Practice Makes Perfect: A Fake Fiancée Romance

by Morgan Rae

  She continues, “We have narrowed down our couples to Damien and Tomlin and Shayla and Darius.” Someone from Shayla’s family gives a loud whoop and Shayla laughs. Everyone’s in a deliriously good mood with their family around and the competitive air of the competition seems to have lessened for a moment, like a break of clear sky through the clouds.

  “Now, as you know,” Tonya says, “sometimes, the hardest part of lasting love is getting the family to say ‘I do.’ Today, you will have the opportunity to meet with your partner’s family and friends. First, we will give you some time to meet up in a group and get to know each other. Then we will return here for dinner, where you will get some one-on-one time with your family to discuss how they feel.” Tonya pauses for dramatic effect and sweeps her hands beside her. “Today will be slightly different in that there will be no winner chosen. Instead, you will have to decide for yourselves how to move forward. Good luck.”

  Even as she says good luck, however, I get the feeling she wants us to fail. It makes for good television, after all. Or maybe my mood is just dampened by Jack hovering behind me like a black cloud.

  “I believe that’s our cue,” Damien says. He pats Jack on the arm and says, “Let’s take a walk, yeah?”

  “Sounds delightful,” Jack says through his teeth.

  I shoot Jack a look, pleading with my eyes for him not to mess this up.

  Damien hooks his arm around my shoulders, “Take care of this one,” he tells Randall and Lacy. “I’m quite fond of her.”

  “Aye, aye,” Randall gives a half salute.

  I feel my nerves bundling up in my chest already. It was hard enough getting Damien to like me, but his band mate? That’s a whole other story.

  As if he can read my mind, Damien quells my fears with a kiss. He doesn’t hide his affection from me, even in front of our friends, and he lets his lips linger. My heart skips a beat or two under his touch. “Pro tip,” he whispers into my ear when we pull back. “Maggie loves seashells.”

  “Try not to rip each other’s heads off,” I murmur back.

  Damien grins and gives me a wink. “No promises.”

  He presses another small kiss to my lips before he takes off with Jack. I turn my attention back to Damien’s small crew who are looking at me expectantly.

  Here we go. I clasp my hands together and grin widely. “Who’s up for seashell hunting?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY: DAMIEN

  Tomlin can take care of herself.

  I know this. She’s a grown woman and she doesn’t need me to hold her hand and walk her through the niceties. It doesn’t change the fact that I would much rather be at the cool kid’s table than here, with Jack.

  His cologne is sharp and heavy, something Gucci, perhaps. Coupled with the out-of-place beachwear, he’s LA personified. He reminds me of myself when I first stepped off the boat and onto this island, truth be told. It’s dangerously easy to get sucked into the Hollywood aesthetic and I know full well that I’ve fallen prey to the lure of sex and rock ‘n roll one too many times.

  But there’s something about this place, the beach, the open sky, the gulls calling out night after night. There’s a freedom here that I’ve never felt in the concrete confines of LA. Jack’s loafers pull up clumps of sand when we walk and it’s then that I realize I’m completely barefoot. I’ve forgotten to put on shoes at all, letting the sand fill the spaces between my toes instead.

  Look out, I’m Damien Blaze, King of the Jungle.

  The camera men follow close behind us as we turn our gazes away to pretend they aren’t there. Jack, at very least, is comfortable around cameras, what with his history as the king of paparazzi. He swears and shakes his foot with discomfort. “Sand gets everywhere.”

  I shouldn’t enjoy watch him struggle quite as much as I am. “There’s an open bar not much further,” I tell him as I point to the Tiki Hut only a few paces away.

  “Now we’re talking,” Jack grins. He looks like something carved in a pumpkin, a Jack-o-lantern I joke to myself. “What’s the island special? Mai Tais?”

  “Sure,” I tell him. The bar is made entirely of fake wood, fashioned to look like they carved it from the palm trees. It looks nice on camera but up close, I get the feeling it might fall apart if I so much as breathe too heavily on it. I dig into the cabinets below and pull out Jamaican rum, Triple Sec, and Orgeat syrup. It’s clear Shayla and Darius have already had their way with the bar and there’s barely a fourth of rum left. I make do and hunt down a lime to top it off.

