Otherwise Engaged: A Fake Engagement Romance

If Quinn didn’t show up soon, I was going to walk out of this stupid photoshoot. I could not believe I let her guilt-trip me into doing this piece for Style & Society only for her to be missing in action.

Actually, I could believe it. That was the problem.

It was twenty minutes past our scheduled start time; the makeup artist had given me a dramatic smoky eye, the hairstylist had coaxed my fine hair into a voluminous head of curls, and the stylist had poured me into a revealing, watermelon-pink dress I’d never have chosen for myself. I’d even been subjected to a round of test shots already.

The magazine’s photographer, Marco, and his crew bustled around our store, adjusting lights and re-arranging furniture while Paula, the journalist covering the article, sat at the counter, going over her notes. My sister was nowhere to be found. Especially ironic when I probably looked like her more than ever.

I sank down onto the white couch in the fitting area and unlocked my phone, composing another text to her, inquiring whether she was planning to show up sometime today. I was growing slightly concerned about the fact that she hadn’t even replied to my other messages. Usually, she at least provided some kind of half-assed excuse.

A split-second after I hit send, the door chimed, and Quinn rushed through the door. Her hair was in a messy bun, she was wearing head-to-toe Lululemon, and she looked like she just ran a half-marathon. Bizarre for someone generally so image conscious.

“So sorry!” She breezed by me, rosy-cheeked and breathless. Maybe there was something to my marathon theory. “My personal training appointment ran long.”

Pushing to stand, I gave her a skeptical look and tried to minimize the irritation in my voice. “Long? Aren’t they for set lengths of time?”

We both knew the answer, especially when it came to someone as in-demand as Curtis Graham, who had such a full roster that he didn’t even take on new personal training clients anymore.

“Usually,” she said, shrugging off her red down puffer and hanging it in the back closet. “But Curtis and I got carried away chatting at the end.”

“Must have been some chat. You’re nearly half an hour late.” My annoyance shifted into concern, and I hesitated, weighing whether to pry. “You’ve had training sessions every day this week. Are you sure you’re okay? Have you talked to Doctor Stephens lately?”

Quinn turned to face me, her expression tight. “I’m fine. Just stressed. Planning a wedding is stressful, you know, and exercise is a good stress reliever.”

It was, but it was also playing with fire for a recovering exercise addict with a history of disordered eating. Doctor Stephens was Quinn’s therapist, and I had a hunch that Quinn had fallen off the therapy wagon as of late. Adam probably didn’t help, either; he had a strong preference for slim women and made that known. Yet another reason I couldn’t stand him.

The hair and makeup crew joined us, holding up outfits while Quinn made a face, rejecting the first few contenders. Had I realized that veto-ing was an option, I would have exercised that right myself.

She finally snagged a dress off the rack for herself, turning back to me with a nod of approval. “Apparition Boutique is letting us keep the outfits from today’s shoot in exchange for the publicity. Lucky, because that totally suits you. You look gorgeous.”

I glanced down, taking in the low V-neck and body-hugging lines. It was from an up-and-coming local designer. Objectively nice, but not at all my aesthetic. My wardrobe consisted entirely of neutrals; black, grey, navy, tans, the odd chocolate brown. I’d probably end up giving this frosting-pink concoction to Quinn later.

“Thanks, but it’s more your style.”

She tsked, shimmying into the turquoise dress she’d settled on with the stylist. “You’re hot, you shouldn’t try to hide it so much.”

“I don’t try to hide anything.” It’s not like I was frumpy; I still wore tailored, flattering pieces. I simply preferred a more understated look than this hot pink concoction, which was a little attention-grabbing for my taste. It was extra unfortunate because I was due to meet Bennett—along with his business partner, Ian, and his wife, plus Callaghan and his wife—for dinner after this. Thanks to Quinn’s tardiness, there was no way I’d have time to go home and change or re-do my makeup. I looked like I was heading to a nightclub, not a business dinner.

The makeup artist steered Quinn into a chair and began to sponge foundation onto her face while the hairstylist got to work, taking down her hair and combing it out.

