Best Fake Fiancé: A Single Dad Romance (Loveless Brothers Romance Book 2)

THE OFFICER WAVES ME FORWARD, one hand on his belt, and I step through the metal arch again.

It beeps before my foot hits the floor on the other side. I go through my pockets again, nerves already jittery, resolutely ignoring the line of people forming behind me.

“Keys, cell phone, wallet, beepers, watch, jewelry, belt, no weapons in the courthouse,” the guard drones. “Do you have any artificial body parts?”

“No,” I say for the second time that morning.

I dig to the bottoms of my pockets. Nothing. I pat my back pockets, but there’s nothing there either; nothing in the pockets of my suit jacket.

Someone behind me in line sighs loudly. I ignore them.

“Could be your shoes,” the guard offers, still speaking in a monotone. “Those steel-toed?”

I look down at the wingtips I spent an hour polishing last night.

“No,” I tell him. “They don’t even make — wait.”

I pat the breast pocket of my suit and realize what the problem is.

“Found it,” I tell him, and walk back through the metal detector. It beeps again, and I pull a charm bracelet out of the pocket. Another guard holds out a small plastic bowl, I drop the bracelet in, and he runs it through the machine.

I finally step through without issue and gather my things on the other side: wallet, phone, belt, keys, briefcase. At last the charm bracelet comes through, all alone in its small plastic bowl. It’s still warm from my body heat, and I pick it up and tuck it safely back into my chest pocket.

I feel its small, heavy weight as I head for the elevators. I know every charm on its short length by heart: a book, a ballet shoe, a musical note, a tree, a heart, a tiny Eiffel Tower, a radiant sun. Her mother gave her the Eiffel Tower. I gave her the sun.

Rusty nearly missed the school bus this morning because she almost forgot to give it to me to take to court. She was already out the door and halfway down the driveway when she came sprinting in, backpack bouncing up the stairs, out of breath as she shoved it into my breast pocket saying Dad I almost forgot! before sprinting back down the driveway just as the bus pulled up.

I take the elevator to the second floor, walk along the polished marble floor to Courtroom 220. I’m twenty minutes early, so I sit on one of the wooden benches outside and wait.

A moment later, my phone buzzes.

Charlie: Break a leg.

Me: I’m going to court, I’m not in a play.

Charlie: Then don’t break a leg.

Charlie: Unless you think it would get you sympathy with the judge. Then maybe it’s worth a shot?

Me: Or he decides that having a broken leg makes me an unfit parent and takes custody away.

Charlie: I thought it was a visitation hearing, not custody, can he even do that?

Me: If he’s in the mood, probably.

Charlie: How about if I just say good luck?

Me: Thanks 🙂

Charlie: So picky.

I put the phone back in my pocket, smiling to myself. Charlie — short for Charlotte — is terrible with dates, but she’s always remembered every court hearing I have. She must write herself a million reminders. The thought always makes me feel a little better.

People are walking by, congregating in small knots throughout the hall. Most are wearing suits. Some are wearing what are clearly the nicest clothes they own — khakis and polo shirts, sometimes a button-down shirt. Then there’s the small smattering of people who could barely be bothered, wearing jeans and t-shirts, sweatpants, hoodies.

I pace. There’s no way I can sit still. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been here, in this courthouse, for the exact same reason, at least twenty times. I still get anxious. I still need to move back and forth, do something other than sit.

It’s just visitation, I remind myself. Crystal’s going to bitch about something or other, you’ll all agree to some new schedule, and next month she’ll be making excuses again about why she can’t see her kid.

Just then, a man wearing cutoff jean shorts and flip flops wanders past, and I stare after him.

His outfit isn’t what gets my attention. It’s the giant tattoo on his calf.

I swivel my head, blatantly staring after him, double and triple checking that I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing.

Then I grab my phone, because I have to tell Charlie about this.

Me: Someone in this courthouse has a huge tattoo of Barney the dinosaur butt-fucking a unicorn.

Charlie: Please tell me it’s a lawyer.

Me: He’s wearing cutoffs. Unlikely.

