I should have known things would spin out of control the moment I typed “fake boyfriend for hire” into the search bar.
It had started innocently enough. Or, at least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I stared at my computer screen at 2:13 a.m., the glow of the monitor washing over my sleepless face. The annual family reunion was coming up—a weekend-long circus of casseroles, lawn games, unsolicited advice, and worst of all… setups.
My mother had been sending me photos of “eligible sons of her friends” for weeks. She had even taken a photo with one of them—literally shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling like she was advertising him on Craigslist—and sent it to me with the caption:
“He’s very sweet! And he knows how to filet a fish.”
I didn’t even like fish.
So yes, after the eighth suggestion and the thirty-ninth hint about “not getting any younger,” I cracked. I hired someone. A very expensive someone, according to the polished website and five-star reviews.
Evan Carter.
Twenty-nine.
Six-foot-two.
Former military, now a private personal assistant-slash-escort-slash-professional date. Clean background check, excellent testimonials, and—most importantly—an option for a “family roleplay package.”
I clicked Book Now before I could talk myself out of it.
When I pulled up in front of the bus terminal downtown a week later, Evan was leaning casually against a steel column like he’d stepped out of a movie. Aviators. Black T-shirt fitted in all the right ways. Jeans that looked comfortable, not try-hard. A duffel bag at his feet.
He stood straighter when he saw me. And then he smiled. My stomach had no business flipping like that, but it did.
“You must be Lily,” he said.
“And you must be very expensive,” I said before I could stop myself.
He laughed—a warm, easy sound.
“Don’t worry. I’m worth it.”
I rolled my eyes, but the truth was, I needed him to be worth it. If this weekend went south, I’d never hear the end of it from my parents. Or the cousins. Or Aunt Rosemary with her sharp judgment and sharper eyebrows.
“You ready?” I asked, trying to hide my nerves.
“Lead the way.” He picked up his bag with one hand, opened my car door with the other. “After you, sweetheart.”
The “sweetheart” was part of the act. I knew that. My pulse didn’t seem to care.
The reunion was held every year at my parents’ lake house in Upstate New York—a quiet property with cedar siding, two docks, and enough Adirondack chairs to start a cult. When we pulled up the gravel driveway, I could already see my family gathered on the porch. My mother noticed us and grabbed my father’s arm excitedly.
“Oh boy,” I muttered. “Here we go.”
Evan placed a hand lightly on the small of my back, just enough to ground me. “Don’t worry, Lily. We’ve got this.”
The way he said “we” made my chest tighten.
My mom was practically vibrating when we climbed out of the car.
“Lily!” she squealed, pulling me into a hug. “And who is this handsome young man?”
“This is Evan,” I said. “My boyfriend.”
The word felt foreign, heavy, dangerous.
My mom inhaled sharply, delighted. My dad nodded appreciatively. Aunt Rosemary narrowed her eyes like she was investigating a hostile witness.
Evan reached out to shake my dad’s hand. “Thank you for having me, sir.”
“Sir?” Dad said, puffing up. “I like him already.”
The introductions snowballed from there. Cousins. Uncles. Aunts. More cousins. Even the neighbor’s dog, who apparently attended every family gathering like an invited guest. And through it all, Evan played the part flawlessly.
He told charming stories. He helped Uncle Phil unload beer coolers. He praised my mom’s deviled eggs like they were Michelin-starred cuisine. He laughed at the right moments, nodded at the right moments, and held my hand with an ease that felt dangerously natural.
“Where did you two meet?” Mom asked later, sitting with us on the porch swing.
Evan answered before I could panic. “We met at a friend’s party. Lily spilled wine on my shirt.”
I blinked. “I— I did?”
He squeezed my fingers discreetly.
“You did. And then you apologized about twelve times while blotting at my chest with a paper napkin.”
My mother melted like warm butter.
Dad pulled him aside later to show him his collection of vintage fishing rods, something he’d never even shown my ex-boyfriend.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from my cousin Meredith.
OMG where did you FIND him.
If you don’t marry him, I will.
I locked my phone and tried not to think about how weirdly proud I felt.
By dinner, Evan had become the star of the show.
Mom set down a platter of ribs and said, “Lily, honey, why didn’t you tell us he was so wonderful?”
“Because I… didn’t want to jinx anything?” I said.
Evan looked at me with a softness so convincing it made my breath stutter.
Or maybe I just wanted it to be real.
After dinner, as the sun dipped behind the trees, the family gathered around the fire pit for s’mores. Evan sat beside me on the log bench, his thigh brushing mine. Without thinking, I leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around me—not performative, not exaggerated. Just real.
Too real.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just… thanks for doing all this. They really like you.”
His thumb brushed my shoulder. “I like them too.”
My heart did a somersault it had no business doing.
Professional actor, Lily. Paid employee. That’s all.
Later that night, after everyone drifted inside, Evan and I lingered on the dock beneath the string lights Dad had hung years ago. The lake was smooth like glass. A loon called somewhere across the water.
“So,” he said gently, “how am I performing so far?”
“Uncomfortably well,” I said.
He chuckled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is,” I said, “when my mother is now planning our hypothetical grandchildren.”
“Oh?” he teased. “And how many hypothetical grandchildren are we having?”
“Three. All with your cheekbones.”
He laughed again, and I hated how my chest warmed.
