Lena Carter adjusted her blazer, took a deep breath, and prepared to lie through her teeth.
It was her fourth family call this week—this time from her Aunt Regina, who meant well but had a voice like a hummingbird on espresso.
"Sweetheart, you are bringing someone to the wedding, right?"
Lena paused, mid-sip of lukewarm coffee. "Of course," she said brightly. "His name's… Daniel."
It was the first name that came to mind. Maybe because she just saw a cereal box with "Daniel's Granola" on the counter.
"A doctor?" her aunt asked hopefully.
"Tech," Lena lied again. "Start-up founder. Smart, kind. You'll love him."
"Oh, good. We were starting to worry, you know. Ever since Mark—"
"I've got a meeting," Lena interrupted quickly. "Love you, Aunt Regina!"
She hung up and immediately let her forehead fall to the kitchen table.
Mark. The name was still a bruise she didn't like poked. The guy who left her for a promotion and a Pilates instructor, in that order. The guy her family still low-key hoped she'd get back together with. Not happening.
She stared at her phone screen, now blank and judgmental, like it was silently asking What's your next move, genius?
The wedding was Saturday. Today was Wednesday. That left her with seventy-two hours to find someone willing to fake-date her through a weekend full of matching tuxedos, tequila toasts, and interrogations disguised as small talk.
She opened her phone, scrolled past a dozen dating apps with cringeworthy bios—
"Crypto king looking for my queen."
"Let's skip small talk and get to the cuddling."
"Just here to network (and maybe more)."
—and groaned.
Then she stopped at one unread message from her best friend:
Maya: You still need a date? Because I might know a guy who needs a fake girlfriend. Like, urgently.
Lena stared at the message, thumb hovering. Then typed:
Lena: Is this real life or a bad rom-com?
Maya: Both. But he's hot, smart, and desperate. Win-win.
Lena: Define "desperate."
Maya: Desperate enough to offer dinner, hotel expenses, and full commitment to the bit. His investors are coming to town and think he's in a serious relationship. Long story. I'll send his profile.
Lena exhaled and leaned back in her chair. Hot. Smart. Desperate.
"Sounds like my type," she muttered. Then typed one word.
Lena: Okay.
Meanwhile…
Ethan Blake stared at his assistant like she'd grown a second head.
"You want me to do what?"
"Fake date," Jess repeated, unfazed as she clicked away on her laptop. "One weekend. You pretend you're in a stable, long-term relationship. Investors love that. It screams emotional intelligence and zero risk."
"Jess, I'm not emotionally intelligent or in a relationship," Ethan replied dryly.
"Exactly. Hence the 'fake' part. You're a genius with code, Ethan, but you can't keep giving TED Talk energy while looking like you live off Red Bull and regret."
He rolled his eyes and tossed his stress ball in the air. The funding round was crucial. If the investors didn't see him as a grounded, reliable bet—he could kiss the expansion goodbye.
"I don't have time for dating games," he muttered. "Let alone faking one."
"I already messaged someone," Jess said. "A friend of a friend. She needs a fake boyfriend for a wedding this weekend."
Ethan blinked. "Wait—so she's fake dating me while I'm fake dating her?"
Jess grinned. "It's poetic. Mutual faking. Zero commitment. You both win."
Ethan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. This was absurd. Insane. Utterly beneath him.
And yet…
He rubbed the back of his neck. "She knows the terms?"
"She's open-minded. Clever. I sent her your LinkedIn, not your Instagram, so she won't get scared off by your gym selfies."
"They were motivational," Ethan argued.
Jess just shrugged. "You're meeting her tomorrow at 6. Neutral location. A café. Safe public space."
Ethan picked up the stress ball again. Tossed it once.
Twice.
Caught it.
"Fine," he said. "Let's see if this rom-com nightmare works.