “Well, he is.” Tish turned the glossy headshot around. “He’s into working out, watching football, and playing sports.”

  Indeed, the man was a sight to behold.

  “Or this one?” Tish held up another photo. “He’s into…working out, playing football, and watching, umm, sports.”

  “However shall I choose with such a wide array of options?” I tapped my chin like I was actually considering this lunacy.

  “Stop being so negative. You have nothing to lose. I already told you. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll handle everything. I’ll even pick one for you if you want. You need to trust me. This is what I do for a living.” Tish motioned around her office. Floo
r to ceiling, it was filled with stacks and stacks of pictures of struggling and slightly-less-struggling actors.

  “You hire actors to work in films. Not go out on dates with people.”

  Tish worked for one of the major film studios as a junior assistant casting director. I won't divulge which studio, but I will say it's super. In fact, it’s marvelous.

  More and more movies were filming at Pinewood Studios, right outside Atlanta, where I lived. The big, starring roles were obviously cast in hushed conversations from behind closed doors in Hollywood. But there were always a ton of background roles to fill.

  Enter Tish.

  “You make it sound like I’m hiring you a male prostitute,” she grumbled.

  “Well…”

  "Pleeeeease,” she squealed. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. It’s not like I’m casting Hemsworths around here.”

  “Mmmm…Hemsworths.” I wiped away an imaginary strand of drool.

  “I’m serious. You have no idea how boring it gets filling the role of bystander number three or hot dog vendor number seven. Over and over. Give me a challenge. I can do this. I can cast the role of ‘Penny’s fiancé number one.’"

  Tish wiggled a picture of a (I will admit, extremely yummy-looking) man in front of my face.

  “What’s that one interested in?” I asked.

  “Umm, working out, playing sports, and—”

  “No, thanks.” I needed to stop her right there. This was a ridiculous plan, and I’d been an idiot to even consider it. “I’m sorry, but my family will never buy it. They had a hard enough time keeping their jaws from dragging along the ground when I told them that I was engaged to a guy that I barely knew. They’re certainly not going to buy that I chose some steroid-fueled sports fanatic.”

  “Who cares what he’s into?” Tish said. “You can turn him into a Shakespearean scholar who breeds show cats on the side. He’s an actor. He’s going to be acting. Remember?”

  Of course I remembered. Hiring someone to pretend to be your fake fiancé was hardly the sort of thing one forgot.

  “And it’s only for one weekend,” she added.

  One weekend. My sister’s wedding weekend.

  It was going to be an affair to remember. Literally.

  I have no idea how many strings Patrick’s father had had to pull—this golf buddy connected to that governor—but Sophie was going to have the wedding of her dreams at the top of the Empire State Building.

  There were some catches of course. The ceremony would have to take place before the iconic building opened to the public for the day, so it would be a sunrise ceremony. And because it was such a huge favor, she’d had to book it on a moment’s notice, which meant they didn’t have any choice but to have a super short engagement. As in, less than two weeks from now.

  Still, I figured that if she hadn’t gotten to know Patrick well enough after two years, there was no point in dragging out the engagement at this point.

  It would be a dream come true.

  It would be perfect.

  Just like Sophie and Patrick.

  Mom had called to let me know the reason for the scheduling rush. Not because Sophie was pregnant, of course, she assured me, bringing the shock of my own past pregnancy announcement into stark relief.

  “I need to gather RSVPs as quickly as possible,” Mom explained. “I have you down for one. With it being less than a month away and long distance, I assumed you wouldn’t be able to find a date in time.”

  And that was the moment I snapped.

  “Actually, I’ll be bringing someone,” I said.

  “Oh?” She didn’t bother to hide the surprise in her voice. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” I blurted out the truth before thinking.

  “Ah. Well, you can bring along a friend if you want, of course. Maybe Tish or Jen will be free. I assumed you’d ask one of them to watch Daniel since your usual sitters will obviously be unavailable.”

  She just had to get that extra dig in, how grateful I should be for all the help over the years. Like they didn’t adore Daniel and spoil him to rotten bits every chance they got.

  “No, not a friend.” What was I saying? It was like my mouth had taken on a life of its own. Well, if it wasn’t my friend, and it wasn’t a boyfriend…“Actually, it’s my fiancé.”

  The line went dead silent.

  “Fiancé?” she whispered. I could picture her, sitting on the chintz sofa, her hand fluttering at her chest.