Me: Also, he has a tattoo of a beloved children’s character having anal sex with a unicorn, so he may not have graduated from law school.

Charlie: You say that like lawyers can’t be perverts.

Charlie: Also, how can you tell it’s anal? Is it that detailed?

Me: I don’t know. He’s gone now.

Me: Barney had a REALLY dirty look on his face.

Charlie: I have so many questions about this.

Me: I have no answers.

Charlie: Was it a good tattoo?

Me: Depends on what you’re into.

“Thanks for being on time,” a voice says behind me, and I turn.

“I know you’re always on time,” Lucinda, my lawyer, goes on. “But lately I’ve been trying to encourage good habits in my clients. You look good. Half-Windsor?”

I touch the knot in my tie.

I like Lucinda. I’ve liked her since the moment I first walked into her office, six years ago, and we’ve been a team ever since. We’re a somewhat odd pairing — a middle-aged black woman and a white man in his late twenties — but Lucinda’s a godsend, as far as I’m concerned.

“It is,” I say.

“That’s a good choice,” she says, then finally smiles. “How are you doing, Daniel?”

“I’m well, Lucinda,” I say, smoothing one hand over the front of my jacket. “Yourself?”

“Also well,” she says, then sighs and gestures to a bench along a wall. “We should sit.”

My palms suddenly start to sweat, my heart rate jumping up. Lucinda never tells me to sit for good news, but I do it anyway, the wooden bench cool.

“Holden Hughes is going to be the judge on this case,” she says bluntly, her tone of voice making it clear that this is bad news. “I’m sure opposing counsel managed that somehow, and I don’t like it, but we can’t change it.”

I simply nod, spine perfectly straight, hands folded in front of me, and wait for more.

“Judge Hughes has a certain reputation,” she says, matter-of-factly. “He’s old school, conservative, and frankly he wishes it were still the Eisenhower administration, so he doesn’t like me much,” Lucinda goes on.

I detect the tiniest of eyebrow quirks, as if somewhere, deep down inside, she takes pride in that fact.

“Most pertinent to our current issue, he has a long history of siding with mothers over fathers,” she goes on, and she looks me dead in the eye as she says it.

I nod sharply. Lucinda never sugarcoats things, and I love her for that.

“It’s widely known that he believes in a traditional family structure,” she says, waving a hand. “The usual, married parents, father goes off to work at the office, mother stays home with the children, she vacuums while he golfs, et cetera. And he’s not exactly keen on updating his views, from what I’ve heard.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. There’s a sharp look in her eye.

Shit, Lucinda hates Judge Holden.

The buzzing anxiety in my chest starts to rattle, like someone’s taken my heart and is shaking it. It feels like it’s going to shake a hole straight through me, and I realize that I’m rubbing my hands together over and over again, trying to calm the feeling.

“What do we do?” I ask, amazed at how calm my voice sounds.

“We do exactly what we were going to do,” she says, steely-voiced. “We show the visitation logs, how often she’s cancelled at the last moment, how willing you are to meet her more than halfway.”

I nod, my heart still rattling.

“We show the court your daughter’s report cards, her school records, the statements from her teachers, her dance instructor. We prove that she’s thriving in her current situation. And Daniel,” she says, lightly touching my arm. “We remember that this hearing is only a petition to change the current visitation arrangement.”

I nod, swallowing. I’m still rubbing my hands together. I can’t stop.

“Of course,” I say. I still sound perfectly cool, calm, and collected, even though I’m anything but.

Going to court rattles me like nothing else. It always has. Every single time I put on a suit and walk through these doors, I’m instantly and inescapably aware of two things:

One, I don’t belong here, wearing a suit and tie, looking like a stockbroker or something. This is the only suit I own. This tie took me at least twenty minutes to get right. I may look the part but really, I’m a fraud. I don’t know how to tie a tie very well and I don’t know how to parent any better, even though I thought I would by now. But I don’t. Every single day I’m making it up as I go along, even though everyone else at the PTA meetings seems to have a plan.

Two, they could take her away.

