Fake It Baby One More Time: A Fake Romance Collection

by Logan Chance

  She cups my face in her tiny hands. “You can’t blame yourself. It sounds like your sister needed help and was good at hiding it.”

  “She did. But as her big brother I should have seen it.”

  “Where were your parents?”

  I sit down in a nearby chair, and Katy takes a seat next to me. “I felt like I raised her. Our parents were always gone. Europe one week. South Caribbean the next. We had staff to look after us, but I was the only one there for her.”

  “I’m sure she was a great girl.”

  “She was.” Memories flood my mind. “She feared the dark for a long time, and I would sing her to sleep when she was little,” I say.

  She smiles. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “I can’t.”

  “What happened with the boyfriend?”

  I meet her eyes. “Craig Kendall was the boyfriend.”

  She pales. “What? So, that’s why you were at the charity event? That’s why you agreed to be my fiancé?”

  “Yeah.” I rub a hand along my neck, easing the tension.

  “What happened?”

  “She was twenty when she met him. I didn't like it. Obviously, I checked him out. She started pulling away, wasn’t going to her classes. That morning was the first time he hurt her. He was already engaged to Gabi and told my sister it was over. He beat the crap out of her.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well, there wasn’t much I could do. After the accident, I went to jail. Had to get bailed out, and once all the wheels started turning on the charges, I was so busy trying to protect her that I lost sight of her.”

  “When did she do it?”

  “Commit suicide? Not long after. I can’t get the image out of my head.” Stupid tears sting my eyes as I try not to cry, as I try not to envision her body floating in the water.

  “Did she leave a note?”

  “Yeah, it was all bullshit about how she couldn’t live with the guilt of what she’d done. How she hadn’t been happy in a while. I could have helped her.”

  “You had no way of knowing. You can’t think about it like that. Had you known you would have done everything you could.”

  I cry. “Everything. I would gladly give my life for her.”

  “I know you would.” She wraps her arms around me. “You’re not a bad guy. Why didn't you tell me?”

  “I lost sight of what was important. I wanted revenge so badly, I didn't want to fuck anything up when it was so close. I really did plan on telling you.” I look up at her. “I shouldn’t have lied to you about my name. I agreed to be your fiancé to keep tabs on him, waiting for the perfect moment to fuck up his world. He set everything in motion when he put his fist in her face. When he married, and took over Masters, I knew it was time to expose him.”

  “How?”

  “Well, I had a plan…”

  Chapter 22

  Ford

  New Year’s Eve in New York City is insane. Insane. People everywhere. The streets are a circus. But as for Katy and I, we are tucked neatly away at the Masters Grand New Year’s Eve Bash in the lobby of their company building.

  The place is packed. Partygoers filter in and out, wearing silly hats and drinking champagne.

  The revenge is fresh on my mind as we move further into the party. All the key players are here tonight.

  Houston and his girlfriend, Marley.

  Gabi Kendall and her father, Mr. Masters.

  And the man of honor, Craig Kendall.

  People say you should forgive and forget, let resentment lie, let bygones be bygones, and this is all true.

  I believe in forgiveness. I believe in not holding a grudge.

  But, he isn’t a good guy; he’s the evil one.

  So, my question is this: Do you seek revenge to stop the bad behavior?

  Of course, you do.

  I need to make sure this asshole never hurts anyone ever again.

  As I was saying, all the key players are here, and Katy is sexy as hell in her red satin gown and fuck me heels. She’s fiery and hot.

  Everyone toasts with champagne, and people kiss under the moonlight. The clock counts down, and we smile with the knowledge of what’s to come.

  Saving the best for last.

  Tasting the sweet victory of revenge.

  Katy smiles as the time draws near, as the board and Kendall talk over whiskey and cigars, as Gabi and her father laugh along with them.

  The band plays.

  10, 9, 8,...

  Katy stands near me.

  7,6,5…

  She smiles and takes my breath away.

