Page 8 of Fake It For Love (Faux Love)
I looked at myself in the mirror and ran my hands over the softest shade of blue I had ever seen. “Thank you,” I told the seamstress. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with satisfaction at her handiwork.
We both spent a few more minutes admiring the dresses before changing back into our street clothes and heading to lunch. “I can’t believe this is all happening so fast,” Norah said with excitement.
“It’s going to be perfect and you are going to look absolutely amazing,” I told her.
“And your dress!” She was giddy. I didn’t blame her. Even I was excited to wear it.
“It turned out much better than I thought it would,” I confessed. “Thank you for pushing hard.”
“You’re welcome.” She took a bite of her salad. We were eating salads because apparently that was what one did before a beach vacation and a wedding. “So, are you doing it?”
We both knew what she was talking about. “Yes. Actually, it’s going to be so much better than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last night, I guess the guy said he wanted me to be his date for three weeks,” I announced.
She frowned. “On the island?”
“Yes.”
“How odd is that?” she asked.
I shrugged and took a bite of my salad. “I don’t know. Maybe he lives there or has a vacation home there.”
“So, how much?”
I licked the dressing from my lips. “A hundred grand.”
Her eyes bulged. “Are you serious?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m serious.”
“Oh my goodness. That is crazy. That’s a lot of money for a couple weeks of work. What will you do with it?”
“Pay off my student loans,” I said. “Those are killing me. Pay off my credit cards. And maybe think about buying a house.”
She was quiet for a few seconds. “Do you think it’s legit?” she questioned. “I mean, that seems almost too good to be true. Do you think you’ll be expected to, you know?”
“Sex?” I said the word. “No. It’s off the table. There is a contract. He’s allowed to hold my hand, touch my lower back, and if a kiss is necessary to sell the relationship, it must be lips only—no tongue.”
“There’s a contract,” she repeated. “It seems so wild.”
“I know,” I agreed. “I felt the same way, but the contract was legally binding, and the reviews seem legit. It’s not like I have anything to lose. If I don’t get paid, oh well. I’m still going to be there.”
“I just can’t believe you signed up for that stuff,” she said. “That’s crazy. And a little scary.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m tired of barely making it. I think it would be different if I was raised differently. It’s been hard to learn this new lifestyle. I suppose it’s not really new. I’ve been doing the broke thing almost as long as I lived the life of luxury. I had a taste of the good life and I miss it. I don’t need to be rich. I just want to be not broke.”
“I get it,” she said. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”
“Me too,” I said. “Ever since I first heard the words, I’ve never felt quite right. It’s like I woke up in a nightmare. My life isn’t a mess, but I miss stuff. I miss the personal chef that made me all those meals that helped keep me on the diet. I miss the personal trainer most of all. I know I could go to the gym on my own and learn how to make those same meals. I could, but I always feel like I’m too busy. Now look at me.”
“Stop,” she scolded. “You’re beautiful.”
“I miss the body I used to have,” I said.