  “So,” Jack begins. “LA rock star moves to the beach to find true love. How’s that working out for you?”

  “Is this an interview?” I ask. I smile as I mix up the drinks and siphon them into two glasses.

  Jack exhales a laugh. “Don’t worry. Nothing you say will show up in the papers. Fingers crossed.”

  I bite back a scoff. Jack’s reputation precedes him. He’s made my fellow musicians’ lives a living hell just for the sake of a good story and I refuse to get caught in his bear trap of lies. I’ve had my own unfortunate run-ins with the paparazzi myself, and they’ve “just happened” to show up one too many times outside my bedroom window when I was engaged in particularly nefarious behavior. It seems you can’t go a little bad these days without someone shoving a camera in your face. I push his drink towards him and steer the subject away from myself. “I thought we might talk about Tomlin.”

  Jack takes his glass and sips a little off the top. “This is good,” he says.

  “If you think that’s good, you should see what I can do with a hotel mini-bar.”

  “Strong.” He taps his finger to the glass and his ring clinks against it. The sound makes my back molars grind together. He’s trying to avoid the topic, but I’m not going to let him.

  “You said you took the same program at school,” I say to get the ball rolling.

  “Yes,” Jack agrees. “You could say we grew up together.” His suggestive smile makes my stomach curl. I take a sip of Mai Tai to swallow down the bad aftertaste. He wasn’t wrong, the alcohol burns the back of my throat. I make a mental note to take it easy while simultaneously hoping that Jack gets sloshed enough to give me an ounce of truth.

  True to form, he takes another generous swallow from his glass. The corner of my lips twitch but I hold back a smile. This is going to be easy.

  “I suppose I’m just confused,” I continue.

  His eyebrows knit. “About what?”

  “Why are you here instead of her parents?”

  “Why is your band mate here instead of your parents?” he shoots back. His eyes lock on mine in challenge and it’s an unexpected wallop in my chest.

  “Reality television isn’t exactly my parents’ style,” I tell him. “They’ll meet Tomlin in their own time.”

  “Must’ve been a hard childhood, Mommy and Daddy never doing the things you wanted to do. Only doing what they wanted to do. No wonder you rebelled and became a little rock star.”

  He’s picking at me like a hangnail. Trying to claw his way into my secrets so he can splash them across the tabloids with some atrocious headline.

  “My childhood was wonderful,” I tell him firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

  Jack’s eyes don’t leave mine, so I hold his gaze. I don’t need to bare my teeth to prove that I am the manliest man on the block. I have never been concerned with flexing my muscles simply to prove that I have them. However, Jack reeks of arrogance and I’m trying very hard to hold back the urge to hit him square in the face. The light from the cameraman reminds me that I’m being watched so I release my grip on the edge of the bar and try to relax.

  Finally, Jack looks away and shrugs. “Tomlin’s parents are divorced, so it would’ve been hell to drag them here.”

  “They’re divorced? She never mentioned that.”

  Jack’s eyes flicker between me and his glass for a moment and he presses his lips together like he’s just bitten into a so
ur lemon. “Right, well. I guess she didn’t think it was particularly important. Hell, ninety percent of Hollywood is made up of divorces and unhappy childhoods. All things considered, she had it pretty easy. It was one of those…” Jack waves his hand in a halfhearted gesture, “stay together for the kids deals. Her parents lived together until she went off to college and then promptly divorced, yada yada.”

  There’s a twist of anger in my gut when Jack talks. “This is her life,” I remind him. “There’s no need to trivialize it.”

  Jack looks at me and a slow smile cuts across his lips. “I’m practically her surrogate father, I can say what I want. But just listen to you,” he says. “Prince Charming in a pair of skin-tight jeans.”

