Page 1 of The Fake Date Deal

CHAPTER 1

EVE

When I squinted hard enough, the rose garden changed. The aisle, strewn with petals, became a red carpet. The guests became camera crews awaiting their shot. When I walked out there, shutters would snap. Flashbulbs would burst and the crowd would erupt. I’d smile, answer questions, gracious. Serene. Hollywood’s darling, star of stage and screen.

In another life, maybe.

I turned away.

“You look amazing,” said Gabriella, and plucked at my hair. I swatted her off.

“Quit it, quit fiddling.”

“You have a flyaway.” She went in again, and this time, I let her. There came a time with my sister where fighting was pointless. Gabriella did what she wanted, and that was that. “There, you look gorgeous. Doesn’t she, girls?”

My bridesmaids fluttered, cooing over my dress.

“Stunning,” said Emma. “You could be in Vogue.”

I winced. I had been only last week, twelve entire pages in their bridal issue. They’d shot me right here on my parents’ Monaco estate, against the broad sweep of the Mediterranean Sea. The air had been still that day, the sky clear and blue. Ten minutes in, I had been sweating. Ten minutes more, and I’d been gasping for breath. I’d felt my dress shrinking, crushing my ribs. Squeezing the wind from me. I’d smiled. Struck a pose.

Gorgeous. You’re radiant.

A glowing bride.

“Prince Rafael’s going to die when he sees you.”

“Yeah. He’ll drop dead.”

“Go on, get out of here. Give her some space.” Gabriella shooed out my bridesmaids, all except Emma. I’d known Emma forever, since we were both tiny, and we’d been best friends from the moment we met.

“He will die,” said Emma. “One look at that hotness, and boom. Heart attack.”

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t going to fantasize about Rafael dying. About his eyes going round, then he’d drop like a rock. His groomsmen would rush to him, his family, his friends. I’d rush in too, and I’d hold his hand, but I’d be too late. He’d slip away. I’d kneel in a pile of my extravagant dress, skirts bunched in a snowdrift up to my chest, and the garden would empty. They’d take down the arch. They’d leave me alone with the birds in the trees, and I’d be like one of them. Finally free.

“You nervous?” said Gabriella.

“Not really. Maybe.” I glanced down at myself, at the spill of my dress. Nervous didn’t describe the way I was feeling. I’d always been fine with crowds, with performing. With being a Hansley, with being seen. Since I could remember, our lives had been public — my father’s tech empire, my mother’s royal connections. The cameras followed us wherever we went, part of the scenery. Part of our lives. I’d learned to smile for them before I learned to walk. I’d smile today too, even if I felt hollow. Even if I’d rather be anywhere else.

“It’s not cold feet, is it?” Gabriella took my hand. I pulled away so she wouldn’t feel me stiffen.

“I had cold feet,” said Emma. “On my blind date last week. I started thinking, you know, what if he’s boring? Never do dinner on a first date. You’re stuck for three courses, and that’s if you’re lucky. If they’re doing a tasting menu?—”

Gabriella smacked her. “Shut up.”

“I’ve never had a blind date,” I said.

“Wait, what? You haven’t?” Emma’s brows shot up. I looked down, embarrassed. I hadn’t been on any date since I left college. My public ones with Rafael didn’t count. Those had been… pageantry. Choreographed. We’d danced in the moonlight while cameras flashed, walked by the seashore with our families in tow. We’d done the rounds first in Spain, then Monaco, then after three months, we’d announced our engagement.

“I mean, my first date with Rafael was semi-blind,” I said. “I knew what he looked like, but I’d never talked to him till our first date. Or, no, I had, but we were both seven. He gave me a daffodil from the royal gardens.”

Emma giggled. “That’s cute.”

I managed a smile. It was sort of, I guessed, but I didn’t remember. I hadn’t thought once of Rafael after that day, not till it came my turn to marry. Then Mother had come to me with his bio and that story, and I had gone numb. Smiled on autopilot. I’d always known it would be this way — it had for my parents, and their parents before them. But in some deep part of me, I’d always dreamed. Dreamed of another life, where I was… like Emma. Emma went out with models and actors. With a bullfighter, once, with a scar on his cheek. She found “the one” every month and fell wildly in love, then she fell out and had a big, splashy breakup.

“It’s not cold feet, is it?” Gabriella tried to catch my eye. I bit back a snide response — Would it matter if it was?

“Of course not,” I said. “Rafael’s lovely.”

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