Faking It with the Billionaire Next Door: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Jolie Day

  Tonight was the night I’d tell her everything.

  I’d tell her that now that the deal was done, I wanted to date her for real.

  I’d tell her that I wanted her to keep living with me, and I wanted her to sleep in my bed, with me, every night.

  I loved her. I knew I did.

  Over the past six months, I’d fallen in love with her, and with each passing day I became more and more certain that I didn’t want her to leave me.

  The thing was, I was worried she’d turn me down flat. Yeah, she liked me. Yeah, she enjoyed being around me and being in my bed. But what I couldn’t tell was whether she felt the same, whether she’d be able to give me her heart. Damn. I sounded like a wimp.

  Fact was: once the fucking contract was finished, there were no more clauses to keep us together—nothing saying that she needed to live with me, nothing saying that we couldn’t see other people. She probably thought that I’d just go back to my old ways, but hell, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

  I just needed to tell her—without scaring her. Because I—of all people—knew that love was fucking scary. It was hell. So, I wanted to promise her that our love wouldn’t be hell. It wouldn’t be a nightmare. It wouldn’t be an elevator ride trying to escape a fucking Alien queen.

  She was my everything.

  I’d promise her the world.

  And I’d do so tonight.

  That was less than twelve hours from now. Eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes to be precise.

  Perfect.

  I smiled to myself.

  I’m ready.

  Last night, we’d had dinner at my parents’ house, to celebrate my birthday early. Rose was still doing a great job pretending to be my fake fiancée. She got along with my family, and I’d been happy to see it. Yes, I knew she was just holding up her side of the deal, but I knew she wasn’t acting. She genuinely liked my family. And they liked her. It filled me with joy to know that the people I cared for most had such a connection.

  I’d been standing with Oliver, watching her with my mom.

  “You okay, Bro?” he’d asked in a moment when nobody was paying attention to us. Rose was immersed into a discussion with Mom on what ingredients she used to make her brownies extra gooey, while Mom offered her secret on how to make them more fudgy. When somebody chimed in that the perfect brownies had to be slightly under-baked, it had been my cue to zone out of the whole conversation.

  I’d kept my gaze on her, though, so I had to make him repeat the question. “You okay, Bro?” he’d asked.

  “Yeah, just not sure what she wants,” I’d said.

  “Man, why haven’t you just asked her?” Oliver had asked.

  “I don’t know,” I’d answered him.

  “Scared of rejection?”

  “Desperate. Don’t want to lose her.”

  At first, I didn’t want to tell Rose how I felt because I didn’t want to scare her away, and I couldn’t have asked her because she would’ve known something was up, and that would’ve ended in a shitstorm. But then, during the last few weeks, there had been two or three moments when I thought “you know what, fuck it,” but for some reason, something always came up to ruin the perfect opportunity. It sure didn’t help that both Rose and I were busier than ever. She had her make-up campaign and I’d gone on several longer business trips to work on my “New Zones” project. I still hoped to win Dad over to it. The timing just never worked out.

  To my surprise, Oliver hadn’t laughed in response. His face had softened.

  “Look, man, she loves you,” he’d said.

  “Yeah?” I’d said, somewhat half-heartedly.

  “She has to. I can tell. I mean look at how she looks at you. She can’t be such a good actress to put up with you for six months without going crazy.”

  That had gotten a chuckle from me. “I know, right?” I’d said and raised my glass to his. “Asshat.”

  Now I was standing in my apartment, waiting for Rose to be ready for our dinner. She walked out of her room, and I turned to her. For a moment, I was stunned. Perplexed, even, how bright and full of life she looked. She wore a beautiful yellow dress that accentuated her breathtaking beauty. It dipped in front to reveal her cleavage and came in at her waistline. The bottom of the dress flowed around her and down to her ankles, where it curled up at the bottom like an upside-down flower.

  One word: summer.

  Another word: Fuck. Me. Okay, those were two words, but who’s counting.

