His Fake Fiancee: BBW Romance (Fake it For Me)

Normally, dinner is a torturous affair where I have to pretend I care what a woman is saying instead of counting down the minutes to the time I can take her home and fuck her. Tonight, I am so lost in Christina, the way her beautiful face changes expressions in a flash, from laughing, to frowning, to joy sometimes within seconds, that I lose track of time until she yawns.

Damn it, I am doing a piss poor job of taking care of her. Regardless of her insistence, I cannot help but feel guilt over the bruises I left on her body. Unwilling to upset her again, I do my best to push it aside as I set down my credit card for the bill.

“When we leave, Lawrence will take you home. I will follow in a little while. I have an issue that needs to be resolved.”

“It’s almost nine o’clock. Where are you going?” The line between her eyes deepens.

“It will not take long.” I avoid her question as I trace the faint shadow of the veins on the back of her hand.

She pulls away. “No. You are not going to go talk to Abuelo.”

How the hell did she know?

“It isn’t your fight. I’m not sorry, or ashamed, or anything else but fucking relieved he said what he did. Ever since my father died Abuelo has controlled my life and me so completely I had no idea I felt as suffocated as I did.”

The shake of her head is mournful. “The first time I wore makeup he called me a whore. The first time I spent the night at a friend’s house when I was thirteen years old he came to check up on me, declared her parents trash and dragged me out of there in my pajamas. The first time I got a C in a class, he grounded me for a month and went on about how I was bringing shame on him and my grandmother.”

Anger flares within me at the anguish on her beautiful face.

“The one time I slept over at Anna’s because I was too tipsy and tired to go home, he called me a slut because he was convinced that I was with a man. It was last year. I’m thirty years old. The clothes I hated, I wore them because it’s what he wanted me to wear. Giving up painting, the one thing I loved most, I don’t even do anymore because he said it was a waste of money and my time.” She sighs.

“I’m sorry I was a wreck last night. It hurt but I’m grateful he finally shook me up enough to see everything I’ve been ignoring for so long in order to keep him happy. This isn’t a fight, and it definitely isn’t your fight. Things need to change between us, we’ll figure it out, but not now. When this,” her eyes fall from mine as she waves a hand at me, “ends, it will be easier for him to say sorry.”

“The guilt card and all that. If you go now, it will kick up a lot of dust that doesn’t need to be. I’ll look like an even bigger idiot to him when I get my just desserts. Please, drop it.”

As it had in the elevator this morning, frustration threatens to overwhelm me. The need to argue this was the right thing to do, it was necessary for my peace of mind, I was right, rose then died on my lips. It did not matter if I was right.

For her peace of mind, for her, I needed to back down and respect her request not to become involved. The wreckage of our relationship ending would be a much higher cost to her than me; I needed to do everything I could to lessen it.

“All right.”

She blinks fast. “Wow, it was that easy?”

“Considering the amount of pain you shared with me, it was not easy to agree in the slightest. However, if becoming involved will cause you more pain in the end, I will not add to it. Come on, it’s time to get you to bed.”

On the way home she is quiet. Her head on my shoulder, she sighs with contentment when I take her hand in mine. My phone rings as we exit the car. It is Hannah. Ignoring it appeals greatly; however, it is somewhere around four in the morning in Manchester which means she’s been fretting on whether or not to call me all day. Hannah had problems with insomnia, so she most likely has not been to bed. If I do not answer it is unlikely she will sleep at all.

“Hello?”

“You have changed. Answering the phone with a question instead of a demand. I cannot believe it. Who is this woman? Does she have a magic wand, owe her soul to the devil, what’s her secret?”

“At least the magic wand, most likely.”

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nbsp; “A joke? You made a joke. Holy shit. You’re bringing her next week, right? She’s coming!”

I push Christina toward the bedroom as I go into my office. “Yes, she is coming with me. Calm down.”

“You get engaged to some woman we’ve never even heard of before. She has you making jokes and answering the phone like a human being and you want me to calm down? That’s it, who the hell are you and what the hell have you done with my brother? He’s in the lake, isn’t he? With a cement overcoat.”

Rolling my eyes, I tug off my tie and unbutton my shirt. “Now you are being offensive. I am tired. I am going to bed.”

“Wait, Ivan.”

“What?”

“This isn’t because of Mishka, is it?”