The Fabricated Fiance

By R.M. Walker

When Alice receives a phone call from her father who hasn't spoken to her for five years, she's filled with grief, anger, and frustration.

Emotions overwhelm her and she tells him a lie he calls her out on.

Now, Alice has three days to find a devoted fiancè to accompany her to her grandpa's funeral, or prove to her parents she's as wicked and sinful as they think she is.

Emotions and humiliation she's worked hard to bury resurface as she's thrust back into the religious community that publicly shamed and shunned her at seventeen.

When her boss, Beck, discovers the lie she's told he comes up with a solution. One which should solve all her problems. He will be her fabricated fiancè for the weekend.

But Alice has a secret.

She's been in love with Beck for years. But knowing he's gay she's resigned to loving him from the sidelines.

Can Alice keep her secret from him? Especially when Beck insists on playing the devoted fiancè?

Will she handle the pain of seeing her parents again, knowing that they and everyone else in the religion will treat her as if she doesn't exist?

Alice will need to dig deep for control over her emotions, or she will lose everything she's worked hard for. Including her friendship with Beck.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.M. Walker
• Release date: Jul 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201239985

R.M. Walker

About the Author RM Walker has spent her entire life dreaming up tales of fairies, witchcraft, magic, and romance when she should have been concentrating on other things. Having a head full of fantasy, she decided to turn her dreams into stories for others to read. She hopes that you will enjoy them as much as she loves spinning them. You can find RM Walker online and she promises not to bite. https://www.facebook.com/rm.walker.180 https://twitter.com/AuthorRMWalker https://rmwalkersite.wordpress.com https://www.instagram.com/boshomengro

Book preview

Prologue

A lice? It’s your father speaking.

Dad? Is that you? My knees buckled, and I slumped onto the edge of my sofa.

Five years had passed since I’d last heard his voice. A million emotions rolled through me. Hope being the strongest.

I just said it, didn’t I? Who else would I be?

His curt tone sliced through the hope and dread took its place.

What’s happened? What’s wrong? I asked.

If you give me a few seconds, I can tell you. Just listen.

Sorry. My shoulders dropped.

After discussion with the other elders, your mother and I feel that it’s acceptable for me to contact you. Grandpa died a week ago last Friday. His funeral is this Friday at one pm in Killybrae Crematorium.

His words rammed into my head, and I struggled to make sense of them.

Grandpa? He’s dead? An icy chill crept through me, my chest ached, and tears welled in my eyes.

He had trouble with his heart for a while and died peacefully in his sleep. Your mother thought it best I contacted you before the funeral, however, you won’t be able to attend. It’s too far, too expensive, and too short notice for you.

No, no, it’s not. I’ll be there. I can’t believe it. Grandpa? He was so fit.

A lot can take place in five years. He is safe in God’s memory now. You may not believe anymore, but it was important to him.

Don’t go there. You don’t know what I believe. I didn’t want to do this.

Don’t make this about you, Alice! I’ve told you, and it’s all I called you for. It will be easier if you don’t come up.

Anger exploded through the pain. You mean easier for you, I spat. Worried the black sheep of the family will turn up drunk and make a scene?

You don’t need to be drunk to cause a scene. And you’re proving it now.

I could hear his disapproval and frustration. But I wasn’t a teenager anymore and wouldn’t let him tell me what to do. He’d lost that when he kicked me out of the house at eighteen.

I will be there. Not for you or me, but for him.

He’s dead, Alice. He won’t know anything. Besides, you can’t stay with us, or any of the congregation.

I won’t need to. I can get a room for a couple of nights.

I doubt it. Oban is a tourist area; it’ll be fully booked this time of year. Or at least anywhere that’s affordable for you.

I can afford it. All my insecurities came tumbling back.

On a shop assistant’s wage?

I’m paid very well, I replied. So you do read my texts.

Your mother sees them. She told me. I don’t need to read your texts to know you’ve failed. You chose the wrong path, Alice. Nothing good can come from it.

You’re wrong. I’m doing well. I have an excellent job with a great boss, and I’m happy.

According to your mother, you live in a three-room attic and don’t have a clue what to do with your degrees. Degrees so important you walked away from everyone who loved you, including God.

My degrees have nothing to do with it. And I didn’t walk away. You threw me out, remember?

You refused to repent, Alice. What else were we supposed to do? You sinned and refused to repent. And now I can see nothing has changed in your attitude. You’re still rebellious and stubborn, and no doubt bitter. I’m not asking you, Alice. I’m telling you! Do not come to the funeral on Friday. You are neither invited nor welcome.

