“I don’t think Chris Hemsworth is available that night, but I’ll ask.” I roll my eyes.
She mimics my eye roll. “Just lie about what he does or something. Say he’s saved a life, or that he’s already a millionaire. Something that will make your brothers squirm.”
“Ha!” I laugh. “The only guy that would make my brothers squirm is one I’m actually interested in.”
Juliet drops her pencil and stares up at me as if she’s just seen a ghost. “Oh, my gosh. That’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“You should turn the tables on your brothers.”
“That sounds great. But how?”
Juliet steeples her fingers together and gets a mischievous glint in her eye. “They think you won’t dare show up with a date. Imagine what they’ll do when you show up with your fiancé?”
“What?” I sputter, choking on air. “I don’t have a fiancé.”
Juliet’s smile grows. “Not yet. But you will. We are going to find you a fake fiancé for the Christmas party.”
“What? Huh? Fake?” My mouth doesn't seem to work any better than my mind.
“Yes.” Juliet smiles and I discover a whole new side of my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “Introduce him as your date at the beginning of the night, then at the holiday party, you drop the bomb. That will teach them not to mess with your love life.”
As much as I hate to admit it, her plan is kind of genius. My brothers and Grant would have a heart attack if I show up to the party engaged.
“But what about after? I won't marry a stranger for real.”
Juliet snorts. “Of course not. I’d never let you do that.”
“But you’ll let me pretend to be engaged to one.”
“Yes. Someone we know, of course.” She clarifies. “For the cause. Those boys need to be taught a lesson. Imagine how awful they’ll feel when you go through a terrible breakup. They will feel like it’s all their fault when you’re heartbroken, and they’ll finally leave you alone.”
I bite the end of my fingernail. “Do you really think that could work?” I hate being the loser in all of my brother’s bets. Just once, I’d like to have the upper hand. And four hundred dollars.
“How could it not?” Juliet asks like we’re talking about whether the microwave will cook popcorn. “Now to find the right guy.” She looks around the university library, then pulls out her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at my contacts for eligible bachelors,” She says, thumbing through.
“Does Michael know you still have all these numbers?” I laugh.
She freezes. “Hmm, I should probably delete them. But only after I find you the perfect guy.” She resumes her scrolling.
Just what I want, one of her rejects.
“Or we could just take a walk around campus and ask the first hot guy we see,” I say sarcastically, because this plan is a total bust. How am I supposed to find someone to be my fake fiancé for a night? Is there an app I can swipe right and connect with my perfect faker? There’s an app for everything.
She looks up at me. “That’s how you find creepers.”
“Was that how you found my brother?”
A smile cracks her lips, and she puts her phone down. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you a non-creeper.”
I nod my head. “Good, because if my fiancé ends up killing me, I’d be so bored haunting you for eternity.”
She chucks a wadded-up piece of paper at me and I don’t even try to dodge it.