  4,3,2…

  And here we go.

  Happy New Year. The crowd erupts. The familiar Auld Lang Syne blares through every speaker as couple’s kiss. Everyone smiles, giddy with the promise of a new year.

  Remember I told you I had a plan? I wasn’t scoping out the company to buy it.

  No, this has always been the goal. The end game.

  To break him.

  I wait a minute or two for the chatter to die down, then I smile to the band, to the lighting guy, and to Katy. I walk on stage and grab the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention,” I say.

  It takes a moment for the cacophony of laughter to die.

  All eyes are on me.

  “I have a video in honor of our dear Mr. Craig Kendall.”

  Craig’s smile widens, and he straightens his bowtie. Asshole thinks I’m actually honoring him.

  I chuckle and click the remote to the PowerPoint.

  The screen lights up with a picture of Craig, and the crowd settles in to watch the show.

  Slide after slide, people learn the true story of Kendall. The things I have gathered over the years. The intel Charlie and I have stockpiled to bring to light at the perfect moment.

  Embezzlement.

  Using the company money for hookers.

  Countless cheating.

  Bribery.

  Insider trading.

  Every illegal activity he's ever partaken in, flashes on the screen for all to see.

  Gabi walks away halfway through the video, but not before she slaps the fuck out of Craig. The board is appalled. But, it’s the ending of the video that brings the tears.

  Pictures of Harper.

  Pictures of Nathan.

  Pictures of every life ruined by Craig Kendall. Picture after picture.

  Finally, Craig leaves, but security stops him at the door.

  The cops are waiting for him right outside, and they handcuff him and take him away as the crowd stares in shock.

  I wrap an arm around Katy’s waist.

  “Let's get the hell out of here.”

  The next day, Katy tells me she has a surprise for me. A New Year’s present. We step inside the gallery, and she flips on the lights.

  She beams at me. “I resigned.”

  “What? Why?” I’m startled by her admission, by the fact she would give up after she worked so hard to achieve her goal.

  I’m sure they would have made her partner. Hell, I would have.

  “I realized it wasn’t what I really wanted anymore. I’d been living the life I thought I was supposed to live. There was no passion. No fire.”

  “And what do you want to do?”

  “This,” she shows off the gallery, “all of it.”

  And then a framed piece of artwork in an alcove catches my eyes. I move closer.

  It's a sketch I know well—a lighthouse on a deserted island.

  Harper drew this one morning after she graduated high school.

  She laughed about not going to college, but instead, traveling through Paris to study art.

  “This is perfect. Thank you,” I say, touching the edge of the frame.

  “I think it goes great in the gallery. If you have anymore of her sketches I'd love to show them as well.”

  I face her, her gentle beauty enrapturing me. And the sim
plest of words fly out of my mouth, “I love you.”

  Her eyes widen. “Love?”

  “Yes, Katy. Love. I’m crazy in love with you.” I hold up my hands. “And I don’t expect you to love me back. I know it would probably be impossible.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I look away from the pain in her eyes. Impossible to fall in love with someone whose life you ruined.

  Impossible to not let it break you.

  But, damn if I’m not in love with everything about her. Her passion for art. Her fire for hard work. Her desire to succeed.

  She grabs my hand with tears in her eyes. “Ford,” my real name on her lips sounds so good, “let’s walk to the middle of the ocean together.”

  Epilogue

  There’s a saying if you bend you won't break. I can't count the number of times I've heard it. I'm sure you’ve heard it, too. The full meaning never resonated with me until one summer afternoon sitting on the rooftop watching Katy paint. It's one of my favorite things to do. She's a tempest when she creates—dark hair in a sexy mess on top of her head, no makeup, biting her plump lip, narrowing her brilliant blue eyes.

  Her brush dipped and stroked until whatever was on her mind formed on the canvas. And then I saw it.

  A storm.

  Wind blew sheets of rain across the canvas, and in its midst, was a palm tree, swayed from the howling winds and bowed down to the ground.

