“Hey, babe.” Gabriella greets me with a peck on the cheek as I disembark from my Uber ride.
As always, she looks lovelier than ever. Brown hair, bouncy-perfect like the kind seen in Pantene shampoo commercials, a flawless face, and a curvy body that never fails to capture the eyes of menandwomen alike. If she weren’t my best friend, I’d hate her for simply looking like J-Lo.
“It’s great to see you, love.” I give her a smooch on the cheek in return.
The two of us follow the waiter onto the patio, where he finally seats us. It’s warm today in Los Angeles, where winters are more like spring, the average temperature in the 70s.
“I’ve missed you.” Gabriella scrunches her nose at me as she spreads a cloth napkin across her lap, then BB pokes her adorable little face out of my bag. “Hi, BB! I’ve missed you too,” she coos.
“We’ve missed you loads. How was Spain?”
Gabriella glows. “A-freaking-mazing. We so want to have our wedding there.”
The dark-haired waiter drops off menus, along with glasses of sparkling water, then promises to return soon, for our orders.
“A destination wedding?” I sip water and skim over the menu.
“Yes, on Valentine’s Day.”
Of course. Valentine’s Day is the perfect day for the perfect couple to exchange vows. I’m not jealous, because as I mentioned before, I’m in no hurry to settle down. Envious, however, fits me like a good pair of Spanks on a bloated day.
“Ooooh, can I be a bridesmaid?”
“Bridesmaid? Maid of Honor, silly.”
The waiter delivers a tiny basket of fresh-baked French bread with butter, takes our order—we both ask for The Ivy’s famous mixed green salad with crispy bacon and honey vinaigrette, then takes our menus and scurries off to serve another table.
I grin at the thought of going to Spain for her wedding. “I’d absolutely love to be your Maid of Honor.”
Gabriella grabs a slice of bread, slathers it with butter then gives me a lengthy once-over before she bites. “So, tell me what I’ve missed while I was away.”
Okay now, I tell Gabriella everything.Everything. The woman gets more confessions out of me than my priest on Confession Wednesday. Though for some reason, apprehension invades my being and I think twice before coming clean about my new acting gig.
“I got a part.” Instantly, I begin to silently pray for a do-over, wishing my mouth had the wherewithal to hold back.
“OMG, really?” Gabriella’s impeccably plucked eyebrows shoot up. “Honey, why wasn’t this the first thing out of your mouth when you got here?”
Heat stains my cheeks. “Because it’s an unconventional part and, I admit, it’s a tad embarrassing. I’ll never be able to list it as credible acting work. But the pay is lovely and—”
“Woman, will you just tell me what it is, already? Oh. My. God”—her fingers hover over her mouth—“it’s not aStormy Danielstype of movie, is it?”
I hesitate for a second, thinking it would be funny to tell her I’m starring in a new version of Debbie Does Dallas. Then shake my head and say, “No. But, I’ll be playing the role of a fiancée in her 20s.”
A giddy Gabriella’s face lights up as she claps like a five-year-old awarded a surprise trip to Disneyland. “Congrats, girl! See? I knew something would come up for you.” She pauses in between bites, and a puzzled look crosses her face. “Um, what makes you say it’s unconventional?”
I swallow a sip of water, along with a mound of pride. “Because I’m working for My Fake Fiancé Dot Com as a fiancée for hire.”
The waiter drops off our salads just as I spit out my confession. His eyes go all goofy-wide, looking at me as though I’ve admitted to pulling off an epic bank heist.
And as soon as he abandons our table, Gabriella says, “You’re, what?”
“My Fake Fiancé Dot Com. It’s a company that employs actors and actresses to be a hired bride or groom-to-be for their clients. It’s actually an excellent way to sharpen my talent in between gigs.” After reciting all that, I feel as though I’m a spokesperson for Holly York’s company.
Gabriella’s single blink morphs into a blank stare, followed by another blink before she begins to eat her salad. “Okay, I can see how thatmayhelp hone acting skills. Now, who will you be pretending to be a fiancée to?”
It’s the billion-dollar question I too have been eager to know. However, Holly’s been super hush-hush about it all—something to do with a confidentiality clause and matching the right fiancé to the right client. Yet, to my surprise, she sent an email to me last night explaining when I’d be able to finally meet the guy with whom I’ll be faking it.
“I’ll meet him later this afternoon.”