His words slid through the connection and slammed into my head. Something snapped deep inside, where all my pain lay buried.

You’re wrong! I’ve never been happier than I am now. My job is the best, and I’m engaged to a brilliant man who I love with all my soul. And he loves me for who I am.

You are? You’ve never mentioned this brilliant man to your mother. Are you lying, Alice? Again, I might add?

I am not! My mouth worked before my brain could engage. And you can meet him on Friday. I will be there, Father.

I ended the call and sank against the sofa. My hands shook as I stared at the dark screen. Tears dripped from my chin onto the blank surface.

It was surreal enough he’d phoned, but his words tore my heart to shreds. I threw the phone onto the coffee table and buried my face in the cushions, letting my emotions rule me.

IT WAS A REAL WHOPPER.

The biggest lie I’d ever told in my life. And I’d told some big ones over the years of growing up.

However, I hadn’t needed to lie for five years. And whilst I wasn’t rusty—judging by the ease it had slid from my tongue—But I was out of practice in getting away with it.

There was no brilliant fiancé.

I had three options.

One, I could go up alone and admit my lie.

Second, I could stay here and not go.

Or third, I could rustle up a fiancé who loved me more than life.

The first one would prove I was a liar. I knew they’d already added lying to my impressive litany of sins, but I didn’t want them to rub my nose in it.

The second would mean I’d forgo the chance to say goodbye to the only person who appeared to care for me.

And the third. Well, the third was nigh on impossible at the best of times. Add in the restriction of only three days to find him, and I had no chance.

My options were crappy. The only part which hadn’t been a lie was my love for a brilliant man.

I was deeply, irrevocably in love with my boss. Connor W. Beckworth. Who also happened to be my landlord. And, to my eternal regret, gay.

He owned the building that housed not only my quaint attic flat but the bookstore I worked in, ‘Beck’s Books.’

Unfortunately, no matter how much I was in love with him, it made no difference to my current problem.

Even though I hadn’t seen them for over five years, their mortality never crossed my mind. But now it sank in. I’d never see my grandpa again. It brought an edge of guilt to my sorrow. I knew, no matter what, I had to go to his funeral. I had to say goodbye or regret it for the rest of my life.

That ruled out option two, leaving me with option one or three. I had three days to ensure option one wasn’t the result.

I just didn’t know where to start.

Chapter One

D id I miss something ? Beck swept his hand over the window display.

I crossed to stand beside him. I arranged the books in what I hoped was an inviting manner on a chequered cloth. Cardboard cut-outs of spiders and cute green monsters surrounded the books. An open food hamper showed plates and plastic fruit. The plastic fruit wasn’t too great, but they weren’t that bad either. I’d found them in a second-hand shop last week and thought they’d look okay. Maybe I was wrong.

Is the fruit too plastic?

No. It looks good. Very eye-catching.

The spiders, then? I was at a loss for whatever he could see.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and his mouth near my ear. I think if we sell that book to children, parents may have a few complaints.

His breath on my ear sent a flurry of tingles through me. But his words brought horror, and I gasped, covering my mouth with my palm.

Instead of ‘Monster Munchies’, a grade two reading book, I’d used the latest horror book, ‘Whispers in the Dark’.

A few? Good Lord. I hastened to pick up the books, sending a few spiders tumbling over.

What’s wrong. Alice?

I can’t read or need glasses. I’m sorry.

That wasn’t my problem, lying to my father was. Couple with spending hours, including a sleepless night, agonising over what I would do. And I only had till Friday.

This is the third mistake today. I don’t think it’s glasses you need.

I stared at him, clutching the horror novels to my chest. More? What else have I done?

Nothing major. He smiled at me. Just unusual for you. You seem to have forgotten your alphabet for the nature studies section, and you put the history books on the civil war into the arts and craft area. I had two confused students this morning.

I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.

It doesn’t matter if it does, he said. What matters is—

The bell above the shop rang as a young mother and her child came in.

Change the books and then put the kettle on. We’ll stop for a break. He patted my shoulder and turned to the customer.

I was allowing my personal problems to affect my job, and that wasn’t on. I was letting him down and all because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Maybe he’d sack me.

Don’t be ridiculous, Alice.

He wouldn’t fire me for a few mistakes. If I’d done it on purpose, then he might. Or if I’d stolen from the cash register. But not for a few mistakes.

I finished putting the correct books on the display when the bell sounded again. Beck was still talking in the children’s section.

How can I help? I straightened.

Two women came over, wide smiles on their faces.

Hi, yes. Could we leave these with you? Just something to read on your breaks. The older one brought out a magazine from the bag on her shoulder.