  Unbroken amid the storm.

  It was then I realized how you survive the unimaginable. How someone like Houston could move forward and rebuild. How the woman who owns me can forgive my lie. How she can love me as fierce as I love her. You don't stand rigid as the storm roars, destroying everything, including you. No. Lean into the wind, sway with the havoc and ruin, bow to the ground under the force of devastation. Until the storm passes. And you survive.

  Tragedy splintered us all. But it didn't break me.

  Bent but never broken.

  Epilogue (Bonus)

  Keep reading for more Ford and Katy

  One

  Ford

  There has never been a time in my life when I’d thought I’d say this, but here we fucking are—I regret watching The Mandalorian.

  Hear me out before you try to kill me.

  Everything was going just fine.

  We were Netflix and chilling. Well, Disney+ and chilling, to be more accurate, but I digress. The lo mein noodles and fried rice were flying down our throats. Wine flowing. Katy getting the tipsy giggles she gets after a few glasses too many and that her next words will be something soft and sexy in my ear followed by her legs scissored around mine.

  The perfect night.

  And then Baby Yoda reared his cute little mug all over the screen and instead of being seduced through sexy and tipsy wine fueled words, Katy decides to toss out some cockblock fuckery via my favorite past time. Star Wars.

  Talk about being blindsided by The Force.

  Force of fucking Katy.

  Or not fucking Katy, I should say.

  Because instead of being balls deep in the love of my life I’m scrolling through pictures of unwanted doe-eyed creatures that make baby Yoda look like a raggamuffin.

  Yes. There you have it. Katy, the love of my life, wants to buy a dog.

  So after hours and hours of looking at doggy profiles on my phone like some fucked up Tinder app for K9’s, she decides that’s not enough and drags my ass to a shelter the following morning to see her prospects in person.

  Well, let me make sure that we understand this correctly. Katy wants to adopt a dog. She wants to literally go to a shelter and pick out a dog full of issues, up to, but perhaps not limited to, abandonment and torture. I fully get the love and care behind her choice, don’t get me fucking wrong, but do you ever look a pitbull in the eye as it stares you down from the other side of a gate and wonder if the first chance he gets, he’s going to gnaw your face off because the guy who owned him previously was a real fucking nut job who hurt this poor dog?

  I sound like a prick. I get it.

  I’m not trying to convince anyone not to get a dog from a rescue—by all means—go get all the dogs, people, but shit, I’m nervous. Most days I can barely deal with myself, let alone another living creature. Having a relationship with a human that I find extremely sexy, funny, and downright delectable is even a struggle because I’m a mess. Taking on all of that plus work and now a dog that probably needs years of therapy and an endless supply of toys and doggy cookies? I gotta be honest, I don’t know if I’m up to the task.

  The shelter’s volunteer lady glares at me like she knows it. She fucking knows I’m not the guy to send home with this dog. She keeps scrunching up her nose every time she looks at me, even though I’m sure Katy is gonna pass the little ‘meet-n-greet your next best friend’ part with flying colors. I mean, look at her. Who wouldn’t want Katy to take them home? I can relate to these dogs.

  I’d be on my best fucking behavior, too, if I were them and staring up at this angel of mercy.

  Oh shit, the lady running the kennel is back to glaring at me. Do I just look like I hate animals or something? Maybe it’s because I’m sweating. And not in that fantastic way that Katy sweats but glows. Like literally the girl fucking shines when she’s hot. God, is she hot. Stop it. I’m now the biggest asshole on the planet. I’m getting hard watching my wife pick out a dog from a shelter.

  Dear Lucifer,

  We may need to call up Maury and have a DNA test performed. Pretty fucking sure you are the father...of me.

  Plagued With Guilt,

  Ford.

