Thursday : April 27, 2006

"I need a boyfriend."

Margaret watched the handful of fresh chips almost fall out of Bess Higgins's now wide open mouth as she absorbed Margaret's proclamation.

"For heavens sake, Bessie, close your mouth," Margaret snapped, her face flushing. She slammed down her sandwich and sat. "It's not like the sky is falling."

"You just announced your pressing need for a boyfriend." Bess replied, scooping her chips back into her mouth. "Or did I take a shot of rubbing alcohol after work instead of vodka?"

"You really ought not drink so much."

"Don't you dare try and change the subject," Bess grinned. "I need details, Marg. Spill."

"My cousin Edith is getting married in June."

"This June?"

"—and nothing less than an exotic New York City wedding will do," Margaret slumped down in her chair. "Aunt Shaw wanted a wedding in Corfu but—"

"Where's that?"

"Greece," Margaret waved a hand dismissively. "That's not the point. The real trouble is I'm the bloody maid of honour—"

"Oh God," Bess moaned.

"It's to be a week long affair and I'll be expected to participate in literally everything Edith and Aunt Shaw dream up."

"Couldn't you just regretfully decline?"

"That's probably the stupidest thing you've said all month." Margaret shot her a razor look, "This is my cousin. How could I refuse?"

"Touchy today, aren't we? So you're in her damn wedding and it'll be an expensive pain in the ass. Big deal. I don't see why you need a boyfriend for that."

Margaret yanked the invitation from her bag and tossed it onto the picnic table between them. "Read it."

Bess picked up the golden embossed invitation and whistled as she fingered the thick paper. "Fancy as shit. But I don't see a boyfriend requirement on this thing. I don't even see a plus one—"

"Exactly!" Margaret snapped, her temper now boiling. "That's the whole problem. Edith assumed I don't have one—"

"But you don't."

"—and she also assumed I'm incapable of finding my own plus one—"

"When was the last time you went on a real date?"

"—which means I'll spend the entirety of this awful wedding being followed around, patronised and placated by the best man."

"That could be hot," Bess suggested, waggling her eyebrows. "One week with a single guy no strings attached?"

Margaret shuddered, "Not when the best man is Henry Lennox."

"Who's that?"

"Do you even listen when I tell you things? Henry."

After a moment Bess's eyes widened, "—oh, you mean the guy your family is constantly trying to hook up with you? That Henry Lennox?"

"Yes, that Henry Lennox." Margaret leaned her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

"Did your cousin tell you he was the best man?"

"Edith's fiancé James is Henry's older brother."

"Oh. Shit."

"Exactly. Hence the pressing need for a boyfriend."

Bess studied the invitation again, chewing at her lip. Finally, she sighed, a wry smile plucking at her mouth. "You know the whole get-a-fake-boyfriend-for-a-wedding won't work right?" She tossed the invitation back at Margaret. "It never does."

"How do you know it won't work?" Margaret demanded, raising her chin. "Are you some sort of dating expert?"

"No, but I read fanfic."

"I read, Bessie Higgins—"

"Old math books and back issues of National Geographic don't count as reading. Hell, do you even watch TV, Marg?"

"I don't see the point."

"Trust me, the fake dating trope has been beaten to death and it always falls on its ass. Like, always. Just tell them the truth—"

"I can't."

"Coward."

"You don't understand. It's not just about me not fancying Henry or—"

"So what's it about?"

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden sting of tears. Edith had arranged a similar scenario several years ago when Margaret had been conveniently dateless for a fancy dinner while in London at Christmas. It had been awful and humiliating. She loved Edith like a sister but sometimes she was so wrapped up in her own world she forgot about other people—especially Margaret.

"Well?" Bess prompted.

"My entire family thinks they know who I am and what I want and when I want it—especially when it comes to men. Except they don't know. Bloody hell, I don't even know most of the time and I'm jolly well tired of it."

"And you think bringing a boyfriend to this wedding will do … what exactly?"

Margaret looked up at her friend and sighed, "Prove that I can make my own bloody decisions without their interference or permission."

"So like a 'fuck-you-guys' boyfriend?"

Margaret blushed but she nodded. "This is my way of telling them the truth. It's just more—subtle. I know it's absolutely mad but—"

"Not completely," Bess crumpled up the remainder of her meal and tossed it half heartedly at the rubbish bin. "You make a good case. Either way it'll be fun as shit to watch. So, whom are we going to be dating for this wedding?"

"I don't want a real boyfriend, Bessie—"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because," Margaret faltered, trying to pull together a biting comeback. "Because I'm—I'm terribly busy."

"Naturally human companionship pales in comparison to the glories of advanced calculus." Bess said her face and voice going flat. "Marg, are you for real?"

Margaret shot her a warning glance and took a measured breath, pulling out her planner. She'd been up almost half the night turning the problem over in her head and come to a passable solution.

"I simply need someone willing to pretend they're my boyfriend for the week of the wedding and that's all."

"God help this guy—"

"I've made a list of criteria."

"Of course you did," Bess rolled her eyes and raked her hands through her short blonde hair. "No wonder you're single AF."

