Rosé with My Fake Fiancé (EBOOK)

I’m alone and miserable in my favorite city in the world until a flirty–and much younger–man pretends to be my fiancé.

I thought that by forty-two, I’d be happily married, but somehow, I’ve been the woman men want to date but don’t want to marry. And now, even my friends have left me alone in the city of love.

Alone—except for Luc, the charming tour guide. He refuses to cancel the trip and reminds me what it’s like to feel sexy and desired. He even rekindles my love for Paris by showing me a side of the city few people see.

Then we run into my ex . . . with his new fiancé on his arm and a smug look on his face.

When Luc holds me close and tells a little lie, their surprise is so satisfying. Maybe a little too satisfying because I wind up in bed with my fake fiancé. The hottest night of my life certainly didn’t feel fake.

Too bad I’m only here for the weekend.

Tessa
It’s hard to stay mad at my friends when they feel so bad for ditching me.
Sara
You’re going to have such a fun time without us! You can do all the things you want instead of us dragging you around to the typically touristy stuff.
We’ll just do all that when we get in tomorrow.
Jade
Make new friends! Talk to the table next to you! Hook up with a man! You’ve got the hotel room to yourself tonight. ;)
Emma
Have a glass of wine with lunch today on me, all right? I am so sorry that I screwed up my flight. How did I book the wrong day???
No! Make it a bottle of wine! That’s how sorry I am.
Ah, yes. Day drinking. That’s exactly what I’ll do as soon as I find this tour guide. Even if it is nine a.m.
This new year, new me situation is not going well. When Jade proposed we all move across the Atlantic, I thought it would be a great opportunity to start fresh. My sister has her own family and my mother doesn’t know who I am most days thanks to her dementia. Five months after my breakup with James, my circle of friends has dwindled since I moved back out to the burbs from downtown Austin where I’d lived with James. The best parts of my life were my job and my three best friends, and even though we all picked different cities to live in, we agreed we would meet up once a month.
But here I am, sitting all alone in a coffee shop in Paris on what was supposed to be our first weekend trip together. It’s a busy summer day, and chatter and sunlight fill the café. I got here a half an hour before I was supposed to meet our tour guide, so my pastries are reduced to crumbs, and the dredges of my coffee are cold.
“Excuse me,” someone says in French, and I glance up from my phone to see a young woman pointing at the chair opposite me. “May I?”
I perk up. There are no tables available and sitting with someone is a chance to practice my French and make a new friend. “Oui,” I say, and move my purse off of the chair.
She smiles gratefully and then picks the chair up, moving it to the table next to mine where there are three other women. Oh, god damn it. I fake a smile and pretend to sip my coffee. Nothing to see here. Not me being embarrassing.
I glance at the women out of the corner of my eye. They’re younger than me with youthful skin and no gray hairs—mid-thirties, maybe?—and effortlessly fashionable in the way that Parisians are. One of them says something funny, and all of them throw back their heads, laughing.
Great. I’m sitting alone at a table for one, jealous of strangers.
My phone buzzes with a new message in the group chat.
Emma
Don’t listen to Jade. If you aren’t ready for a relationship, you’re not ready.
Jade
Who said anything about a relationship?
Tessa needs orgasms, stat.
I roll my eyes. Jade thinks orgasms solve everything. Which, to be fair, they solve a lot, so maybe she has a point, but I’m a serial monogamist. My orgasms usually come from reliable, steady partners and not from flings or one-night stands.
From now on, though, my orgasms will come from the most reliable and steady person in my life—me. Because I’m forty-two years old. If I was going to get married and have a happily-ever-after, it would have happened by now. After decades of dating and one failed relationship after another, it’s clear that the common denominator is me.
Tessa
I will take you up on that wine, Emma. As soon as I ditch the tour guide, I’ll head out on my own. I’ll have that wine over a leisurely, gourmet lunch. Very Parisian.
Jade
And then some afternoon delight back in the hotel room?
Tessa
No. No afternoon delight. No one-night stand.
I’ll be fine on my own. I don’t need a man.
Jade
No one NEEDS a man.
Sara
Whatever you do today, just try to have fun without us, okay? Love you.
Fun. It’s a long shot, but I’ll try.
What I need is a clean slate. A fresh start. While I’ve traveled all over the world, I’ve never lived outside of Texas, and this is my chance. Once I get settled into Portugal, where I have a one-year visa under their digital nomad policy, I will make new friends. I will travel on the weekends—solo travel and trips to visit my friends scattered throughout Europe.
And I will not, under any circumstances, waste my time looking for a man.
The bell above the door chimes with a new customer walking into the coffee shop, this one wearing a bright blue polo with the tour company’s name on it. He scans the room, probably looking for a table of four women. His eyes meet mine for a moment, and I start to smile at him and raise my hand, but he keeps going before I can wave to get his attention.