  She is pretty. Katy sits on the floor with this giant dog slobbering drool all over her designer pantsuit, looking happy as can be, not at all worried like I am about the horrible outcome this could have. And I do believe it will be nothing short of a disaster. Two strong-willed males competing for snuggles from our favorite chick under one roof? I can’t see that ending well, people. I just fucking can’t. Ok, I’m only half making this shit up for comedic purposes because that’s what I do to deal with stress, but truthfully, I’m scared shitless about moving on to something bigger. Getting married alone was a huge leap for me. Not that I don’t want to keep Katy with me forever, I obviously do hence the marriage title, but it’s terrifying to actually make that move. To bring people into your life even though you have had to say goodbye to people that you have loved. People that you knew so well, or at least thought you did. I know this is nothing like my past. Katy is the brightest, warmest spot I have ever found in my life, and there isn't anything I wouldn’t do for her, but you know, I just don’t know why we need to add more to our already chaotic filled lives. Why can’t this be enough? Why am I not enough?

  Am I crazy?

  It’s just a dog, motherfucker.

  A dog who apparently really wants me to sit down with them because the guy won’t stop pawing at my shoes. He’s grey and white with splashes of black here and there. I’ve actually never had a dog before. I’ve never been able to make that kind of commitment on my own. He doesn’t seem like he has issues. He’s pretty friendly, to be honest. But don’t we all come off that way at first? Look at my history with Katy, for example. She never guessed I was the guy pulling the wool over her eyes at the beginning of our relationship. She believed all my bullshit and lies. I had her fooled. And I’m a fucking human being who is not nearly as innocent-looking as this adorable sack of wrinkled-up fur curled up between us. See how she looks at him. Like she’s known him forever. Fully trusting this guy even though they have just met mere minutes ago. I know those eyes. They’ll believe fake names and made-up history. They want to trust the good in things. In people. And in this beefy slobbery beast working his best to earn her affection. Maybe that’s what I really don’t like about this whole damn thing. It makes me wonder too much about myself. It makes me remember what a vile piece of shit I once was and how easily I can manipulate people. It’s not about the dog at all. And that’s what people really hate the most
about themselves. They hate having to look in the fuckin mirror and deal with the reality that we are all such a goddamn mess.

  “So?” she asks, sweetly. “What do you think, Ford? He’s pretty terrific, right?”

  “You’re fucking terrific, Katy.”

  “You are petrified, aren’t you?” She laughs at her joke but because she’s Katy she also soothes my hand with hers, petting me like I’m the one in need of rescue. And maybe I fucking am.

  We take the dog. Of course, we do. What kind of asshole goes into a shelter, loves on an animal for an hour, and then looks the guy in the face after he’s given his all to convince you he is the one, only to turn the dog away and say ‘sorry, bud, maybe next time’? Admittedly, I am a pretty messed up person, but I am not that screwed up.

  So now, we have a dog. A giant dog. And giant bags of dog food to feed that giant dog. And a giant dog bed. And giant dog toys that require special purchases from specialty shops because apparently pitbulls can destroy nearly damn anything with their teeth. Did I mention we live in an apartment in New York? With a fucking pitbull? That gets some reaction from our neighbors, let me tell you. I have to pay extra, under the table, just to have this dog here, but fuck it, it keeps Katy happy. The dog looks pretty damn happy too.

  We haven’t named him yet. At the shelter his name was Fred. No offense to all the Freds out there but I just can’t see having a dog named Fred. Plus, my name is Ford and it just kind of sounds a bit too close for comfort. Like when Katy tells him to stop chewing on shoes. I have to do a double-take. I don’t like it. Katy says she hates it because it reminds her of some ruthless prick on a show she likes to watch. So the name Fred is definitely out.

  “Titus?” She’s gazing at me in that way she has of being especially beautiful when she wants to get her way. I can’t help but smile at her.

  “Reminds me of a cage fighter or something.” And that this dog could eat me alive at any point in time. “How about something a little friendlier so our neighbors won’t think he’s a monster when we introduce him?”