Page 1 of Accidentally Falling for My Fake Wife

Chapter One

Susie

I throw my handsup and let out a silent scream before dropping my head on the table.

“Shhhh…” I look up to see Mrs. Baker, and her assistant Maggie, shaking their heads at me.

“Sorry,” I mouth, shrugging my shoulders and an apologetic smile on my face.

Mrs. Baker’s eyes crinkle at the corner and a gleam of humor dances in them before she turns back to the book she’s checking in.

This isn’t the first time they’ve witnessed me frustrated. Pleasant Hollow’s Library is one of my favorite spots to work. It’s quiet, but not too quiet, and I can turn to the shelves of books for inspiration if I’m stuck. Sadly, none of these things are helpful in any way today.

Turning my gaze back to the screen in front of me, I stare at the blank document, its blinking cursor mocking me. I slowly pull in air through my nose, hold it for a second, and then blowit out, my lips slapping against each other and making a very unladylike noise.

My deadline is looming, and the words for this story are nowhere to be found. My editor keeps reaching out to check if I have anything for her to review yet. I know she’s excited to read it–this story will be amazing, once I can actually get it going.

Who doesn’t adore a forbidden romance with a best friend’s brother trope? But here I am, completely stuck, staring at a blank page without any idea how to get this story started.

Writer’s block is the absolute worst! What’s even more annoying is that it’s not something I usually struggle with. To be honest, I thought when you became an international best-selling author, words would just easily flow through your fingertips.

Yet here I am, an international best selling author, with over millions of copies of multiple books sold, and I’m stuck in an imagination drought. Completely dry. It’s like I’m wandering the Sahara in search of water only to be constantly plagued by a mirage.

I hover my fingers over the keyboard and watch the cursor mock me with its continuous blinking. Blink….blink…blink. I drop my head in my hand. It’s hopeless. The words aren’t in my head at the moment. It’s just a big ol’ blank space.

“Anything I can help with, dear?” My body lifts out of the chair at the sound of Mrs. Baker’s voice. “You look just a little frustrated.”

“I don’t know what would give you that impression.” The corners of my lips lift sardonically. “Was it the scream or the banging of my head against the table?”

“That and the flapping of your lips.” A soft chuckle falls from her lips. “You’ll figure it out dear, you always do.”

She gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder, and I notice she’s holding Amelia Adams’ latest best-selling sports romcom. My stomach drops.

Some days, it’s hard not to have people know that youareAmelia Adams. Like today, maybe having someone tell me how much they enjoy my stories would helpthisstory to formulate in my head.

This is when I struggle with only two people knowing I, Susie Owens, am also Amelia Adams. Talking to someone could really help.

My best friend Brie and my mom are the only two people, besides my editor, who know about my secret identity.

I could call Brie, but it will have to wait until school is out. She’s an elementary school teacher who is currently standing in front of fifteen eight-year-olds.

A shiver runs through my body at the thought of dealing with that many kids. Give me writer's block any day.

I lift my wrist and only to see that both Brie and Mom won’t be available until later; and I can’t sit here anymore.

I push the lid of my laptop closed and start packing up my stuff. Staring at a blank screen for hours isn’t going to inspire words to magically start manifesting.

A slight buzz comes from my pocket and I slide my phone out to see a notification from The Blitz Brigade, a football chat group I belong to. My heart leaps and lodges in my throat before it falls to my stomach with a thud.

It’s not Pull The Line responding to my message. It’s a general notification on one of the other conversations I interjected myself into last night in an attempt to distract myself from the radio silence of one particular person not responding to my last message.

Don’t get me wrong, egging this random person on was more fun than I should’ve allowed myself to indulge in. They arestilltalking about how Josh Owens isn’t having a good season, which is ludicrous because his stats are the best in the NFL. Fantasy managers are all but laughing their way to the championships.

But they are right about one thing, Josh is struggling.

How do I know? I’m his younger sister. I have no clue what the problem is but there is definitely something going on. He’s just…off.

I’ve tried talking to him about it but he keeps brushing me off. After these past few games, it’s become more evident to everyone. Even my Dad is starting to mumble about it.

---