  On her feet were a pair of beige strappy heels, and she held a beige clutch in her hands.

  After I’d looked her over, I put my hand to my chest. “With that sunny dress, you could be accused of being a primary reason for global warming.”

  The corners of her mouth didn’t lift into a smile. “Miles. Was that a compliment?”

  “Of course it was. You know, as in you brighten up everything around you? No?”

  “No. Being the reason for global warming is not a compliment.”

  “I said primary reason. You know, it’s special.”

  “That makes it worse. Juliette and I bought the dress on our last shopping spree. She has the same one. So, you better step up your game here. You’ve just insulted two women in one go.”

  “Hmm, you want me to give you a boring compliment that you’ve heard a million times before?”

  “No, not a boring one, a genuine one.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Let me think, woman.”

  “Just tell me the first thing that pops into your mind.” She swirled around once more.

  “Okay. I’m having several thoughts here…”

  “Hey!”

  “Let me think, woman. My brain is frozen.”

  “I thought you said something about global warming?”

  “Yeah, it’s still thawing. It’s been frozen the last few years.” She didn’t even know how genuine I was being there. “All jokes aside,” I said, trying to keep the mood light and strategically advantageous and favorable here, “I’m thinking summer. I’m thinking wow.”

  “Aww.” She lit up, then gave me a playful “go on” gesture.

  Oh, I could go on. “Quite frankly, I’m thinking what happened to my neighbor? I’m thinking what a breathtaking beauty you are. I’m thinking my world would be boring without you and your beautiful yellow dress. I’m thinking you’re special.” Obviously, I was gaining steam, and her eyes were sparkling brighter than ever. She looked so full of hope, even my inner wolf howled at the way she looked at me—with so much longing in her eyes. “Not only do you make my heart thaw, you melt it,” I said.

  I stopped myself right there.

  I didn’t want to fuck this up by saying something stupid or lame, like “It’s all yours.”

  I’d say that later.

  For now, I flicked my chin up. “Better?”

  “Better. Much better!” She looked at me in a cutely embarrassed way and did a twirl for me, sending the dress into the air like a flamenco dancer, showing me miles of legs. “Thank you, kind sir, why didn’t you say that right away? I’m glad I got the opportunity to wear this dress today. It’s so flowy.”

  “It is flowy.”

  She twirled again, and I smiled, enjoying her. It should’ve been our last night together, but I wouldn’t let that be the case.

  No, this would be the first of many to come.

  She’d stay. I wasn’t letting this one go. I’d tell this gorgeous woman that I loved her.

  “All right, let’s do this,” I said, feeling excited about the evening ahead of me.

  We were off to a good start.

  Perfect.

  Our coats in hand, I lead her over to the door and held it open for her. She breezed past me, and one elevator ride later, we got into my BMW. I drove us to Bocca Di Giovanni. Rose had told me she disliked stuffy restaurants. This was the perfect place. She loved the concept of family and kinship, so what better place to bring her?

  Giovann
i welcomed us as he always did, with open arms. “Mr. Miles. Finally, I get to meet your wonderful bride, sì? Com’è bella! Com’è bella!” He took our coats.

  “Hello, Giovanni. Do you remember me?” Rose asked him, to my surprise.

  He took her hand and held it in both of his. “Little Rose?” He examined her, and she nodded excitedly. “It is you!” he said. “Longe’ time no see! Benvenuto da Giovanni!”

  “It’s so good to see you, Giovanni.” She gave him a big hug and turned to me. “This was my dad’s favorite place,” she explained. “I haven’t been here in forever.”

  “True, true. Sono d’accordo,” Giovanni said. “I’m ‘appy to see you. È un onore.” He put a hand on his chest.

  “Thank you, Giovanni!”

  “What a small world,” I said. Of all things, I didn’t expect that Rose knew the place. But she seemed to be excited.

  Going well.

