The Photographer's Fake Fiancé (A Contemporary Interracial Romance): UnReal Marriage, #4

By Tasha Hart

James had his dream job...

 

Too bad his parents didn't care. They were crotchety old people that called James and told him that if he wasn't going to run the family business, then he needed to get married or kiss his inheritance buh-bye.

 

Face it. This white boy is screwed, and not in a fun way.

 

Or is he? Because overhearing all this is Rhonda, an assistant to a fashion designer. This girl has seriously got the hustle because she just walks up to James and admits she was eavesdropping! And to top it off, she tells him that she's got a solution to his problem—she's going to fake marry him and he fund her fashion line.

 

Yup. The fashion industry is hella weird.

 

James is going along with the plan because lets face it, Rhonda is fine. Rhonda doesn't have a problem with the plan because James is handsome as sin and there's a payoff for this Black queen's dreams. But what happens when the payoff stops being money… and becomes love?

 

Discover what happens in this thrilling contemporary interracial romance! Part of the UnReal Marriage series of standalone romances!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summerhouse Publishing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215234068

Book preview

Chapter One

What is it about my mother that always manages to get my blood pressure up? Every time she calls, it feels like we end up on the point of screaming at each other. I’ve already said no.

James, I can hear her struggling to stay calm about everything. Your father and I have indulged this long enough. It’s time to give up this ‘photography’ hobby and come back to Connecticut.

"It’s not a hobby." I hope she can hear my gritted teeth over the phone, but she bowls over me, like always.

Your father is willing to start you in a management position with the fund, and you’ll move up within the next year. That’s final.

"The only final thing about this is my answer—No."

Oh, stop. In her eyes, I never aged past nine. You’re thirty. Now that your madcap twenties are behind you, it’s time to act like an adult. To that end, I’ve spoken to your father, and we have an ultimatum.

An ultimatum? I’m livid. What is this, some kind of hostage negotiation?

You have one year to get married.

"Excuse me?" This is getting more absurd by the moment.

That’s right. You have until your thirty-first birthday to get married, or you will forfeit your inheritance. Everything will go to your sister, Jeanine.

You can’t be serious! She can’t even hold down a job.

She doesn’t have to, James. Her husband makes a very good living, and he provides for her. That’s the point. Jeanine is three years younger than you, and she’s married and settled into a real life. You need to consider following her example and doing the same.

You can’t put a stipulation on me like that. Can she? I need to get an attorney.

We can and we have. That’s the end of the discussion, James. We’ll talk again soon. Kiss-kiss.

Click.

It takes everything I have to keep from hurling my phone across the street. As galling as it is, there’s no way I can keep the lifestyle I’ve built without family money. My reputation grows all the time, but until I get major assignments, photography isn’t shockingly lucrative by itself.

You okay, James? Donovan is peeking out from around the side of the backstage door, their pink faux-hawk shining like a beacon in the half-light.

Yup. I tuck the phone into my pocket instead of destroying the device. Just my mother. Trying not to scream.

Ugh, sweetie. Let it out. There are times I wish I could scream at my mother, but those days are over.

A sudden wave of sympathy washes over me. Oh, I’m so sorry. Is your mom dead?

No, Donovan waves snarkily. I’m just not talking to her anymore. Coming in?

There’s nothing like work to settle my nerves. It’s dark inside, and my favorite part of fashion shows is catching the backstage action. So many cameras click out on the runway, it almost doesn’t matter if you have a good eye. The real art is in catching living moments.

Catching models making up in mirrors, or designers with pins in their mouths is quickly becoming my signature. Or athletes huddled in hallways, heads bowed, either recovering from, or gearing up for, the day’s task. Those personal glimpses are actually what people want to see. And, they’ve been how I’ve been making my name in the business.

Hell, it’s what got me my backstage pass today. I’ve never met Ivor, but the name has been tearing up the fashion scene for the last eighteen months. So many of these shows feature looks that no human being would ever actually wear, but Ivor manages to combine style with practicality in a way that’s pretty amazing. In this world, that’s a mark of distinction.

So, what is it this time? Donovan leans back against a counter, folding their arms and assuming their favorite gossiping position.

What? I’m too preoccupied with my viewfinder to give too much mind to whatever they’re digging for. They click their tongue and drop their arms.

"With su madre, mon ami. What’s up with your mom?"

I don’t want to talk about it. Redoubling my efforts to grab snaps of some rail thin waif painting on raccoon eyes, I can already tell I’m not getting away with this one.

Let it out, Jimmy. You’ll feel better.

Man, I sigh under my breath. Then, looking up at them, I say it out loud. "My mother says I have to get married within the next year, or I’m out disinherited."

Donovan’s shriek draws every eye in the room. It’s a little embarrassing, but this is part of why I keep them around. Yeah, they’re good at their job, but also, Donovan is thrilling company. Oh, that Witch!

Don’t I know it, I chuckle. Anyway, let’s take care of tonight, then I’ll give you all the dirt. Turning back to my viewfinder, all the breath in my lungs falls out onto the floor. As I bring the image into focus, I’m dumbstruck by a dark skinned woman with shoulder length hair. The half-light makes the blue tinted tips appear almost iridescent.

She’s intent on arranging the line of a sleeve, and I’ve never seen a more captivating woman in my entire life. Everything about her begs for attention. Not least of all her beauty, but the sheer focus of her attention on making everything just right. Her long, delicate fingers barely seem to touch the fabric as she brings everything into line.

I must snap off sixty pictures inside of half a minute. How could I not? It’s not every day you catch a hot designer like Ivor in the midst of creation.

Even more than that, seeing a woman like this is a cause to celebrate. It’s almost criminal that someone like her remains behind the scenes and sends others out into the public eye. Nobody has ever even seen a picture of Ivor, and I’m determined to be the first to capture her in her natural habitat.

For me, if for nobody else.

Chapter Two

The photographer caught my eye the moment he walked in the door. It wasn’t hard, with the backstage lights making his bright auburn hair glow brighter than cinders. I try not to let his handsome face keep my glance lingering. My boss, Ivor, is still yet to arrive and of course I’m the one rushing to get everything prepared.

Yet for some reason I can't pull my full focus away from him. I think it was fate’s way of throwing me a bone, because I manage to overhear him telling his assistant about an ultimatum his parents gave him. Married in one year or taken out of the family inheritance. The shriek of his assistant nearly shatters my ear drums, drawing everyone’s attention. Luckily for me, he says he’ll reveal all the juicy details after they finish work for the night. Leaving me as