That’s it. That’s the very worst thing that could happen to me, and it could happen here, ten minutes from now, and the judge that Lucinda hates could be the one to do it. I can tell myself a million reasons that it’s unlikely, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a possibility.

I could walk into that courtroom with full physical and legal custody of Rusty, and I could walk out with nothing.

It’s unlikely. I know that. But as long as it’s even possible, I’m going to hate coming to this place.

“Don’t worry,” she says lightly. “This is all perfectly routine.”

AT TEN FIFTY-FIVE, they let us into the courtroom for our eleven o’clock time slot. Before I enter, I text Charlie one last time: going in. She texts back a string of emojis, hearts and smiley faces and crossed fingers, and I shut my phone off.

Opposing counsel isn’t here yet, so I soothe myself with my pre-hearing ritual, taking all my notes, the statements, the documentation, everything I’ve collected in my favor, and stacking it neatly in front of me on the wide wooden table. Having the weight of evidence right there, within easy reach, always soothes me.

Last but not least, I take out the drawing.

It’s a different drawing every time, because Rusty’s always making new ones, but I always bring one. This one’s got the two of us as stick figures — her, small, long-haired, wearing a bright green skirt, me twice her height and wearing only shoes for some reason — along with several trees and a small blob with feet that she told me last night was a wombat.

Rusty’s really into wombats right now. Last week I told her that she couldn’t have one as a pet, and ever since then, she’s been casually mentioning various wombat features that would just happen to make them perfect pets. For example, their poop is square, so it’s stackable.

She couldn’t believe it when that tidbit didn’t sway me.

“Did you get a dog?” Lucinda asks, glancing over at the drawing. She’s seen plenty of Rusty’s artwork over the years, though this is the first time in about eighteen months, since things with Crystal have been relatively quiet lately.

“It’s a wombat,” I explain.

“Did you get a wombat?” she asks drily.

“Not yet,” I say. “Though if Rusty has her way…”

She chuckles. A door opens.

Pete Bresley, the bailiff, steps in. He sees me and nods quickly, then steps to his usual spot and folds his hands in front of himself.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Hughes,” he intones.

We rise. The stenographer rises. The officials sitting off to one side rise.

The plaintiff isn’t here yet, and I admit to feeling a not-small amount of satisfaction on that account.

Before I can gloat, Judge Hughes sweeps into the room. Not all judges wear robes for a visitation hearing, but this one does.

Judge Hughes is on the short, stocky side, but I’d bet money that he’s ex-military. He’s silver-haired, white, his face lined but still stern.

“Be seated,” he commands as he sits, then finally looks up at everyone in the room. His face betrays nothing as he glances over at Lucinda and me, but his gaze settles on the empty desk to our left.

He laces his fingers together.

“The plaintiff isn’t here yet?” he asks, pointedly looking at the clock on the back wall.

“No, Your Honor,” answers Pete the bailiff.

The judge is still glaring at the clock.

“Well, thank you to everyone who managed to make it on time today,” he says, more than a note of irritation in his voice. “If the plaintiff has not shown up by five after, then we’ll have to table this matter and reconvene—”

The door swings open, and we all turn.

It’s a man I don’t recognize. He’s got on a dark gray suit with a dark blue tie. His briefcase is black and shiny. His shoes are black and shiny. He’s white, tall, probably in his fifties, and he smiles easily at Judge Hughes.

The judge’s face softens.

“Apologies, your honor,” the man says. “You know how it is with all the construction on the roads these days.”

For a moment, I think that Crystal’s just sent her lawyer and hasn’t come herself. I actually let myself get optimistic.

Then the door swings open again, and she comes through.

Belly-first.

My jaw nearly hits the floor. I barely even notice that she’s followed by another man, this one younger but just as well-dressed as the lawyer.

Crystal’s pregnant.

Crystal’s seriously pregnant, far enough along that it’s obvious, though the way she’s got both her hands splayed over her swollen belly does call attention to it.

When the hell did that happen? I think. My heart is rattling again, inside my chest, faster and more desperate than before.

I just saw her six weeks ago, when I dropped Rusty off for a few hours. Was she pregnant then and I didn’t notice?

She must have been.