  “Rose’s padre was a good friend,” Giovanni told me. “Molto simpatico. Grande cuore. Rispettabile. An honest, ethical man. We still miss him.” He sighed. “La forza del destino.”

  “La forza del destino,” Rose repeated.

  The force of destiny.

  “Alora.” He indicated a kiss on the palm of her hand, before quickly turning and leading us to the secluded corner table, reserved for us. It had a red and white rose in a small green jar and a lantern flickered in the middle. I pulled Rose’s chair out for her and undid my jacket button before taking a seat myself.

  “Prego, signora e signore.” Giovanni smiled his sympathetic gap-toothed smile. He uncorked a bottle of their best red and left it to breathe, before leaving us with a small bow.

  “Thanks for joining me tonight,” I rumbled.

  “Thanks for bringing me,” she said, briefly looking at me and then back at the menu. “You couldn’t have surprised me any better. This is a really nice insider-type place, and my dad loved it. It’s like a big family here, just wonderful. If I remember correctly, my lawyer introduced him to it, and they often met here instead of in the office. I completely forgot it existed.”

  It made me happy that I’d picked the right place for this special evening, and that she had fond memories of it.

  Going really well.

  Soon, she would be able to add another fond memory. Destiny was on our side.

  “Yeah, my dad sometimes has lunch here,” I smiled warmly at her. “I’ve joined him a few times. I’m glad you like it.”

  “What do you normally order? Wait…the Tagliatelle al ragù alla Bolognese?”

  “The Tagliatelle al ragù alla Bolognese.”

  Rose grinned and nodded her head. “All right, I’m excited to have it again. It’s been ages. As you know, I don’t usually eat a lot of meat, and—did you know?—Italians don’t actually eat a lot of meat, either. The sauce only has little bits of ground beef. But you know that, of course.”

  “Of course,” I teased.

  She leaned forward and surveyed the room.

  Over the past weeks, I’d learned about her favoring vegan and vegetarian dishes. But not just that. I’d learned that she liked to brush her teeth in the kitchen instead of in the bathroom because she said the window had a better view and she didn’t want to waste precious time just staring at herself. I learned how deep her love for our little Muffin was, and not just that, but that she made it a point to help with paperwork for the cat shelter, no matter how tired she was or how late it was. I learned that her favorite hair shampoo was a Vanilla Coconut Cherry concoction by an organic brand she just ordered a box of, and not just for her, but to surprise her friend and coworkers with. I became addicted to how her eyes lit up, each time I offered to watch an old movie with her. And how my eyes lit up when she insisted on reading me a scene from one of her favorite books, or wanted to gaze into the night sky, or hop on my bike with me. I learned that she had cold feet less often than I’d first suspected, but luckily, I’d gotten pretty good at getting them warm when she did (hint: I got serious about thick, long socks—pun intended).

  I’m almost done, bear with me.

  I also learned that she loved to sing Britney Spears songs loudly in the shower—and I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but, ladies and gentleman, I fucking loved it. There were so many other things I loved about her. But, what I loved the most—not to sound too egoistical here, but fuck it—was how she made me feel.

  Awake. Strong. Alive. Invincible.

  Funny how much I already knew about her, in only six short months. It was unusual in a way, to feel like she really was my fiancée because we knew each other so well and on such a personal basis. And still, I knew I’d barely scratched the surface. I told you, she’s a “still waters run deep” kinda girl.

  I took her wine glass and mine and poured us a glass each. The wine looked dark, thick, and rich. I lifted my glass toward her in a toast.

  “To you, Rose. You look lovely tonight.”

  “Even though I’m contributing to global warming?” she chuckled.

  “The planet is willing to make an exception for you,” I replied, realizing how corny I sounded.

  Rose snorted and lifted her glass. “To Miles and his birthday tomorrow. It’ll be epic.”

  Epic. I chuckled. That it’ll be.

  “To us,” I said firmly, and her eyes connected with mine.

