Hopeless

He's thirty-five and all man, I'm twenty-two and all . . . virgin. He's also my fiancé. Correction: my fake fiancé.

We start out as a bet. He doesn't believe that anyone holds my last name against me. So he offers me his to prove a point.

It's a win-win. He gets a break from his concerned family's prying, and I get a chance to shed my family's reputation while I save up to ditch this small town.

He says all I have to do is wear his ring, follow his lead, and pretend I can't keep my hands off of him in public.

But it's what happens between us in private that blurs all those carefully drawn lines . . .

It's what transpires behind closed doors that doesn't feel like pretending at all . . .

This engagement was supposed to be for show. This agreement? It has an end date.

He once told me he'd never fall in love.

And yet here I am, head over heels for my fake fiancé.