Backstage: A Fake Marriage Romance

By Abbey Foxx

Pretending doesn't mean it's not real

Sophia

Pressed into the shadows, Ryan's lips tight against mine, I have to convince myself that none of this is real.

When he holds me tightly, I have to hide my trembling hands.

When he kisses me along the tenderness of my neck, it takes all my strength not to moan.

And when he undresses in front of me, I have to pretend I'm looking away so he doesn't see my cheeks flush red.

I have to ignore the way my heart skips a thousand beats, the way my stomach turns around and around in somersaults, that tingly sensation all over my body when he dances his fingers over my sensitive skin.

No matter how much it makes me wonder if he really is pretending, I can't afford to lose myself in that look of pure desire that flashes across his eyes like entire universes compacting.

Even if he does the things to me I've never felt anyone do before, what if I'm wrong?

I can't let myself believe this fake relationship is real, because if it isn't, I don't think my heart could take it.

Ryan and I have an agreement, and I'll do anything not to lose him.

Even if it means I have to pretend I'm not falling in love.

Ryan

This is the kind of stuff that sells newspapers.

On screen couple marry in sham wedding romance, only everyone thinks this is real, and we're so good at it, I'm beginning to wonder myself.

All those looks she gives me, the way her kisses make my entire body throb with desire, the way I can't get her out of my head for a single minute.

A million dollars of inheritance money from a dead great aunt I didn't even know I had and now Sophia and I are married for real, and I can't stop thinking about what it would be like if we'd done it for love and not just for money.

The best thing about this whole agreement?

We need to do everything we can to convince people this relationship is for real otherwise we don't get a single dollar of the money, which means treating each other like husband and wife whenever anyone might be looking.

The problem is, I'm beginning to want to do that more and more behind closed doors, and as much as I want to believe it's true, I have no idea how Sophia feels.

And then she drops a bombshell I had no idea was coming, and our cleverly constructed lie slowly begins to come unravelling apart.

Neither of us can go back to make believe now, even if we wanted to.

This full length, fake relationship, friends to lovers romance features steamy scenes a happy ever after and absolutely no cheating.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbey Foxx
• Release date: Apr 12, 2017
• ISBN: 9781540104205

Book preview

Chapter One

RYAN

I know this is just a practice run for the real thing in a few weeks time but it’s still enough to get my heartbeat racing so fast I feel like I’ve just chain drunk a gallon of coffee. I’m not usually the kind of person that gets nervous, especially not during rehearsals, and definitely not amongst friends, but with Sophia it’s a different thing entirely. Beyond the fact that she’s the most beautiful girl I think I’ve ever seen, she also seems to be absolutely perfect for me in almost every way, which is truly terrifying because no-one else in the history of the universe has ever made me feel this way before.

Based on the feedback we’re getting so far, I’m not the only one who thinks we’ve got some kind of special chemistry going on either, and anyone who thought before this all began that I wasn’t good enough to make this work - and there are plenty of people who did, believe me - couldn’t possibly look at us both now (my heart beating wildly, my pupils dilating, my palms about as sweaty as they’ve ever been) and say that I’m not the perfect man for this role.

The celebrant continues: Ryan Carter Speed do you take Sophia Grace Moreaux to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish her for as long as you both shall live?

I do, I say without hesitation, while Sophia continues to look at me with her doe-eyes, the sexual tension between us about as thick as a concrete wall.

She’s so natural at this whole thing, I can’t tell if she’s consciously biting her lower lip because she knows the effect it will have on me and everyone else watching, or if it’s just something she’s doing subconsciously like the handful of other things I’ve noticed over the course of our short but intense relationship that have made me fall head over heels in love with her. Whichever is true, it’s totally working, because it’s making me want to skip straight through this entire ceremony and get right on to the consummation.

And you, Sophia Grace Moreaux, do you take Ryan Carter Speed to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish him for as long as you both shall live?

Hell yes, I do, Sophia says with a look in her gorgeous chocolate brown eyes that spells danger in huge block capitals I would run blindly into any day of the week.

We skip the section with the rings, partly because they haven’t been finished yet and partly because we haven’t decided how we want to handle it anyway, and head straight towards the finale. No matter how many times I hear this, and how much I know it isn’t for real, this part always gives me the shivers.

And now, with the power vested in me by the state of New York, the celebrant says, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.

I embrace Sophia, turn around quickly so she falls into my arms and lean over, my lips inches from hers. I can feel the warmth of her breath on my skin, the heat of her body pressed up against mine, and I wonder if the color in her cheeks is because of the blood rushing to her head from the way she’s leaning over or simply because the passion I’m feeling from her truly is real.