“I really meant it earlier,” he said softly. “You don’t have to worry this weekend. I’ve got your back.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
A breeze rippled across the lake. He watched me for a moment, expression unreadable, then said, “We should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
I nodded, even though sleep suddenly felt like a very foreign concept.
The second day was even worse. Or better. Or both.
My family adored him. He could do no wrong. When the frisbee got stuck on the roof during the annual lawn games, Evan climbed up and got it. When Dad needed help carrying the canoe, Evan lifted it by himself like it weighed nothing. When Aunt Rosemary interrogated him about his life goals, he answered each question with perfect charm and suspiciously flawless sincerity.
“He’s incredible,” she whispered to me later. “Don’t you dare mess this up.”
Oh, the irony.
By the afternoon, I found myself watching him too closely. Memorizing the way his shoulders moved. The way he smiled. The way he glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I hated how much it affected me. And I hated even more that it wasn’t supposed to.
This was a paid arrangement. A performance. A role.
Temporary.
But every time he laced his fingers with mine, it didn’t feel temporary at all.
The trouble didn’t start until Sunday evening—the final family dinner.
Mom had made pot roast. Dad opened a bottle of Cabernet he’d been saving since 2004. Everyone was in high spirits, laughing, retelling the same stories that resurfaced every reunion.
And then, during dessert, Aunt Rosemary struck.
“So, Evan,” she said, stabbing her fork into a slice of blueberry pie, “what are your intentions with our Lily?”
My entire body froze.
Evan didn’t flinch. “My intentions?”
“Yes,” she said pointedly. “Are you serious about her?”
I nearly choked on my water. Mom clicked her tongue. Dad looked at Evan like he was waiting for a marriage proposal.
Evan took my hand under the table.
“I am,” he said.
I nearly stopped breathing.
“I think she’s exceptional,” he continued gently. “And any future she’d want with me… well, I’d be lucky.”
My heart was hammering so loud I wondered if the whole table could hear it.
Aunt Rosemary looked satisfied. Mom looked like she had just witnessed a Hallmark movie come to life. Dad raised his glass.
“To Lily and Evan.”
The whole table cheered.
I stared at my plate, fighting the dangerous swell of emotion rising in my chest.
This wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
The house was quiet by midnight. Everyone had gone to bed except me. I was in the kitchen rinsing dishes when I heard footsteps behind me.
Evan.
“I wanted to say,” he said softly, “thank you for letting me be here this weekend.”
I turned to him. “I should be thanking you. My parents are obsessed with you. And you made everything so easy.”
“It wasn’t hard.” He leaned on the counter. “Your family’s great.”
“And me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Too long.
“You,” he said quietly, “are incredible.”
My throat tightened.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
“Okay,” I blurted, needing to break the tension. “Before things get weird—and they are getting weird—I need to pay you the remaining balance. And I want to give you an extra five thousand. For how much you did.”
He shook his head. “Lily—”
“No,” I insisted. “You earned it.”
He exhaled slowly. Then reached into his back pocket.
“I actually have something for you.”
My brows knitted. “What?”
He handed me a folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
And froze.
It wasn’t a receipt.
Or a contract.
Or an invoice.
It was… a photograph.
A photograph of me.
Standing in line at a coffee shop two months ago.
Before I had ever met him.
My blood turned to ice.
“I— I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Evan stepped closer, voice low, warm against my ear.
“I didn’t meet you this weekend, Lily.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“I met you there,” he said, nodding at the photo. “I saw you. You smiled at the barista like he made your whole morning. And I knew I had to talk to you. But I… didn’t.”
I stared at him, breath frozen in my chest.
“So when your booking came in under your name,” he continued, “I recognized you immediately.”
I swallowed. “And you didn’t say anything?”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“I didn’t want to scare you off.”
My legs felt unsteady. “Evan…”
“That extra five thousand you mentioned?” he murmured. “I’m not taking it. And neither the original fee.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean you’re not taking it? You already—”
He shook his head.
“I refunded the entire payment this afternoon.”
“What?” My voice cracked. “Why?”
He leaned in, and his breath brushed my cheek.
“Because,” he whispered, “I can’t take money from someone I want for real.”
The world tilted. My pulse was a drumline.
“I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore, Lily.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I want to be the real thing.”
The room swayed around me, warm and impossible and terrifying.
“Say something,” he murmured.
I lifted a trembling hand to his jaw.
“Then stop whispering,” I breathed.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
He didn’t whisper the next part.
“Then kiss me.”
And I did.
God help me, I did.
The next morning, we walked out onto the porch hand-in-hand, sunlight spilling over the lake. My mother, already watering the hydrangeas, noticed instantly.
She gasped loudly enough to wake the dead. “Oh my God. You two— You’re— Is this—?”
Evan grinned. “Good morning, Mrs. Harper.”
Mom squealed and ran inside shouting something about “wedding Pinterest boards.”
Dad eyed us. “So,” he said slowly, “is this an act… or the real deal?”
I looked at Evan.
Evan looked at me.
He squeezed my hand.
“The real deal,” I said.
Dad smiled. “Good. I already picked out a fishing pole for him.”
Evan blinked. “A what?”
“Welcome to the family, son,” Dad said.
I groaned. Evan laughed. Mom screamed again. Aunt Rosemary emerged from the guest room like she’d sensed romantic activity through the walls.
But I didn’t care.
Because Evan leaned down, kissed the side of my head, and whispered just loud enough:
“Told you I had your back.”
And for the first time all weekend, the whole thing felt exactly as real as I wanted it to be.