Ugh. My cheeks heat in embarrassment and I can practically feel the pity radiating off the surrounding tables. I know how to sit by myself at a café and enjoy myself, but today I just can’t muster up the enthusiasm.
The tour guide is cute. Young, or at least younger than me. In his early thirties, most likely, or maybe even late twenties. He has brown hair on the longer side that tousles nicely, a wide mouth, and cheeks that are already flushed from the morning heat. His gaze lands on the table next to me, the four younger women, and he starts to head their way. I pick up my to-go cup and sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m dressed sensibly for the day in stretchy jeans, flats, and a flowy top, perfect for walking the city and enjoying the summer weather.
Paris is my favorite city. I trust it to cheer me up.
I cut him off before he arrives at the table. When he notices me approaching, his eyes light up, and he looks me over for a quick moment as an easy smile pops onto his face.
“Good morning,” he says, and I nearly roll my eyes because I haven’t even opened my mouth, and he already knows I’m a native English speaker and can probably guess that I’m American. I swear, the French—especially Parisians—have this sixth sense about who can and cannot speak their language.
Except I have a trick up my sleeve. I’ve been a regular visitor to Paris for decades—maybe even longer than this guy has been alive, so I smile demurely and answer him in French. “Bonjour, vous me cherchez?”
His smile widens, and he answers me in French, which pleases me. “I’m always looking for a beautiful woman.”
Okay, cheesy line, but the teasing in his eyes brings it down on the side of flattery. This close, I can read the name embroidered on his shirt—Luc. “No,” I say, “for the tour. I’m Tessa O’Keefe. I apologize, but I have to cancel.”
His smile droops the tiniest bit. “Cancel because . . .?”
I paste on a fake smile. It’s hard to hide my disappointment that I’m alone. “My friends couldn’t make it to the city in time. I didn’t know I had to cancel until late last night.”
“Ah,” he says. “But you’re here.”
“Yes, well. I know my way around Paris, and I don’t need a tour guide. You’ve got the day off.” I try to say it as upbeat as possible, cringing inside that I’ve wasted this man’s time.
“Unfortunately,” he says, “we have a forty-eight-hour cancellation policy, so I won’t be able to refund your money.”
I wave him off. “I know, that’s fine. Of course, you keep the money.”
His smile, which has dimmed upon delivering the bad news, brightens again. “If you’ve already paid, and I have no plans for the day, then why not take the tour?”
I bite my lip. I haven’t taken an organized tour in ages, and a tour for one, without my best friends, sounds so dull. There’s too much pressure on me to ooh and ahh all day.
“Ah, what is that?” he asks, pointing at my mouth.
I pop my lip out from between my teeth. “Nothing.”
“Please, tell me. Why not take the tour with me?”
“I’ve been to Paris a lot. Everything we were going to do today, I’ve already done, and I’m fine on my own.” Those words echo in my head. I’m fine on my own.
Luc leans toward me, ducking down to tilt his head toward mine. It’s intimate. His eyes sparkle and there’s a flicker of attraction in my stomach. It surprises me, mostly because Luc is obviously too young for me, but also because it’s been five months since I broke up with my ex, and this is the first sign of interest in anyone.
Okay, maybe Jade wasn’t completely out of line with her suggestion.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to hook up tonight, but if someone comes along who’s attractive and interested and of an appropriate age . . .
I’ll think about it.
Luc pulls my attention back to him and says, “Are you saying you think my tour might be boring?”
“No!” I say too quickly. He laughs. I may have been thinking it, but I would never say it.
“Please,” he says, touching a hand to his chest. “I’m a very good tour guide, and there is nothing I love more than showing a beautiful woman around the city.”
Okay, being called beautiful twice by a cute man is working like a charm because I can feel myself melting. Luc is obviously a flirt—must be great for tips after the tour, I imagine—but what’s the harm in taking a tour I’ve already paid for?
When Jade and Sara had to cancel, I hung on to the idea of doing a guided tour with Emma, who had never been to Paris before. But she bailed on me this morning. Without her, I pictured myself roaming a city I knew and loved while having to listen to a way-too-chipper teenager over-enthusiastically take me to all the major tourist attractions that I tired of visiting after my first half-dozen trips to the city.
I did not picture a more mature, attractive man flirting with me.
“Now,” he says, and he’s still up close. His eyelashes are long and lighter, framing his eyes. I liked them already when he was flirty, but now that he’s serious, they are even more striking. “Can you really tell me you’ll have more fun without me?” He presses a palm to his chest like I’ve offended him. My friends’ words echo through my head—just try to have fun. When did I become so jaded that even a stranger could tell that I was no fun anymore? Luc continues. “Me? The best tour guide in Paris?”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim.”
He grins slyly. “Well, take the tour and find out.”
Despite myself, I chuckle. Who knows? Maybe this will be fun.