She’s so good at this I could easily be mistaken, which is why this whole thing feels so dangerous.

Sophia smiles and breaks character, and before I even have a chance to peck her innocently on the cheek, the director, Marshall, the producer, Sally, and the rest of the actors start clapping.

I bring Sophia back up to a standing position and then step politely away from her to give us both some space.

Good, Marshall says. Better that time, Ryan, you’re improving.

I have every confidence that my feelings for Sophia are coming across as loudly and as clearly as emergency sirens, principally because I’m doing exactly the opposite of what they think I am. The acting part starts now, when Sophia and I are not in our roles, and I have to convince her I’m definitely not in love with her.

Excellent, Sophia, Marshall says. I really felt a connection from you then. Right, five minutes break and we’ll go again from the top.

I take a seat and try to get myself quickly into role before Sophia comes over and joins me.

That was good, she says. I think we’re definitely getting there.

I still think I’m way out of my depth, I say. And I need to run over the vows again, I messed that part up, I think.

That’s what the rehearsals are for, Sophia says. The rest was really convincing, though, especially for the small amount of preparation time we’ve had.

I guess I’m just a natural, I say in a made up accent, trying my best to look like I’m joking, and I think it works because Sophia gives me one of her cute little laughs.

It feels weird getting married over and over again, especially when they use our real names, Sophia says.

That and the reason Marshall doesn’t want us to kiss until the opening show are elements of his directorial style. He thinks that using our real names in rehearsal makes it easier for us to get into character, and to be fair, it’s not that unusual at this early stage of the production, while the idea of holding back a kiss until the very first night is an attempt to build up tension between us, which I can’t say isn’t working. I have a severe case of blue lips right now, and the moment when we finally get to kiss on opening night is the point that I’m looking forward to the most about this whole performance. The play is fun, but I know that getting to kiss Sophia for real, even though she’s going to be kissing me back in character, is going to make everything else we’ve done in the lead up pale in comparison.

At least he doesn’t want us to do it for real, I say. I wouldn’t actually put that past him.

Marshall Grange, New York’s most method theatre director, Sophia says. Getting his actors to marry for real might even be one step too far for him.

Don’t say it too loudly, I say, you don’t want to give him ideas.

Why? Don’t you think I’d make a good wife? Sophia says, over-acting a hurt reaction.

Terrible, I say with a smile, I’ve tasted the cookies you’ve baked.

Hey! Sophia says, that was the recipe’s fault, and don’t be so old fashioned anyway. I’d make an amazing wife, if I ever found the right guy to marry.

Still no luck on the New york dating scene then? I ask.

Sophia shakes her head. My characters all seem to have better luck than me.

What about Johnny? I ask, purposely mis-naming him in an attempt to disguise my interest.

Jack? Sophia asks.

Him, I say, faking a reaction to the anticipated correction.

That asshole borrowed five hundred bucks two weeks ago to fix his car and I haven’t heard from him since. Even if he doesn’t know it yet, we’re totally over.

Damn, I say, secretly happy she’s not still seeing him. I always thought that guy was a little bit creepy.

You’re not the only one, Sophia says. I should have listened to what everyone was saying and ended it way before then anyway. I’m not quite as strong a character in real life as I am in here.

Well, whether that’s true or not, you can do so much better than people like Jack, I say. I’m surprised men aren’t queueing up to ask you out.

Sophia smiles. Real life doesn’t work that way, Ryan, she says. Cinderella doesn’t always find her prince charming, unfortunately. That’s the thing that Marshall doesn’t seem to get about this love story, as real as he’s trying to make it.

Don’t tell me you don’t believe in true love, I ask.

Sophia wrinkles up her nose in the way that makes my stomach tighten. You mean like love at first sight, one perfect person in the world for everyone, me and you in this play kind of true love? she asks.

Exactly that, I say. With less of those real-life, everyday arguments Marshall has written in for us.

No, I believe that, she says. I just don’t think it believes in me.

I can’t imagine anyone in the world not falling in love with Sophia to be honest, because after five minutes in her company I was totally sold. I’m sure I’m not the first person to feel that way either and I bet I’m not the only one now. How could you fail to fall in love with this girl? She’s talented, incredibly good looking, funny and extremely smart. The fact that she doesn’t have a serious love interest in her life yet is both surprising and very relieving for me.

Being her husband in this play and being secretly in love with her at the same time makes our own relationship with each other horribly confusing. If it were any other girl I’d have asked her out straight away, but only because any other girl doesn’t matter as much as this one.