  I laugh, but even I can hear that I’ve lost the ability to fake humoring him. It’s less of a laugh and more the huffing sound a bull makes before it gets set loose in the ring. “She hardly needs a Prince—”

  “No, that’s exactly what she needs,” Jack interrupts. “Tomlin puts on a good show, a strong, sturdy independent woman. But I’ve just seen her bloom under your fingertips. It’s a real miracle, you’ll have to show me how you do it sometime.”

  “It’s easy,” I tell him, squaring off my shoulders. “It’s amazing what happens when you treat a woman like a human being.”

  “I can tell you care about her. And I just want you to know if this doesn’t work out with the two of you, you don’t have to worry about Tomlin.” His eyes lock on mine. “I’ll be there. Ready to put her pieces back together.”

  If he wants to play this game, I’ll play. I refuse to let him disrespect my relationship to my face. I lean in and tell him, “You prey on people’s insecurities and weaknesses. Tomlin is stronger than you think. You’re nothing more than a security blanket. She deserves better than you.”

  “What, like a reckless rock star who gives it to any woman with a heartbeat? You’re right, you’re a real step up.”

  “You don’t know Tomlin like I do,” I tell him.

  To that, Jack only smiles. “You’ve got me there,” he says, but there’s something in his smile that unnerves me. He taps the side of his drink and says, “C’mon, Prince Charming. Fill me up.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: NANCY

  I pull wet sand from the beach in clumps and slap it onto a questionable sandcastle.

  “You have to pat it down!” Maggie orchestrates as I shape the side of the castle. She’s having the time of life with three grown adults to do her bidding. We’re not alone, of course, but no one on this island ever is. Beside us stand three men holding a camera, a boom, and an additional stick of artificial light. The family seems pretty secure in front of the cameras and Maggie is the only one who occasionally breaks the fourth wall to approach the cameraman and give him sand buckets.

  “You know what’s missing?” I tell Maggie.

  She shakes her head.

  “Roofs for the towers.” I point. “I think I saw some perfect seashells on the shore.”

  “C’mon, little mermaid,” Randall growls as he hoists her up in one arm. “Let’s go find some finishing touches.”

  Maggie squeals with laughter as she squirms in her father’s arm before finding purchase on the sand again. She’s a bundle of giggles and energy with rose cheeks to match.

  “Maggie is adorable,” I tell Lacy.

  “She’s a little handful,” Lacy says. “But she’s our little handful.” Lacy braces herself on her thigh so she can lean over her pregnant stomach and work on the castle. “Do you want any children?” she asks casually.

  She’s already starting the interrogation. I smile to myself, I like this woman already. A strand of my hair flies into my mouth and I try to hook it out without eating sand. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I used to think growing old with a couple of cats and a box of wine sounded just fine to me.”

  “Past tense,” Lacy wiggles her eyebrows at me.

  I laugh. “Yes, well, Damien is convincing.”

  Lacy pauses to scoop some more muddy sand out of the bucket. She squeezes her hand into a fist and lets the sand dribble out, making nice little drippy tips. I wonder if some things just come to parents instinctively. I can’t remember my own mother ever making drippy sandcastles. The earliest memory I have on the beach is of my father chasing down a beach goer to take a picture of the three of us all in front of the ocean. My mother had been crying only moments earlier, but you can’t tell at all. Her smile is immaculate. It’s one of my favorite great pictures.

  “Do you love him?” Lacy asks suddenly.

  The bluntness of the question momentarily catches me off guard. “Damien?” I fumble over my tongue. “Yes, of course.”

  Lacy’s emerald eyes soften when they meet mine briefly. “That’s good,” she says. “I know Damien seems invincible, but he has a big heart. When he loves, he loves hard.”

  “Loves?” the word leaves my lips before I can stop and think about how juvenile I sound. I sputter, “I mean, do you think…”

  Her smile reaches her eyes and she nods. “Oh, honey. The way he looks at you, it’s like no one else exists.”

  My heart stutters in my chest. I don’t know what to say to that, so I pile more sand on the castle.

  “Just don’t break his heart,” Lacy warns me. “Because then you have me and Randall to deal with.”

