Signed Copy - Falling For Your Fake Fiancé by Emma St. Clair

CHAPTER ONE SAMPLE

Thayden

“Go over it again,” I demand, leaning my elbows on my massive mahogany desk. The wood surface is completely bare, since I swept the contents onto the floor after reading the clause my father added to his will. 

Scott pushes his black glasses up his hawkish nose, blinking rapidly. “I’ve read it twice. Unless there’s a message in invisible ink, it says what I told you: if you want to keep the firm, you have three months to get married and must stay married for at least one year. Otherwise …”

“The Walker Firm goes to Duke.” My lip curls as I say his name. 

“Yes.” 

I groan. Yeah, that’s what I thought it said. I was just hoping Scott might see something different. Like, a bold JUST KIDDING! somewhere in the middle. But my dad was never one for joking. 

Humor? Not a chance. Making a joke of my life? Sure. 

I’m a lawyer and shouldn’t need another lawyer to read through a simple contract. But my vision turned red the moment I got past the second paragraph. I was ready to light the thing on fire, right here at my desk when Scott, one of only three people I legitimately like at the firm, walked in. He tried to back out, seeing the rage on my face and the contents of my desk on the floor, but I forced him to stay and pick through my father’s will with me. 

Maybe for most guys, this document wouldn’t carry with it the sound of a death knell. Would it be unwelcome? Of course. I don’t know any guy who wants to have their father meddle in their love life, much less place a binding contract about their livelihood on their marital status. 

But, me? I’m the last guy alive any woman should want to marry. And I had zero intentions of getting married. Ever.

Oh, you want reasons? Maybe you should sit down for this. We could be here a while. 

Forget that. I’ll keep it short and sweet, narrowing it down to the top two. 

Reasons why Thayden Walker is Unmarriable: 

Reason #1 - I’ve been around the block. And back. Then, around the neighborhood. I’ve heard that the kind of women who want to settle down aren’t too keen on that. 

Don’t think I’m proud of this, either. 

Maybe there was a time I didn’t think much of my casual dating. Now, at thirty-three … I guess I’ve matured into a different way of thinking. I haven’t really dated or kissed or anything-ed a woman in over a year. Unfortunately, the past doesn’t just vanish. It’s a dog at my heels. Only, I’m the dog in this scenario. 

Girls want to marry princes, not canines. 

Reason #2 - (and this is the biggie) I don’t want to get married. 

Partly to save women from a guy like me (See? I can be thoughtful!) but also because I can’t imagine finding a woman that I’d want to wake up to every morning. I should know. 

Not once have I been sorry to say goodbye to a woman. I’ve never missed anyone, never longed for something more serious, more committed. No woman—other than my mother and my housekeeper—has set foot inside my home. I’m happy living alone. Well, alone save for my almost two-hundred-pound dog. He’s all the company I need. 

Which leaves me in the no-man’s-land somewhere between playboy and monk. I don’t want to date casually the way I’ve done in the past. But I also don’t want to settle down. That isn’t going to change just because my dead daddy says I have to. 

This is like one last trick pulled from his supersized bag of dirty tricks. When he died, I thought there might be some relief for me, from the control he had over almost every aspect of my life. But even now, he’s pressing that thumb down on my life. And, of course, he wrote Duke in as motivation. Dad knew how much I hated his good buddy, a partner that I avoid as often as I can. 

“And Duke knows?” 

Scott sighs. “It says that he’s been made aware.” 

“Because Dad knew Duke would fight me if I tried to find a way out.” 

Courts hate inheritance clauses like this. A judge might throw the whole thing out. But Duke could fight me for months. Years. And he would. Even if he lost in the end, he would do it just to drain my time and resources. 

I bet Duke has already turned his office down the hall into a war room, assembling a team to look at this same document, planning how he’ll fight me. I’m sure he’s salivating at the prospect of taking the Walker Firm from me. He probably wouldn’t even change the name, keeping it as Walker just to rub it in my face. 

“I need a loophole,” I tell Scott. “A good one. You’re good at those. Find one.” 

I give Scott my harshest look. Too bad I’m better at charming people than scaring them.

Scott stares back at me helplessly. I may not run this law firm—yet, thanks to this ridiculous clause—but he’s still below me, hoping to make partner one day. So, he has to cater to my whims, however impossible. 

“I doubt that there’s anything in here—”

“Find something.” My growly voice sends Scott scurrying out the door. 

I call my mother the moment he’s gone. “What was he thinking?” I say, in lieu of hello. 

Mom sighs. I suspected that she knew, but that bone-weary sound confirms it. Disappointment is such an ugly feeling. Is it too much to ask that my own mother wasn’t aware of this plan? 