When I say Sophia is the perfect girl for me, I’m not underestimating that in any way, and it has nothing to do with our on stage relationship either. Leading men and women fall in love with their on screen partners all the time only for those relationships to fall apart when the show is over, and they realize they’ve just fallen in love with the characters and not the actors, but I’m convinced that’s not what’s happening here.

Even if I could somehow pluck up the courage to do so, asking her out now would be far too weird anyway, because I’ve already left it way too long. If she turned me down, which is highly likely considering I have absolutely no frame of reference for how she feels about me, it would totally mess up this play for both of us, not to mention any kind of friendship we might have outside of it. Besides which, there’s every chance she’ll think I’m joking anyway, which makes telling her how I feel for real, absolutely impossible. It also makes the scenes in this play in which I do exactly that, one hundred percent surreal.

As much as it kills me to do so, sitting on my feelings until the production is over and both of us have a better idea of where we stand with each other in the true light of day, is probably the most sensible option. Or at least it would be if Sophia’s student visa didn’t happen to be running out as well.

That’s right. The love of my life has to be from an entirely different country, and one that needs a permanent visa to remain in the States. I guess fairy stories really are all bullshit after all.

Time, Marshall calls out. Let’s go back to the top, act one, scene one, Sophia and Ryan meet for the very first time.

Sophia springs into step and I fall right in behind her, the way her hips move as she walks making looking at anything else but her ass an absolute impossibility.

I would give anything in the world to be with her, but I guess if nothing ever happens between us for real, at least I get to pretend.

Chapter Two

RYAN

Not everyone in my family is supportive of my acting career, especially when I’ve given up a perfectly normal, highly respectable and well paid job in the city to chase my dream, and I’m still about a million miles from making it big. If I had the time outside of this to get another job I would, principally because the last of my savings have already run out and the rent isn’t going to pay for itself, but I’m in rehearsals five days a week, and learning lines or working on smaller gigs as often as possible outside of that and there is no way in hell I’m going to give up on this career completely when I’m just about finding some success with it - and I don’t just mean I’ve finally landed a role I can fulfil my fantasy in. Besides which, working in the city may pay well, it just sucks in every other respect, and acting is way more fun, especially when I get to spend every day with Sophia.

Anyone who doesn’t work in a creative field has no idea what it’s really like to do it, hence my parents continued belief that I spend all day sleeping and all night partying, despite my constant insistence to the contrary, and that until they actually see me in something big (broadway/literary review/blockbuster film alongside A list Hollywood stars), they’ll think I’m wasting my time.

Having people around who understand that it’s actually really hard work is incredibly important, and like my parents, my landlord isn’t one of them. Thankfully my best friend, Alex is.

That all sounds very meta, Alex says. Are you sure it’s not just an extension of this method acting bullshit he’s got you doing? You know, kind of like you’ve been brainwashed into thinking this is going on inside your head for real.

Understanding, but not exactly the best at giving advice.

I know how I feel, I say. I just don’t know how she feels.

Then you should invite her over here, you know, after you clear the place up a little, and put on the Ryan Carter Speed dating charm.

Yeah, and no, that’s not going to happen, I say. Maybe after the production is over.

Maybe after the production is over you won’t have anywhere to invite her, Alex says, holding up the third letter from my landlord that says, RENT OVERDUE in such big letters across the top there’s barely any other room for the threat of legal action that follows. I take the letter from him and put it with the others.

It’s standard procedure, I say, he’s not going to kick me out.

I hope not, Alex says. I’d hate for you to have to get a real job again, I like telling people I meet that I know one of the guys that stands in union square covered in silver paint.

Once, I say. I did that once.

I’m not the right person to be giving you advice anyway, Alex says. All of my relationships turn into tragedies in the end.

That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m trying to avoid here, I say, but I have no idea how to do it.

Well I know this might sound a little radical, especially coming from such a deep thinking accountant as myself, but maybe you should try and spend a bit of time with her away from the theatre.

You don’t think condensing a six year relationship that culminates in a marriage into an hour and a half isn’t good enough?

Alex looks sarcastically at me over the top of his beer glass.

We go for lunch, I say. And we’ve been out as a group.

That’s good, do more of that, Alex says. That’s exactly the kind of thing you’d tell me to do.

It’s not that easy, she always seems like she’s got stuff to do, and she was seeing that jerk Jack for a while.

Alex puts his hands up into the air theatrically, Not anymore, he says in a thespian voice, the path has been cleared for your arrival, your majesty.

You know you’re wasted in accounting, I say.