  I swallow hard. Before I can get a response out, Randall comes back with Maggie jumping at his heels. “Mommy! Look what we found!” Maggie exclaims. She’s made a hammock of her dress and she holds the edge out so her mother can look at the shells tucked away in the fabric.

  Lacy gasps dramatically. “Wow, those will look great on the castle.”

  Maggie sticks her finger in a thick tower and it goes straight through the wet sand. She crouches over and closes an eye. “Miss Tomlin, look!”

  I crouch down on the other side of the castle so I’m on level with her. I can see her peeking through the small hole in the castle. I squint back at her.

  “I can see you!” Maggie cries out.

  “I can see you too, little one,” I grin.

  When Lacy shifts back from her crouch, I notice that she winces and her hand goes to her stomach. I immediately put my hand on her arm, forgetting my palms are full of dry sand. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m alright,” she says. “It’s just a little vertigo.” She turns her gaze up to Randall. “Can you get me some water, baby?”

  “I’ve got it,” I say as I get up quickly, dusting my knees off of sand.

  “You sure?” Randall asks.

  I nod and pat him on the shoulder. “You stay here, Good Sir Randall. You have a castle to build.”

  I trudge across the beach and feel the sand kick up behind my feet. I walk around the bonfire and my bare feet hit wooden steps, which make walking far easier. There’s a craft services tent up on the stone landing, mainly for our guests, but I’m taking full advantage of it while it’s here. I steal a bottle of water from one of the tables and turn to head back to the beach.

  The landing is large enough for a couple tables and chairs, and is already nicely set up for dinner. Shayla is standing on the other side of the tables, alone, even the cameramen give her some space. Her sarong flutters in the dying breeze and she stares off across the wide spread of ocean.

  I’m not about to pass up the rare opportunity to talk with her alone. As much as I hate it, in the back of my head, I’m thinking that I’ll get something for my story. Once a shark, always a shark. But even as the words rattle around my head, I know it’s more than that. I’ve never seen her off camera and I’m flooded with curiosity.

  I try to walk loudly so I’m not sneaking up on her, even though the stone mostly muffles my footsteps. I lean against the black fence beside her and say, “Where’s your family?”

  Shayla turns to me and draws a smile at that. “My mama is worse than I am. It takes her two hours to get her face on.”

  I chuckle. �
�They seem nice.”

  “God, yeah, it’s good to see them.” She shakes her head. “I swear, after this, I’m gonna need a vacation from my vacation.”

  She’s staring off at Randall’s family playing on the beach and I let my eyes linger on them too. “You’re adorable with that little girl,” Shayla adds.

  “She makes adorable look easy.”

  “You’re not kidding, girl.”

  I don’t know what I expected. Shayla is a little more subdued, maybe, but barely. She’s exactly the woman she is with the cameras on her. She looks so natural here and I feel a sudden wave of envy that I do my best to swallow down.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the cameras,” I confess suddenly.

  Shayla side-eyes me. “That’s right, you’re used to being on the other side of the camera, huh?”

  I nod.

  She shakes her head. “You’re going to have to get used to that fast, girl. The camera loves Damien.”

  “Right.” For the first time, I try to imagine a life with Damien, a life outside of the island. What would it be like, constantly followed by paparazzi, unable to eat dinner without having to sign a fan’s napkin, living that lavish life? I used to drool over celebrities who had it all, the nice house, the fame, and the fortune. I didn’t stop to consider the price, however. No more privacy, no more secrets. The thought alone is enough to make my heart beat pick up to the speed of a hummingbird’s.

  “Do you ever get tired of pretending to be something you’re not?” I blurt out. As soon as I hear the words, horror stills my chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that but if I don’t talk to someone about this, I think I might go crazy.”

  Shayla laughs. “You can’t talk to Damien about this?”

  “And say what? The limelight scares me so you should give up music? I wouldn’t do that to him.”

  Shayla sighs. “I don’t pretend, honey. Look, you remind me of myself before I had my show, I wanted people to like me. But after you’ve got the cameras pointed at you for long enough…I don’t know. It stopped mattering. I didn’t let other people’s opinions affect me. Now I’m just me, and America can love it or leave it.”