“He loved you,” she says, her tone pleading, already defending the man who’s getting a good laugh from the grave. 

“This isn’t love,” I manage to grind out, my teeth clenching. 

She sighs. “Love takes many forms.”

“Love doesn’t hold things over people’s heads until they obey. Love isn’t a puppet master making his wooden son dance.”

Love wouldn’t put a stipulation in its will forcing someone to get married if they want to take over the family firm. Love wouldn’t still be haunting me after death. 

But that’s exactly what my father has done. For years, he manipulated, orchestrated, and pretended like he was the mob boss and I was his neighborhood to control. 

I should be grieving, not feeling a building resentment. It’s only been a few weeks since he died. 

Mom sniffs. “Don’t say things like that about him, Thayden. It’s not right.” 

If you can’t speak ill of the dead, when can you speak ill of them? Seems like the perfect time to me. And everything I’ve said is true. I know Mom is hurting, but how can she keep taking his side? It feels like such an affront. 

But Mom sticks to this party line. His party line. She always has, even now. 

“Plenty of people marry for reasons other than love. Why couldn’t you find a nice girl and just decide to take the plunge? Marriage isn’t so bad.” She laughs a little. 

“I don’t want to get married,” I say. “Not ever. And definitely not because Daddy says so.”

Her voice brightens. Always an optimist, my mother. 

“Well, it’s unconventional, but you could find a woman to be your wife in name. Separate bedrooms, separate bank accounts. Who knows? Maybe you’d end up falling in love over time.”

I’m not touching that last part with a ten-foot pole. Sure, I’ll fall for a woman I’m forced to marry. Sounds reasonable and realistic. 

“Wife in name only. Right. I’ll get on that ASAP. Should be easy to find someone willing to pretend to marry me.”

“You’d have to actually marry her, but it shouldn’t be hard to find someone willing. I could make a few calls …” 

“Really, Mom? I’m surprised at you, willing to defile the sanctity of marriage. And also, it sounds like you’re pretty familiar with this document Dad drew up. Thanks for the heads-up.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Too long. 

“I love you,” Mom says, finally. 

She sounds miserable, and my gut twists. I know Mom means well. But is it bad that I question the veracity of that statement? Because love doesn’t look like standing by as your husband spends his life terrorizing your son. Never physically, mind you. I firmly believe Mom would have left at the first sign of violence. 

He may never have struck me, but the wounds my father left are buried much deeper. Just as painful, or maybe more since they don’t fade like bruises. Invisible, unless you know where to look. And Mom clearly doesn’t know where to look. 

She has always been kind to me. A bright beacon of cheer. Unlike Dad, she’s a good person. But with one fatal flaw: him. I thought maybe we could have a different relationship now that he’s gone. I shouldn’t be surprised that even in death, he’s driving a wedge between us. 

“I just want you to be happy,” Mom says. “And yes, I would love for you to settle down. Maybe you could start out with an arrangement and it could blossom into something—”

“I love you, Mom.” 

My words are true. Even if I’m saying them to stop her from spouting nonsense about faking a marriage. 

That’s the sting of it. I do love her. And in a messed-up way, I even loved Dad. I know I cared far more than I should have about his opinions, even if I resisted them. My eyes burn with the fresh reminder that he’s gone. I did love him, despite it all, though I’m not convinced he ever loved me. 

But I don’t have time to dawdle or pick apart that thought. Because now, Mom is playing matchmaker. 

“I know this very sweet woman, the daughter of a friend. She’s an incredible cook. Has a little bit of a shopping addiction, and some debt.” She laughs a little. “But who doesn’t have debt these days?”

“Mm-hm. Any other eligible bachelorettes you want to send my way? Maybe ones without a terrible credit score, looking to cash in?” 

She hesitates. “There’s another woman I met recently. No debt that I know of. And other than the face tattoo—” 

“You’re recommending I marry someone with a face tattoo?”

“Looks are only skin-deep.” 

I laugh. “In this case, literally.” 

“Thayden.”

“Mom.” 

For a moment, we’re both silent. And then, we’re laughing. Nothing about this is funny. And I mean, nothing. 

Dad is dead. He’s trying to force me to get married rather than passing on the family business I’ve worked for my whole life. And Mom is suggesting that I fake marry someone with a face tattoo. Which has to be a joke. 

“I better go, Mom. Need to start the hunt for a suitable wife. Do you think Craigslist is a good place to start? Maybe Facebook Marketplace?” 

“Thayden James Walker!” 

“Love you, Mom!” 

And on that note, I disconnect that call. I have work to do and a wife to find, one willing to marry an unmarriable man.

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