  “Uhh, yeah. I…I didn’t want to say anything before Sophie’s big day. Didn’t want to steal her thunder. Cat’s out of the bag, I guess.”

  “Penny, you can’t be serious. When did you—? Where did you—? How long have you—? You can’t be serious.”

  Why? Why couldn’t I be serious? Was it so unbelievable that I’d meet a man, fall in love, and want to spend the rest of my life with him?

  “So you’re engaged to be married to a man we’ve never met.” She lowered her voice and muttered, “Fitting.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Only that we never got to meet—oh, never mind.”

  They’d never met Daniel’s father. Knew less about the man than I did, mostly because I’d spared them the details of what he looked like naked and how well he’d performed certain sexual acts.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Look, Mom, of course you’re going to meet my fiancé.” What the damn hell was I saying? Meet my fiancé? There was no such person.

  “When?” asked my mother.

  “At, umm, at Sophie’s wedding.”

  “Why not before then?”

  “He…he’s really busy at work.”

  “What’s his name, for goodness sake?”

  Very good question.

  “Umm, Joe.” It was the first name that popped to my mind.

  “Joe. Tell me about him.”

  “He’s…great. Umm, a hard worker, like I mentioned. Very loving and generous and just…great.”

  She let out a skeptical harrumph. “And what does Daniel think of him?”

  “Daniel hasn’t met him yet.”

  “Your son hasn’t met him yet?” She let out an audible gasp.

  “We wanted to wait until we’re ready to publicly announce the engagement.”

  “You didn’t get Daniel’s approval?”

  “Mom, he’s three and a half. Given his choice, he’d choose Big Bird for a stepfather.”

  “But will they get along? This Joe person is going to be my grandson’s stepfather. How could you make such a monumental decision on a whim. Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised after—” She stopped herself before she said something she couldn’t take back.

  But the unspoken words hung there.

  “It wasn’t on a whim. We’ve actually been dating for awhile. And we’re going to have a long engagement. Daniel will have plenty of time to get to know him. I didn’t want my son to get attached to someone before I knew I was fully committed to the relationship.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Mom let out a sniff.

  It was good, damn it.

  Too bad none of it was real.

  "Which do you prefer?” Tish held up two photos of man candy, bringing my mind back to the task at hand. “Smooth-and-sophisticated or just-rolled-out-of-bed-and-ready-to-drag-you-back-in-with-him?”

  “I have to choose between those two options?” All I saw was manscaped dude number one and manscaped dude number two.

  “I think the blonde.” Tish wasn’t even bothering to listen to my input.

  “Nope.” I wasn’t even sure which one I was saying no to. They both had blondish highlights. Oh, who was I kidding? I was saying no to the whole concept.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Tish flipped the picture around and held it away from her face. “He looks like he could be hot husband material.”

  “But that’s the thing. I don’t care if he looks like husband material. I'm not looking for
a husband. Period.”

  “I know you're not, honey. But even nuns need fun sometimes."

  "I'm not a nun. But I am a mom. And I'm a single mom, which means I don’t have time for a real husband, much less a fake one.” Argh. I gripped the sides of my head. This was no use. “What was I thinking? My family is going to see straight through this. I will never live this down.”

  “Stop overthinking it.” Tish whacked me with the photo. “Of course you’re not really marrying him. You’re just making your sister’s wedding a little more bearable.”

  “They’d never believe I was with that anyway.” I gestured to the sculpted Adonis. “He’s too perfect.”

  “Would you listen to you? You’re perfect. You’re adorable and funny and any one of these actors would be lucky to have you for their fake wife or fiancée or reverse harem master or whatever.”

  “You’re sweet.” I let out a hefty sigh. “But I’m afraid that I just need to swallow my pride and call up my mom and confess that—”

  I noticed a picture tucked on the far side of Tish’s desk, and my breath caught in my throat. Unlike the rest of the head shots, this one wasn’t posed or contrived. The man was outside, sitting on a park bench, laughing at something in the background like the photographer had caught him unaware. He was gorgeous, but not in the same obvious cookie-cutter way that the other actors were.

  The cleft in his chin was off-center. There was a chip in his front left tooth that he hadn’t bothered to have filled. His eyes were the color of warm maple syrup, and flecks of silver peeled out of his dark brown hair.

  “That’s him,” I whispered. “That’s Joe.”