That’s exactly why I come half way across Brooklyn on a school night to help you with your lines.

You come half way across Brooklyn to see me because you hate your roommates, I point out.

I resent that implication, Alex says. Even if Troy is a masterful ass-hole.

There’s always the couch, I say, I could do with the rent.

As much as I’d love to, my back couldn't take it, Alex says. And you’re about a million miles away from where I work.

Quit your job, become an acting bum like me, I think I’ve still got some of that silver paint left over somewhere.

No, I couldn’t risk it, Alex says. What if I made it big and Hollywood came calling? That would destroy you and I’d feel so guilty.

Again, I think you are absolutely wasted as an accountant, I say.

Alex takes another beer from the fridge and sits down on the sofa. Chicks dig accountants, he says, it’s an unavoidable fact of life. Money makes women wet.

So how come all of your relationships end in tragedies? I ask, taking another beer for myself and joining him.

I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long time, Alex says. I guess I’ve just got bad luck.

Six times in a row? I ask.

At least I want to stay with the same girl, Alex says.

I get the copies of the script and pass one over to him. You’re the mafia boss, Vincent, I say. I’m Carlos, his number one hitman, and they’re arguing over money. And I’m a completely different person now by the way.

She must be impressive, Alex says. Don’t tell me you’re falling in love.

Don’t be stupid, I say. That would be reckless and ridiculous.

Especially with an illegal immigrant.

She’s French, Alex, she’s not an illegal immigrant. She’s here perfectly legally on a student visa.

Which is going to run out soon, Alex points out.

Are you trying to make this difficult for me?

Alex holds his hands up passively again. I just don’t want to see you hurting yourself, that’s all, especially on your first time around. Being in love sucks if the other person doesn’t feel the same way, take it from me. I know you’re a serial dater and a long time ladies man, but I’m a serial relationship man, and I have more than one experience of a broken heart. I know you won’t listen to my advice anyway, which considering my track record is perfectly understandable, but don’t get involved in something you can’t see through to the end, because a broken heart sucks balls.

I’m not in love with her, Alex, I lie. Vincent, the mafia boss, I add, jabbing the front page of the script. If we don’t get this done tonight I’ll have no chance in the screen test tomorrow.

Capiche, Alex says, in a phony Italian accent, his finger and thumb together to gesticulate at me wildly. I’ve always wanted to be in the mafia.

Less Godfather more Sopranos, I say. Otherwise we’ll never get through this. Page twenty-two.

Alex takes a sip of his beer and readies himself. When can I meet her? he asks.

The same night as everyone else, I say. When we’re up there on the stage and doing it for real.

Alex gives me a serious look.

What? I ask.

I just never thought I’d see the day, that’s all, he says. The woman that takes Ryan Carter Speed off the market.

I jab the script again. Read, I say, or no more beer.

Just saying, Alex says. And you heard it here first, of course.

Finally he turns the page. Carlos, he begins, in an Italian accent that’s way too thick but  not problematic enough for me to stop him, you’re like a brother to me. We grew up in the same neighborhood, we fell in with the same crowd, we fought on the same team. We—.

My cell phone ringing cuts his hammy performance short. I can’t work in these conditions, he says in response, throwing the script to the sofa jokingly. That better be your agent.

It’s Dad, I say, looking at the caller ID. He only ever calls me when it’s something urgent.

We’re supposed to be working here, Alex complains.

This won’t take long, I say, putting the call through, half expecting him to have pressed the number in error. Dad?

Ryan, he says, his voice sombre. Do you have a minute? I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.

Chapter Three

RYAN

I’m missing the bedroom scene with Sophia to stare at some dead lady I never even knew get lowered ungracefully into a hole in the earth. Apparently great aunt Caroline is dead, and even though I can’t remember a single occasion of her being mentioned before, Dad has insisted I come to offer my support, which apparently roughly translates to making up the numbers.

I could be lying alongside Sophia in that giant double bed the props department has constructed specifically for our night-time scenes, but I’m here instead in the pouring rain - why does it always seem to be raining at funerals? - while our always eager understudy, Brad, will undoubtedly be keeping my side of the bed as warm as recently popped toast.

I guess that’s the thing with funerals, if someone asks you to come, you can’t exactly turn around and refuse them, even if the woman they’re burying happens to be a complete stranger to you, and there is something infinitely more interesting happening somewhere else in the city. Pouring rain or a semi-naked Sophia Moreaux? I know which I would choose if I could, especially because now that he’s here, Dad looks just as bored as I do.

When the thing is finally over, we make our way to a nearby restaurant for the wake, where the sandwiches have been