"First," Margaret continued, as if Bess hadn't spoken. "He needs to be someone who I would absolutely never fall in love with—"

"Stop," Bess held up her hand, and pinched the bridge of her nose with her other hand. "If you're going convince your family of this, you must have believable chemistry with the guy. Like a lot of it. If you don't, nobody will buy it."

"I only need Edith and Aunt Shaw to bite, Bessie, not the entire guest list."

"What about your dad? He won't be able to sell it unless he believes it's real. You know he won't."

Margaret pressed her eyes closed and sighed heavily. She hadn't thought of that. Of course her dad couldn't and wouldn't lie.

"How hard is it to pretend to be in love?"

Bess stared at her, "Your acting is worse than your perpetual singleness. Trust me."

"Fine. Then he has to be someone I'm unlikely to fall in love with."

Bess shook her head, "You have to have the hots for him, Marg—"

"Are you going to help me or not?" Margaret demanded.

"Yes, fine, continue."

"Second, he must be quite physically attractive."

Bess sat up, "Thank the Lord, she has a sex drive."

"Focus, please."

"By attractive are we talking better than average?" Bess asked, her eyes snapping with mischief. "As in more attractive than your Henry?"

"He's not my Henry."

"Answer the question."

"Yes, definitely more attractive than Henry. Since I've already committed myself to this ridiculous plan, I might as well be as petty as possible." Margaret smiled a little, almost starting to enjoy herself. "Edith is always going on about how handsome Henry is, and it'd be nice to show him up a bit."

"He's vain?"

"Terribly. Self-important too, but it's not entirely his fault."

"What is he, a seven—eight?"

"I'd say he's a solid seven, yes." Margaret pulled out her mobile and pulled up a picture of Henry.

"Shit. He's almost an eight." Bess started scribbling her own notes on a spare napkin. "Are you sure you don't like him? I mean he's kinda hot—"

"I'm certain."

"Okay, so you need at least an eight, preferably a nine."

"Third, he needs to be the complete opposite of a nice proper British boyfriend."

"American. At least that's easy-peasy. He should swear like a sailor—"

"Not like a sailor." Margaret insisted. "Definitely blunt and opinionated though—"

"Get a blue collar guy. That'll really piss them off."

"Blue collar?"

"Like a plumber or a coal miner; someone who probably never went to college."

"But he's got to be wicked smart," Margaret interrupted. "Henry is very intelligent. Also he must be polite and confident, but not so polite that he cares terribly about other people's opinions. Someone who won't be bullied by Aunt Shaw, her aristocratic friends, and their connections." Margaret tossed down her pen as Bess raised an eyebrow. "Who am I kidding?" Margaret snapped her notebook shut. She'd known the plan was a mad dash from the start and she ought not to have let her hopes climb as high as they had in this moment. She would just have to endure Edith's continual teasing, Henry's obsessive hovering, and Aunt Shaw's snide comments —like she always did. But just the thought of it was exhausting. Yet she couldn't escape the obvious fact—the kind of man she needed was almost impossible. "I don't know anyone like this."

"Actually, I think you know someone exactly like this."

Margaret glanced at Bess as a slow sly grin spread over her friend's face making her look like the Cheshire Cat. It gave Margaret a crawly creepy feeling in her stomach, like Bess was about to dump a can of worms down her shirt. She swallowed, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Yeah, alright then."

"You're going to hate me. But he's perfect—"

"Who is it?"

Bess tucked her pencil behind her ear, "John."

"John?" Margaret felt the blood drain from her face. "John Thornton?"

"No, John Watson," Bess rolled her eyes. "Yes, of course, John Thornton."

"Wait, is Mr Watson's name really John?"

"Don't change the subject," Bess grabbed her pencil and pointed it at Margaret. "John Thornton is the perfect guy for this—"

"Absolutely not," Margaret growled, snatching the pencil from Bess's hand. "He hates me and—"

"He satisfies every single requirement on your damn impossible list." Bess ticked off a finger, "First, you're determined to think the worst of him, so you're unlikely to fall in love. Second, he's hot as hell, and you're hella attracted to him—"

"I am not!"

"Marg, the two of you have so much chemistry you're practically a walking sex bomb." Margaret spluttered but Bess continued, ticking another finger, "Third, he doesn't give a damn about anyone's opinion, but the man has manners, a blue collar job, and he's sharper than shit. He'll give anyone a run for their money, including your Henry Lennox."

"He won't do it."

"If you'd asked me last month, I would've agreed but I think he might actually say yes."

Margaret looked skeptical.

"It just so happens that John Thornton needs a date for this fancy gala in DC come December. All these lucrative business contacts go to this thing and for someone like him, it's a networking goldmine. Mr Bell and Mr Latimer have invited him three years in a row but he turns them down every time—"

"Get to the point."

"John doesn't accept because he has to have a date. Naturally Mr Latimer will expect him to take Anne but John won't touch her with a ten foot pole. So he doesn't go." Bess grinned, clearly satisfied with herself. "But I'd bet a hundred dollars he'd take you in a heartbeat if only to get Latimer to back the hell off."

"Need I remind you that Mr Thornton and I don't get on?" Margaret snapped. "But you'd have to be in class to know that."