The belly’s not the only thing.

It’s not even the thing that alarms me the most.

Crystal’s wearing a suit. It’s a full-on pinstripe pantsuit, complete with heels, a nice-looking purse, and a string of pearls.

The woman who once left a six-month-old Rusty home alone in her crib so she could go out and get hammered with her friends now has a brand-new lawyer and looks like a Stepford wife. The last time we came to court, a year and a half ago, her lawyer was considerably shabbier, and she was wearing torn jeans.

My palms start sweating. I have to remind myself to breathe. My heart feels like it’s being wrung out. Something is going on, and I don’t know what.

“The hearing began at eleven o’clock, Mr. Winchester,” Judge Hughes says, but his voice doesn’t have the same stern note that it did a moment ago. “Is everyone prepared?”

Crystal, her lawyer, and the other man sit. The judge moves some papers around.

“Yes, your honor,” her lawyer finally says.

“All right,” the judge says, and picks up a piece of paper, looking at it through reading glasses. “I hereby call to session the matter of Partlow vs. Loveless, Virginia case number…”

He goes on for a moment with the formalities, and Lucinda finally catches my eye, raising both her eyebrows the tiniest fraction, an expression that I’m pretty sure means Did you know?

I shake my head ever so slightly. She turns her attention forward again.

“…so if counsel for Ms. Partlow would please begin?”

“Thank you, your honor,” the other lawyer says. He stands. He buttons his jacket in a smooth, practiced gesture, then stands behind the podium between the two desks. “First, as Ms. Partlow is now known as Mrs. Thornhill, I move that we include that in the record.”

I sit bolt upright, my head swiveling toward Crystal, across the room. She’s looking back at me, a smug, satisfied look on her face.

I look down. There’s a huge diamond ring on her finger, the man sitting next to her patting her hand comfortingly.

I feel like the courtroom is tilting. Now I’m sweating everywhere, not just my palms. Crystal getting pregnant is one thing. If she got knocked up again by accident, I — the first person to accidentally knock her up — wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

But getting married is different. That takes at least some amount of intention and forethought, two things I wasn’t sure Crystal was capable of.

I couldn’t care less that Crystal’s married. Good for her. But if I don’t know, that means she didn’t tell Rusty, either.

She didn’t tell her own daughter that she has a new stepdad.

She didn’t tell her daughter that she’s going to have a new sibling.

Cold prickles travel down my spine.

“Furthermore,” continues her lawyer. “I’d like to make an amendment to the petition.”

“What is the amendment?” asks the judge.

“I’d like to change this from a visitation hearing to a custody hearing,” the lawyer says.

I feel like the floor falls from under me. Lucinda’s already on her feet.

“Your Honor,” she says, but the judge holds up one hand.

“That’s highly unusual, on what grounds?” Hughes drones on, like a bomb didn’t just go off in his courtroom.

“Mr. Thornhill has accepted a job offer in Denver, and the Thornhills would like to amend custody in light of that,” the lawyer goes on.

I’m out of my chair before I know it.

“No!” I say.

Lucinda’s grip is on my arm like steel, but I ignore it.

“You can’t take her to Denver,” I say, my voice already rising. “She lives here. Her life is here, her family, her friends, her school, you can’t just—”

“Ms. Washington, please control your client,” the judge booms over me.

“Daniel,” Lucinda says, her hand even tighter on my arm.

I close my mouth, mid-word, but I haven’t broken eye contact with Crystal’s lawyer, my heart pounding wildly out of control.

Denver. It’s two time zones away. A thousand miles. Fifteen hundred?

“Daniel,” Lucinda says again, and I swallow hard. “Come on.”

I sit, slowly. I’m amazed that my hands aren’t shaking.

“If I may continue?” the lawyer asks in a tone of voice that makes me want to commit violence. “We’re requesting full custody, with Mr. Loveless getting the standard ninety overnights of visitation per year.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t. I bring one hand to my mouth because I think I might vomit, the courtroom closing in around me, but I don’t say anything. Already I’m afraid that I fucked myself over with my outburst.