“Thayer?” Marco strolled up, camera in his hand. “We can start with you.”

THE PHOTOSHOOT WAS ABOUT AS unpleasant as I’d expected, especially because I was notorious for blinking in flash photos and probably required more retakes than anyone else in the history of photoshoots. But the interview portion was blissfully brief and high-level, at least. It largely focused on Lace & Grace, our success to date, and our plans for growth in the future. Minimal personal questions, aside from one throwaway item about my marital status, where I alluded to a boyfriend. I guessed leaning into it would help maintain the charade.

And now that it was a wrap, hopefully I wouldn’t have to do either again for a very, very long time.

I examined my reflection in the bathroom mirror, blending away some of the contour the makeup artist had used. While I was sure it worked in the photos, it was heavy-handed for normal life. Then I double-checked the time and confirmed that, much to my dismay, there was no conceivable way I could run home and change before Bennett arrived to pick me up. He was going to be here any minute, and I was oddly nervous for it.

My sister leaned against the doorway, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I have a surprise,” she said. “It’s a good one, too.”

“What is it?” I glanced at her through the mirror, trying to conceal the apprehension trickling through my body. Quinn paused dramatically before answering.

“We’re doing a bachelor/bachelorette party in Mexico, all expenses paid at Las Ventanas al Paraiso. Super ritzy.” She made jazz hands. “Two weeks from now.”

I spun to face her in surprise, nearly smearing nude lipliner all over my cheek in the process. Our eyes locked, and Quinn smiled at me expectantly. I swallowed, fumbling for words but finding few.

“Oh, wow.”

What I really meant was oh, shit.

“I know it’s kind of short notice, but I already checked your calendar, so I know you’re free that weekend.”

If I had access to a time machine, I would have gone back and kicked myself for agreeing to share my electronic calendar with Quinn. It made sense at the time from a business perspective for scheduling meetings and other joint activities, but it was coming back to bite me.

“But I’m not sure Bennett—”

“Already asked him.” Quinn winked at me with her long magnetic lashes. “He’s free. It’ll be your first trip away together, right? That’ll be nice.”

Oh, so Bennett knew and didn’t tell me? Sounded about right.

Thanks to him, our whole fake-dating arrangement had turned into a pending fake-engagement, and now, it was about to escalate into fake hotel-room-sharing. How was that even going to work? Sharing a bathroom? Sharing a bed? One of us would be sleeping in the bathtub before it came to that.

With Millie around, there was zero hope of getting away with something like a second hotel room, either. She’d probably monitor our comings and goings using video surveillance complete with timestamp.

“Perfect.” I forced a smile that was anything but happy in my reflection. Turning away, I avoided her gaze, gathering up my things off the counter and throwing them back into my makeup bag.

“Are you mad?” Quinn inclined her head, glossy lips tugging into a pout. “Don’t be mad. I know you’re not the biggest fan of surprises, but I asked Bennett to let me be the one to tell you.”

I violently tugged the gold zipper on my makeup bag shut. I was going to get Bennett back for all of this. I didn’t know when, I didn’t know how, but I would.

“Not at all.”

“Speak of the devil,” Quinn said, glancing over her shoulder. She stepped out of the way so I could exit the bathroom. “Your boyfriend is here to pick you up.”

Dead man walking, more like.

With a quick wave at Bennett, telling him to wait, I opened the closet and took out my grey wool coat, slipping it on. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told Quinn.

“See you,” she echoed. “Have fun!”

Drawing in a breath, I straightened my shoulders and walked over to meet Bennett by the door. Our gazes met, and his eyes widened slightly, raking down my body, back up to my face, then down my body again. A tiny, nearly imperceptible smile played on his lips. His tailored navy suit hung off his frame perfectly, hinting at the sculpted muscle that I knew lay beneath.

My breath turned shallow, and my legs went unsteady, though I wasn’t certain why. Maybe because I felt borderline uncomfortable in my revealing dress and dramatic makeup. Or maybe it was because he looked devastatingly handsome like usual.