Can you survive God’s Judgement Day?

The words emblazoned in scarlet over the top of a picture made my heart freeze. Stormy skies split by lightning reigned fire and hailstones on the ruins of destroyed buildings. People running, their faces contorted with fear and anger. Others lay broken and bloody on the ground. A woman was crying, clutching a dead child to her chest.

I looked away, nausea rising in my throat, and I clenched my hands to stop the shake.

What were the odds?

What were the bloody odds?

Two reminders in two days.

Was this God saying, come back? Or was it him saying, don’t bother, you’re the one on the ground?

More likely it wasn’t him at all, just coincidence. Horrid timing and my usual rotten luck.

I wanted nothing to do with this. I didn’t want to touch it, read it, or dream about it.

I just wanted them to go away.

Are you okay? The woman tilted her head, and I caught her gaze.

You can’t talk to me. You shouldn’t talk to me. I’m... I couldn’t bring myself to say the word.

Realisation replaced her smile, and she put the magazine into her bag.

I’m sorry, we weren’t told. We’ll leave. She turned, and tugging her companion, they went to the door.

A rush of memories I’d boxed away in the dark recesses of my mind threatened to break free, and I stamped on them.

Work. Don’t think.

I put the correct books on display this time. But the spiders needed arranging, and the apples had rolled out of place. I refused to think of anything whilst I fixed it. It looked fine on this side of the glass. I just needed to check what people looking in would see.

I opened the shop door as the women were coming out of the café opposite, and my heart rate soared. I shut the door and retreated to the relative safety of Beck’s office which also doubled as our break room.

Work. Don’t think.

I’d adopted the mantra when I first entered university after leaving home. Repeating the words would stop the endless cycle of thoughts so I could concentrate on my studies.

My hands were betraying me as I poured water into our mugs. I didn’t want Beck seeing me like this. I’d made enough mistakes already.

Work, don’t think.

I like that ethos to a certain extent. Beck came in, leaving the door open, and sat behind his desk.

What ethos? I picked up his tea and had to use two hands to set it in front of him.

Work. Don’t think, he replied and took a sip of tea, his gaze holding mine. First part is fine. Second? Not so much.

I said it out loud? I got my coffee on the table with no incidents and sat opposite him.

Muttered repeatedly, would be a more accurate description. I assume the women weren’t looking for a book?

No. I got up to fetch the biscuit tin. This wasn’t his problem. It never had been, and I’d never told him or anyone else. Not even the friends I’d made in university.

They don’t come around here anymore. Well, they didn’t. He took two biscuits and set them on the writing pad in front of him. Funnily enough, they knocked on my door last Saturday. He sipped his tea before continuing. I made the stupid mistake of answering the question they asked.

Don’t ask, don’t. I do not want to know.

What did they ask?

I was an idiot. My mouth always ran ahead of my brain. I took another biscuit. Maybe it would shut me up.

If I knew the Lord’s prayer. I told them I'm of the generation who repeated it every day at school. I let them down gently. They won’t be returning.

I snorted, my mouth once again ignoring my brain. That’s what you think. The slightest bit of interest and they’ll be back.

Sounds like you’re familiar with them. Did you know those women?

No. I don’t know them. I had to change the subject. I’ve finished the display. Sorry about that, it won’t happen again.

And like I said earlier, it doesn’t matter if it does. You’re not perfect, Alice.

I lifted my eyebrow at him, needing some humour. You wound me.

Suck it up, buttercup.

I laughed and finished my biscuit.

It’s a second biscuit day, I see. He helped himself to his third. What’s up, Alice?

Peckish. I forgot breakfast.

You? Forgot breakfast? Okay, so who are you and what have you done with my friend, Alice?

I drained my coffee and sat back in the chair. Okay, I admit it. I overslept.

Now that’s more like it. He leant on his forearms on the desk. Alice, I like to think we’re friends.

We are.

So what’s up? Forget the shop, forget we’re at work. What’s happened?

Why do you think something’s happened? To my disgust, my throat clogged up, and I took another biscuit.

Because I know you. You’re my friend, and I want to help you if I can.

I couldn’t help the laugh that left my throat.

Is the bitterness because you don’t think I’d want to help you? Or because you think you’re past help?

Oh, the latter, believe me. No one can get me out of the mess I’ve made. Or at least, not without getting mud on their face.

Tell me. If I can help, I will. If I can’t, I won’t. Fair deal?

Could I tell him what a colossal fool I’d made of myself? That I’d bare-faced lied? Would he still trust me?

You won’t like me much, I don’t think. I took a fourth biscuit and bit into it, avoiding