  We took a sip, never letting our eyes leave each other. She watched me warmly, but pulled her eyes away after she put her glass down. She talked about the restaurant, about her work, about Daisy, about Juliette, but she didn’t talk about what she’d do after the contract ended—in fact, she never did—other than that she’d start her moving process, a topic that I didn’t want to get into. I took that silence as a good sign.

  Giovanni had decided to surprise “my wonderful bride” and me with two violinists. They started playing slow romantic songs full of pure nostalgia, such as “Senza Fine,” “Sunrise over Mount Vesuvius,” and “La Luna” at our table.

  Perfect.

  Rose took my hand.

  Going well. You’ve got this.

  “Mmmm…mmm…mmmm…mmm,” Rose hummed and swayed to the music, dreamily, enchanted, holding my hand. I joined in, “Hmm…hm…hm…hm,” and her smile made it worth it. The violinists didn’t seem eager to leave any time soon. We continued being captivated by the music, enjoying the spell, and I decided to wait until after dinner to tell her how I felt, during a walk, and before we headed home.

  “How about a romantic walk under the moonlight?” I asked.

  “That sounds good,” she said, smiling at me as I held my hand out for her after we’d got up from our table, paid our farewells to the violinists and Giovanni.

  We put our coats on, and Rose let me lead her out, a glint of sadness in her eyes. Outside, crisp November air hit us. She let go of my hand once we were on the sidewalk.

  The wolf’s wet nose nudged me, urgently. Twice.

  Thrice.

  I get it, I get it.

  It was time.

  We ambled along in the cold night, passing by other couples holding hands and people rushing to get home. Eventually, we reached a park and turned to walk under the trees. There was no moonlight, too many clouds, but at least it wasn’t raining.

  Rose was quiet, but then again, so was I.

  Just go for it.

  Just tell her.

  Now.

  “Rose, I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together—” I started, wanting to tell her that I didn’t want it to end. That I loved her.

  Instead, she surprised me when she cut me off.

  “Miles, we should talk about our breakup story.”

  37

  ROSE

  Miles looked at me with a blank expression.

  “We need a breakup story,” I said.

  “Ah.”

  “In case I see your family or friends one day, and they ask me what happened.” I shrugged my shoulders, feeling small droplets of rain on my forehead.


  Miles nodded his head and looked down toward his feet. He tucked his hands into his pockets, taking no notice of the rain. He didn’t say a word.

  “We can’t ignore the fact that our contract ends tomorrow,” I continued, “and I’ll be leaving.”

  “What?” he asked, looking up.

  I hadn’t told him about my new apartment and my other plans yet. The truth was that I hadn’t told him, because I was scared—I was scared of my feelings for him. Because I didn’t want to see how okay he was with me leaving. I didn’t want to leave. I’d had the best six months of my life, and my heart was breaking because I had to leave—I couldn’t stay. Problem was, even if Miles, for some crazy reason, wanted me to stay—trust me, he didn’t—and I, for some crazy reason, said “yes,” I knew what would happen. Soon, everything would go back to normal, he’d realize that he didn’t actually want this fake life we’d been living, that he wanted his freedom back, and sooner or later, he’d ask me to leave anyway.

  He’d once told me that his freedom had always been more important to him than love, and I’d never forgotten that. I couldn’t risk having my heart broken over it. I felt like such a coward, hating myself for it. But I had to leave.

  When Miles started saying he enjoyed our time together, I knew—that was it.

  He was going to thank me for my help and send me on my way.

  I couldn’t handle that.

  It was pitiful, I know. But I’m sure I would’ve cried my little heart out or something and embarrassed the hell out of myself. Truth was, I’d fallen for Miles, and hard. Even though I told myself numerous times not to… it was inevitable.

  We had so much fun together! We lived so well together. The love he showed little Princess Muffin Patch made me melt. The little cutie pie could hardly leave his side! Just everything about the past few months was special, even when we annoyed each other with little squabbles about the almond milk being left out or which movie to watch. It was never a big deal, because we always found a way to turn it into something fun.