Page 66 of Fake it for Keeps

I opened the app, scrolling through recommendations. Something light and escapist sounded perfect. Maybe a romance where everything worked out in the end.

My phone buzzed with a text from Hallie.

Hallie: Girl. You need to see this.

There was a link attached.

Hallie: Call me when you see these. Just call me.

My stomach sank. I clicked the first link.

It was a gossip blog, one of those sites that lived for celebrity drama and society news. The headline made my breath catch.

“Who is Hallie Bellrose? Everything We Know About the Woman Who Tamed Colt Jesson”

Below the headline was a photo from the dock. Me and Colt, the ring on my pinky finger and his arm around my waist. We looked happy. In love.

We looked like liars.

I scrolled down, my heart pounding.

Hallie Bellrose has captured the heart of Manhattan’s most notorious bachelor, and the world wants to know: who is she?

Unlike Colt’s previous conquests—models, actresses, and socialites—Hallie comes from humbler beginnings. A hairdresser by trade, she worked at a small salon in Brooklyn until recently. Friends describe her as “down to earth” and “genuine,” a stark contrast to the billionaire playboy she’s set to marry.

But Hallie’s life hasn’t been without tragedy. She lost her father, Robert Bellrose, three years ago to a sudden stroke. Friends say she’s never quite recovered from the loss, often speaking about restoring her family’s beach house in the Hamptons as a way to honor his memory.

My hands started shaking as I continued to read my own biography. It was so weird to be reading about myself. Who were these friends they talked to? It wasn’t Hallie or April. I knew that.

So who?

Or were they just making it up? No, it was too specific.

An only child, Hallie grew up in a middle-class family. Her mother worked as an elementary school teacher, her father as a mechanic. Those close to the family describe Robert as a devoted father who doted on his daughter.

I felt sick.

I clicked the second link. A different site, same invasive coverage.

“Plain Hallie No More: How an Average Girl Became a Billionaire’s Bride”

Plain Hallie. That was a little rude.

I threw my phone onto the couch cushion beside me, my hands shaking with rage.

Plain Hallie.

I grabbed my phone again and scrolled through more articles. They were everywhere. Dozens of them, all speculating about who I was and why Colt had chosen me after dating women that were far prettier with blue blood.

Some were kind, painting me as a Cinderella story. Regular girl makes good, finds love with a prince.

Others were cruel, questioning what Colt saw in me, posting unflattering photos from my salon’s website, comparing me to his exes and finding me lacking in every way.

The comments were worse.

She’s pretty for a bigger girl, I guess.

He must really love her to overlook the weight difference.