“Your Honor,” Lucinda is saying, still on her feet. “This is highly unusual. Mr. Loveless has been the sole legal and physical guardian for nearly six years, and a change of this magnitude would be incredibly—”

“Thank you, Ms. Washington,” the judge says, and Lucinda presses her lips together, eyes blazing. He redirects his attention to the slimeball behind the podium.

“I do happen to agree with opposing counsel on this, Mr. Winchester,” he says. “This is an extraordinary request made with no warning. I’m sure you’re fully aware that the court is in no way prepared to make a ruling at this hearing?”

“Of course, Your Honor,” he says, smoothly as ever.

Denver. Ninety overnights. That’s three months; that means that they’d have her during the school year, and maybe I’d fly her out for vacations and the summer.

I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine a life where I don’t wrangle her out of bed and onto the school bus every morning, a life where I don’t help her with homework at the kitchen table, a life where she doesn’t complain while I try to untangle her hair after she bathes.

“May I briefly go over the change in circumstances?” the lawyer asks.

I sneak another glance over at Crystal. She’s rubbing her belly like it’s a crystal ball, like she’s trying to draw attention to it.

“Proceed,” says the judge.

The lawyer clears his throat. My undershirt is damp, clinging to me with sweat.

“There are several major life changes of note,” the lawyer begins. “First, my client was married one month ago to Mr. Thornhill, an executive at Prometheus Mining. They’re currently residing in Holmes Creek, where they own a home.”

I glance at Lucinda. She’s taking notes, and circles Holmes Creek. My stomach writhes. The houses there start at six hundred grand, and I have no idea how high they go.

“In addition, Mrs. Thornhill is currently several months pregnant with her second child and plans to be a stay-at-home mother to both of her children.”

At the other table, Crystal nods piously. She’s still rubbing her belly.

It feels like a hand grabs my heart and twists with jealousy. Not for me, but for Rusty. I can’t imagine Crystal ever rubbed her belly like that when she was pregnant the first time. I can’t imagine that Crystal made a single accommodation for her first daughter.

Hell, she admitted to drinking and smoking pot through her pregnancy with Rusty. God only knows what she didn’t admit to.

“In Denver, Mr. Thornhill will be a Vice President of Prometheus, and they’ve already selected a home in an exclusive neighborhood. Rustilina is on several waiting lists at top private schools, where she would be taught by some of the state’s best—”

The judge holds up a hand.

“You don’t need to advertise the schools to me,” he says. “Are there any other life changes?”

“Mr. Thornhill has a brother in Denver, so both girls would grow up with their cousins,” he finishes. “Again, family is very—”

“Important, yes,” says the judge. “Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

The other lawyer gathers his documents and leaves.

“Ms. Washington, would you mind answering a few questions on behalf of your client?”

She steps smartly to the podium. I lace my fingers together on the table in front of myself, hoping that I look cool, calm, and confident, even though I feel like someone’s taken a wrecking ball to my insides.

“Let me just run down a few facts here,” the judge says, looking at his papers. “Does Mr. Loveless still reside with his daughter in the house owned by his mother?”

Lucinda clears her throat.

“Yes, Your Honor,” she says. “Mrs. Loveless is a strong presence in—’

“Thank you,” he cuts her off. “And she’s attending Burnley County Public Schools?”

“Yes.”

“Is Mr. Loveless still in the liquor business?”

“He co-owns a brewery with his brother, Your Honor. In fact, Mr. Loveless has four—”

“Thank you,” he cuts her off again. Lucinda’s lips thin, but she stands there patiently, respectfully. “And has Mr. Loveless experienced any life changes not noted in these documents? He isn’t also married and expecting, is he?”

He’s half-smiling, like this is some joke. Like the possibility of taking my daughter away from me is somehow funny.

“No, Your—”

“I’m engaged,” I say, standing suddenly.

I say it before I can think, the lie out of my mouth and in the courtroom before I can claw it back.

Total silence follows. It feels like my heart stops beating.

“Congratulations,” says the judge, barely looking at me. “It seems that you didn’t inform Ms. Washington?”

