Page 1 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

PROLOGUE

SHATTERED DREAMS (CHARLIE)

Tomorrow, I’m turning eighteen.

But tonight’s already the best night of my life.

“You have no freaking idea how much I’m going to miss you,” Kali says. His hands are warm and comforting as they grab me and pull me closer. I giggle, overcome with happiness as I return his kiss.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

It’s a promise, though not one that I’m making with a lot of conviction. Kali and I won’t be apart for long anyway. It’s one of the perks of having your life planned way before you become a teenager. Even when we were kids, Kali and I both knew what we wanted—to spend our future dancing.

It's a dream that’s coming true for me now. Tomorrow, I’m joining the Philadelphia Ballet. Thinking of that fills me with such excitement that I could burst into happy tears. Kali wasn’t selected the last time we went for auditions. However, his friend has a mother who works in the ballet administration, and she told him that he’s first on the waiting list and that it was very likely that he wouldget in.

In less than two months, we’ll be reunited again, facing our new lives as partners.

He holds me even tighter. I curve my body against his, making a mental note of every detail. His graceful, yet muscular form, his straight posture—becoming of a man who’s a dancer—the sharp angles of his face, his black curls, the piercing blue eyes that stare at me now as he leans in for another kiss.

Kali’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had. We bonded over our love of dance. I have a lot of friends, including Kali’s identical twin Ken, but something about our shared passion makes our bond special.

“I wish you could stay here,” he mutters, nuzzling his face into my neck. I grin. His touch feels like an old, comforting blanket, one that I like to sink into. “It’s the last night before I’ll be seeing you in a while.”

I shake my head, laughing again. Tonight feels magical, curling up in my boyfriend’s bedroom while the seconds tick away in silence. “Your mom’s going to kill you if she finds out I’m still here. Remember the night she busted Ken when he came home with Amy Frasier?”

He shuts off the light, immersing the room in near darkness, though the moon’s rays streaming through the window give me a good view of his face.

He looks annoyed.

I’m not surprised. The Edward twins are the spitting images of each other. But they’ve never really gotten along. The whole neighborhood knows it, and no one can figure out why since both boys are perfectly likable and friendly in their own right.

The last thing I want right now is to think of Kali’s beef with Ken, but I find myself wondering once again why they dislike each other. They have verydifferent interests; Ken cares more about hockey and thinks a dancing career is a waste of time. As their next-door neighbor, I practically grew up in their house, and I also noticed that Mr. and Ms. Edwards show far more support for Kali’s pursuits than Ken’s, mostly because they were ballet dancers themselves. Ken was usually the odd one out, something I could relate to. Still, I’m not sure that’s enough reason for the hostility between them.

“Fine,” Kali growls, and I find myself giggling again. I think of how Ken would be proud of me. He always has a smile on his face, encouraging me to see things in a positive light.

Kali looks partly confused and partly furious. He ignores my lightheartedness, preferring to burrow his face in my chest. I tense for a moment, wondering if we’re going to have sex tonight. We’ve never done it, mostly because of my hesitancy. To be honest, I’m not a hundred percent sure that he’s the one.

He doesn’t push anyway. He merely keeps holding me tight, as if he is scared of letting me go.

“You don’t need to worry about us being apart,” I say, suddenly feeling remorseful about my good fortune. “We’ll see each other in eight weeks.”

Kali pauses for a second. “Eight weeks. Yeah.”

We are silent for a few more seconds. I listen to the sound of my beating heart, and I realize that underneath all the excitement, I am nervous.

“Do you think the other ballet dancers will be better than me?” I’m almost embarrassed admitting to my insecurity. I rarely ever confess my fears out loud, thanks to my mother’s views on “weak emotions,” which, as she points out often enough, I have in abundance. I’ve slipped up once or twice with Ken, especially when he started to talk abouthis own worries of not being a good enough hockey player. But Kali is so confident about his dancing that it feels childish to tell him about my insecurities.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Kali dismisses me with annoyance in his voice. I ignore the sting of disappointment. I try also not to think about what Ken’s reaction would’ve been had I told him. He’s always known the right thing to say, something that would reassure me and get me on the right track again.

Once more, I try not to compare the two brothers. Kali isn’t good with emotions, especially when he’s still dealing with the crushing blow of being placed on the Philadelphia Ballet’s waitlist. He can be sweet when he wants to, though. His birthday gifts are so thoughtful that they make me cry. On the other hand, Ken just gets me the same kind of ballet shoes every year.

Maybe my mother’s right. Relying on others to calibrate your emotions will only leave you bleeding.

Kali sighs loudly. A part of me perks up with hope, thinking he’s going to say something profound or encouraging. But all he does is uncurl himself from me. “I’ve got to run to the bathroom.”

He gets off the bed, opens the door, and slips out, leaving it slightly ajar. The light from the corridor spills into a small portion of the room, along with an eerie silence. I glance at my watch. It’s ten o’ clock, and I know Kali’s parents are already in bed—they are sticklers for going to sleep early. For a moment, I think of Ken hanging out by himself, and feel an overwhelming need to go to him and stay for a while, the way I’ve done many times before. I haven’t exactly told him goodbye, and I’m going to miss him.

But the last nightshouldbelong to the boyfriend, shouldn’t it?

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