Bennett placed a hand along my waist and leaned in, his lips landing on my cheek. Unprepared, I jumped slightly at the contact and a wave of warmth flooded my body in response.

“Your sister was watching,” he explained, voice low. He held open the door and waited for me to go first. “You look incredible, by the way.”

“You mean, I look like Quinn,” I muttered as I walked past him into the bitter November chill. His silver Mercedes idled a few steps away in the dark parking lot.

“You really don’t,” he said gruffly. “You look like you.”

Was he complimenting me or arguing with me? Both? Sometimes it was impossible to tell.

The glass door slammed behind us, and Bennett matched my strides, beating me to the car door in time to open it for me, too. The warm interior was a welcome contrast to the cold wind outside—not that it mattered, because I was practically burning up with irritation over the vacation surprise.

Bennett walked around to the driver’s side and slid in beside me, placing one hand on the leather-wrapped gearshift briefly before removing it. “We should probably talk before we go to dinner.”

“We absolutely should.” I buckled my seatbelt and lifted my chin, leveling him with a glare. “Mexico, Bennett? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bennett sighed and raked a hand through his hair, looking straight ahead. “Quinn asked me not to tell you.” He shifted in his seat, turning to face me with his dark brows knit. “If you already knew, you’d have to act like you didn’t. I thought it would be easier if you didn’t have another thing to pretend about.”

“You could have said you were busy that weekend.” I tried to sound angry, but his remorseful expression took the wind out of my sails.

“I could have, but that would have left you alone with that fucking circus in Mexico. Is that any better?”

“I guess not.” As much as I hated to admit it, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Aside from the obvious—and troubling—logistical issues associated with spending that much time together, I would arguably rather be with Bennett than stuck with Millie, which was the probable alternative if I attended solo. At least Bennett and I didn’t have to pretend we liked each other in private.

“On that note,” he said, “I went shopping like we discussed.”

Bennett reached across the vehicle, and his hand nearly brushed against my thigh, my breath stilling. He popped the glovebox open and fumbled for a second, emerging with a small wooden box.

“Here.” He held it out to me, looking oddly nervous.

“What is this?” But as soon as I popped open the hinged lid, the answer was evident. I stared at the contents, unblinking. My heartbeat turned so irregular that my EKG would have looked like a toddler’s scribbles.

“Lab diamond,” he explained.

My gaze swiveled back to him. “Lab diamond?”

“Indistinguishable from natural diamonds and significantly more affordable. I’m not exactly made of money, given the current situation.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” I said, examining the enormous solitaire stone set in a thin pave band.

I wasn’t sure whether I was more bothered by the fact that he hadn’t checked with me first, or by the fact that I liked what he had picked. Though to be fair, I had never given engagement rings much thought. I wouldn’t have had much input to offer beyond ‘simple’ or ‘not gaudy.’ He’d nailed that, at least.

Carefully, I slid the ring out of the holder and slipped it onto my ring finger. It fit perfectly, facets glinting in the low light of the car’s interior. It was gorgeous, and I liked it a little more than I wanted to, for a number of reasons.

“How did you figure out my ring size?”

He shrugged. “I asked your sister hers.”

Of course, he did, because apparently, they were conspiring against my back on a regular basis. Then it hit me: that was why she put such a weird emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend’ back at the store. They probably had some kind of ongoing text thread at this point, discussing Bachelor spoilers together or something.

He shifted the ignition into reverse, backing out slowly. The streetlamp illuminating the parking lot cast shadows across his face, highlighting circles under his eyes. Suddenly, he looked more tired than I had realized upon first seeing him.

“I’ve had a shitty week,” he said, as if reading my mind. “We can think up some proposal story on the way.”

“Sure.” My eyes fell to the glittery stone on my left ring finger. I couldn’t pinpoint what I was feeling, except to say that it was a wildly mixed range of emotions.

Then it hit me… that was the only proposal I’d ever received.

A fake proposal.

In a parking lot.