I button the button on my sportcoat to give my hands something to do while my mind races, going ten thousand miles a second while Lucinda looks at me, one eyebrow raised.

Instantly, I know I fucked up. I fucked up and I can’t take it back, because I just lied to a judge who’s considering taking my daughter away from me.

I take a deep breath and dig my hole deeper.

“I had understood this to be a visitation hearing,” I say. “Your Honor.”

“My client didn’t realize it would have any bearing on this matter,” Lucinda says smoothly.

“May I have the lady’s name?” the judge asks, pen poised.

I hesitate, but only for half a second.

There’s only one name I can possibly say.

“Charlotte McManus,” I say.

From the corner of my eye, I see Crystal’s head whip around to look at me.

Don’t panic.

Even though you just told a judge that you’re engaged to your best friend.

“And what is Ms. McManus’s occupation?”

“Carpentry,” I answer.

“Are you cohabitating?”

“We’re not,” I say, the first truthful thing out of my mouth since I stood. “We believe in waiting until after marriage to live together.”

That part’s just to make myself sound better. I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve never been in a position to cohabitate with anyone and definitely not with Charlie.

Charlie, who is going to kill me.

“Do you have a wedding date?” he asks.

“We’re thinking next summer.”

The judge just nods, writing.

“Is that all, Mr. Loveless? Ms. Washington?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Lucinda quickly adds.

“All right, then,” Judge Hughes says. “In that case, I’d like for the plaintiff to write up another petition and have it to everyone no later than…”

I look down at the table, at Rusty’s drawing of us with a wombat.

I just fucked up.

I panicked. I never panic, except that I did just now, faced with losing Rusty to exclusive neighborhoods and private schools, to a mom who’s suddenly claiming to be someone I know she’s not, to a stepdad who could probably afford to actually purchase and house a wombat if he felt like it.

I, who live with my mother and own a business based around alcohol, lied to a judge.

I, who send my child to public schools and will only ever be able to afford public schools, lied to a judge.

Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

I’m nauseous. My undershirt is soaked with sweat, because I just told a bald-faced lie to the man who’ll decide whether my daughter stays here or moves across the country.

Unbelievably stupid.

I try to listen to what the judge is saying now, what the next steps here are, but I can barely hear him over the pounding of blood in my ears. I grab a pen and write down a word, a phrase, here and there, but I can barely listen.

Maybe it will be fine.

It doesn’t have to be a big deal. No one outside of this courtroom knows, and Crystal doesn’t even live in town anymore.

Get Charlie a fake ring, talk her into coming to the next hearing with you, and it’ll all be fine.

Totally fine.

No big deal.

“Dismissed,” the judge says, and everyone else stands. A moment later, I stand, and the judge leaves the room through a back door.

Lucinda turns to me immediately, her lips still a thin line.

“Congratulations,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say automatically.

At the other table, Crystal, her new husband, and her lawyer all stand. They file out, one by one, Crystal glancing over at me, her hands no longer on her belly now that the judge is gone.

We lock eyes. Hers are cold, blank, unreadable.

“Daniel,” Lucinda says, her voice grave.

The knots in my stomach tighten so hard I think they might break. I feel like a kid about to get chastised at school, but I also know that I deserve it.

I clear my throat.

“Yes?”

“You know that lying to a judge during a custodial hearing would reflect far more poorly on you than being a single father, don’t you?” she says.

I swallow hard. I shove one hand through my hair, my nerves jangling anew.

Fuck. Fuck!

“I panicked,” I admit, closing my eyes. “I didn’t mean to. But he was talking about letting her bond with her baby sister and having a real family and sending her to private schools and giving her ice-skating lessons and buying her ponies and—”

“—all of which is simply talk from the plaintiff, they’ve got nothing to back up those assertions—’

“—and I panicked,” I finish. “That’s all. I panicked and said something stupid and — oh, fuck me running, I can’t believe I said that.”

Lucinda sighs.

Then she puts one hand on my arm.

“Is Charlotte at least a real person?”

I just nod, mutely.

“Think she’d be willing to put on a ring and come to a hearing?”

I take a deep breath.

“I think I could talk her into it,” I say.