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I blink a few times. “Really? I haven’t explained the details yet. Surely, you need to run this by your publicist.”
“It’s an interview and a photo shoot, right?”
“Yes. About your personal life, career, style, and so on. If I win, you’ll be on the cover.”
“Sounds good. If you go out with me in public and pretend we’re dating, I’ll do the interview. When is it due?”
“The deadline to enter is the end of May. We’d have to conduct the interview and photo shoot this month to give me time to edit it.”
He nods. “Sure, I can make it work.”
“Okay. Then you have yourself a deal.” I bend over the coffee table to shake his hand, then pull it back slightly. “Wait,” I say. “What’s our breakup date? How long do we keep up the charade?”
“Until the end of the season? Premier League usually ends mid-June, but it’d be the end of June if we make it to the finale of the Champions League.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Isn’t the Premier League the same as the Champions League?”
“No. The Premier League is the leading football competition in England, and the Champions League is a European cup featuring the best European teams,” he explains with practised calm.
“Okay. And do you usually make it to the finale?”
“We haven’t been finalists in a few years, but we have an amazing team. We’re enjoying a great season, so I think it’s a fair possibility.”
I realise this is the first time I’ve had such a civilised conversation about football. The few instances I expressed interest at home, Liam shushed me or told me I couldn’t understand any of it, claiming that football is for guys.
“Okay, then. Mid or end of June, and then it’s over.” With that, we shake hands. I was expecting his skin to be rough since he’s an athlete, but it’s surprisingly soft. I wonder if he uses moisturiser.
“Don’t worry. I’ll let you down easy.” He winks, his grey eyes teasing.
I give him my best fake smile. “Thanks, babe.”
He claps his knee. “Right. I’ll have my lawyer send over a contract summarising the terms we just agreed on. I’m afraid it’s a formality we can’t bypass, and it’ll include a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Aww, you’re such a romantic. I’m so lucky you’re my boyfriend.”
“Any time.” He gets up and walks to the door. “Are you free this weekend? Saturday night, dinner?”
I was supposed to stay home cuddling with Karl in our new flat, so yeah, I’m free. I guess dinner with my fake boyfriend is a fair consolation prize. “I am,” I say, opening the door.
He tucks his cap back on. “Great. I’ll send you a text to confirm when I’ll pick you up.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you’d already have my number.”
“Bye,” he says, flashing his smile before turning and stepping onto the sidewalk. My eyes have a mind of their own and innocently wander to his firm buttocks.
Maybe fake dating Wade Hunter won’t be the worst thing in the world.
5
First Dates are Always Awkward
Roxy
Doing a feature piece on Wade Hunter is a bold move. Hopefully, one that will win me the contest this year. I looked it up—never before has a man, alone, been on the cover of Fashion Warehouse. So it’s either make or break. But it’s not like I have anything to lose, really. I’ve been submitting entries for three years, and I’ve lost every time to Melanie Wilson. Once with her feature on actress Winifred Tolkin, and again with her pieces on Princess Eleanor and Princess Sophie. I’ve always featured unknown models, not having the connections to score a celebrity. I relied on the quality of the article alone. I was runner-up twice, though. So, maybe I truly can win this time. Wade Hunter isn’t a woman, but apparently, he’s England’s golden boy, so there’s that.
The contract his lawyer sent over was pretty straightforward. I have to see him once a week, more in case of special circumstances. What really sucks? I am forbidden from talking about the nature of our engagement to anyone, including my family and friends. I can’t blab to the press, either. I hate lying, but it’s only until the end of June—tops. It shouldn’t be too bad. To top it all off, just when I was starting to second-guess everything, Karl sent me a text asking when we could meet up. So, I did what any reasonable woman who’s just found out her dream guy is engaged to somebody else would do—I signed on the three dotted lines to score myself a pretend boyfriend.
On Saturday night, I finish up my evening look with some light makeup. Wade and I are going out to dinner. I don’t know where we’re headed, but since paparazzi are expected, I need to look my best. My blonde hair has a nice shine to it, and the curls are perfectly defined, thanks to the new mask I’m testing for the beauty department. When I went shopping yesterday, I found an emerald-green pleated skirt that flattens my love handles and hides my bum and thighs. I paired it with a simple black sweater to highlight my chest and slim-ish waist.