Bess froze, her eyes darkening. They'd avoided talking about her dropping out of school. Margaret knew she was studying for her CDL so she could get a trucking job at Marlborough Shipping and Bess knew she knew. And yet she still hadn't breathed a word to Margaret. It was just one more reason, among many, for her to dislike John Thornton.

"You can't quit—"

"That's not up to you," Bess interrupted, her voice hard as flint. "It's my decision, Marg." They sat awkwardly for a moment until Bess sighed and forced a playful smile. "So. What about John?"

"No one will believe us, especially not my father—"

"Bullshit. Half this town thinks you guys are already an item and the other half is just waiting for it to happen."

"Surely not," Margaret felt her face drain of colour and she slumped in her chair. "No, no, no. Why would they think that?"

"Opposites attract."

"I don't even like him—"

"You're a walking sex bomb, remember?"

"We are not—"

"If you're serious about this wedding thing, John is your best and only option."

Margaret shook her head slowly, "This is totally and utterly mad. No. No—I'm not that desperate—" she pressed her eyes closed, messaging her temples. Her mobile began to ring, the screen lit with Edith's face. She'd rung every morning and evening for the last two weeks. "Oh God, I am that desperate." She groaned, sending the call to voicemail. "What am I going to do?"

"Suck it up, buttercup, and either face down your delightful family or—" Bess's smile grew until it brightened her whole face, "date John Thornton."

"Fake dating, Bessie. Fake."

Bess shrugged and slurped her drink.

"Isn't there somebody else? Anybody else?"

Bess snickered, "You could always hire a professional male escort."

"Oh shut up," Margaret buried her face in her hands again, cursing silently.

John Thornton would be the only competent man she knew in Milton. It didn't help that he fulfilled her criteria exactly. It also didn't help that the more she considered it, the more perfect he seemed for the task. Her aunt would be furious, Edith wouldn't know what to make of him, and Henry—well, the thought almost made Margaret giggle.

Almost.

"How the bloody hell am I going to ask John Thornton to be my fake boyfriend?" She growled, sitting up and slamming her fists on the the table. "He's absolutely impossible and—"

"Tell him the truth. Your family is a bitch. You need a date for a wedding and he needs a date for Mr Bell's fancy gala." Bess stood and gathered her backpack. "What's the worse that could happen?"

"He—" Margaret bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. "He'll say no and never ever let me forget I asked, " she grumbled.

Bess snorted, "He's a business man and this is a business exchange. Maybe you'll eat a little crow but you'll get over it."

Margaret shrugged. She wasn't about admit to herself, let alone to Bess Higgins, that the very worst thing would be—but of course that couldn't happen. She hated John Thornton and he hated her. And now she was going to ask him on a fake date.

Bloody hell.

"Marg?"

"Yeah, alright."

"Okay," Bess glanced at the bank clock across the street. "Let's go talk to him."

"What?" Margaret almost choked, "Not now—"

"If you don't do it now, you'll put it off until the second coming of Jesus." Bess grabbed her elbow and towed Margaret after her towards the bus stop. "Besides, I want to be there to see his face when you ask him out."

"I will not be asking him out. It's a business proposition." Margaret tried to stop by dragging herself backwards but Bess wasn't deterred. She dug in her heels, pulling Margaret nearly off her feet."Besides you are not invited to spectate Elizabeth Higgins—"

"But he was my brilliant idea," Bess laughed, still hauling Margaret after her. "You owe me. It'll be like my own private live-action RomCom."

"If I'm going to make a pig's ear of my life, I'd rather do it with as few witnesses as possible."

"A what?"

"A pig's ear— it's a—oh, never mind," Margaret tried to extract herself from her best friend's grasp but Bess was too quick. "Let. Go."

"But our bus is here." Bess quickly manoeuvered them onto the bus, looking rather smug.

"You're the worst best friend in the entire world."

"Trust me, Marg. I've got a feeling that one day you're going to thank me for this."

"Is that your witchy Higgins sixth sense talking or just you trying to placate me for your own amusement?"

Bess smiled her Cheshire Cat smile and didn't say another word. Margaret slumped down in her seat, her stomach a growing knot of crumbling nerves.

"This will never work," she whispered as the old manufacturing district pulled into view. Marlborough Shipping Depot had never seemed more imposing.

Bess yanked the pull and the bus shuddered to a stop, the brakes letting out a low hiss. Margaret forced herself to her feet, grabbed her bag, and managed to get off the bus without her trembling legs collapsing underneath her. She took a deep fortifying breath.

"I've lost my bloody mind."


AN : Some housekeeping.

One, please don't hate me for posting a new story while I've not finished my other one yet. This is my hobby and I simply fell in love with this idea and couldn't wait to share.

Second, thank you thank you thank you for all the love and support you lovelies left me in your reviews last time I posted. I was blown away.

Third, I'm halfway through the next chapter for "After All We've Done". ;)

Fourth, I've got several chapters for this story written and a great idea of where I want it to go, but I can't make any promises on a posting schedule. I'll do my best.

Lastly, have a Happy Christmas, loves. Cheers.