Chapter 1

The Boyfriend I Invented

Oliver's POV

If my mother asked me one more time when I planned to get a boyfriend, I was going to invent a husband.

My name is Oliver Hayes. I'm twenty-five, an event planner, and apparently the only unmarried man in my family who has become a public concern.

I live in London, where people rush through crowded streets, complain about the weather, and somehow find time to mind everybody else's business. I've built a career organizing beautiful parties for people who have far more money than I do. I can plan a wedding for three hundred guests without breaking a sweat. But finding a decent boyfriend? That's a different disaster.

My last relationship ended when I discovered that my boyfriend had been using my apartment to meet another man. The one before that disappeared after borrowing money. I'd decided to take a break from dating. My family, unfortunately, had decided that my break had lasted long enough.

"Oliver, are you listening?"

I looked up from my plate. My mother, Margaret Hayes, sat across from me with a familiar expression. "Of course, Mum."

"What did I just say?"

"Something about the potatoes?"

My best friend, Noah Bennett, laughed beside me. "He's not listening," he said.

"Thank you, Noah," Mum replied. "At least someone pays attention."

I gave him a warning look. He continued eating. We were gathered at my mother's house for her birthday dinner. I'd brought flowers, bought her favourite cake, and even arrived early to help arrange the table. Apparently, none of that was enough.

"Your cousin Daniel has been dating someone for almost a year," Mum continued. "And your aunt's daughter is getting married next month."

"Congratulations to them."

"Oliver."

"Yes, Mum?"

"When are you going to introduce someone special to us?"

I reached for my water. There it was. The question that followed me through birthdays, Christmas dinners, and every phone call that lasted longer than five minutes.

"I'm busy with work."

"You're always busy with work."

"Work pays my bills."

"Love doesn't have to pay your bills."

Noah coughed to hide his laughter. I kicked his foot under the table. Mum ignored us. "You are a handsome young man. You have a good job. Why are you always alone?"

I wanted to remind her that being handsome hadn't stopped my previous boyfriends from behaving like criminals.

Instead, I smiled.

"Actually, I'm seeing someone."

The table went quiet. I stopped chewing.

Oh, no. What had I just done? Mum placed her fork down. "You're what?" "Seeing someone." "What's his name?"

I stared at her. I hadn't prepared for an interview. "Sebastian," I answered. Her face brightened. "That's lovely. What does he do?" "He's in business." "How old is he?" "Thirty." "Does he treat you well?" "Very well." "Does he know about us?" "Of course." Another lie.

Mum reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I'm happy for you, darling. Bring him next time. I want to meet him."

My smile became difficult to maintain. "Next time?" "Yes. Promise me." I glanced at Noah. He was enjoying this far too much.

"Fine. I'll bring him."

By the time dinner ended, my imaginary boyfriend had a name, an age, a job, and an invitation to meet my family. All I needed now was an actual boyfriend. And apparently, I had one week to find him.

Noah followed me outside. "You have a boyfriend?" He asked. "Don't start." "Sebastian? Thirty years old? Works in business?" "Would you like his tax records too?"

Noah burst out laughing. "This is brilliant."

"It's your fault." "How?" "You encouraged Mum to ask questions." "I didn't know you were going to invent an entire man!"

I opened my car door. "So, what happens when she asks to meet him?" "I'll think of something." "Oliver, you have one week."

"I can count." "Apparently, you can't count your lies."

I shut the door before he could continue. The drive home was quiet. I kept thinking about the name I'd chosen. Sebastian. It sounded handsome. I hated that my imaginary boyfriend already had better qualities than some of the real men I'd dated.

When I reached my apartment, I dropped my keys on the table and kicked off my shoes. Among the decorations I'd bought for an upcoming event was an antique silver pocket watch. I'd purchased it from a small shop in Camden the previous afternoon.

The seller had told me it was beautiful but useless. Its hands hadn't moved in years.

I'd bought it anyway. It looked expensive enough to impress people who didn't know anything about antiques.

I had left it on the kitchen counter. As I passed, something caught my attention. The second hand moved. Once. Then again. I stopped. "Well, that's new."

I picked it up and examined the face. The hands moved for another few seconds before stopping. A small click came from inside. I pressed the button. Nothing. I shrugged and placed it beside the fruit bowl. I was too tired to argue with a watch.

"Please tell me you brought food."

I turned. A stranger sat on my kitchen counter, eating the leftover pasta I'd saved for breakfast. He was handsome. Annoyingly handsome. Dark hair, sharp features, and a smile that suggested he had never been told to mind his own business.

I stepped closer to him. "Who are you?" He swallowed. "Sebastian." My eyes moved to the front door. It was locked. I looked back at him. "How did you get in here?" "That's a complicated question." "Then give me a simple answer."

He glanced at the pocket watch. "You're Oliver Hayes." I stepped away from the counter. "How do you know my name?"

He picked up the watch. His playful expression disappeared.

"Where did you get this?"

"That's mine. Put it down."

He turned it over in his hands. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then he whispered, "Seventeen years." "What?" He looked at the watch again. "I was beginning to think it would never start ticking."

I reached for it, but he held it against his chest. "Give it back." "Did you buy it?" "Yes." "From where?" "Why does that matter?"

He looked at me. Then he smiled again. "If you're going to pretend I'm your boyfriend, at least learn how to kiss properly." 

My mouth fell open. "Excuse me?" "Your mother sounded very excited to meet me."

I couldn't move. He had heard the conversation. But how?

I hadn't brought the watch to dinner. "Who are you?" I demanded. Sebastian leaned closer. "Sebastian Reed." "And what are you doing in my apartment?"

His smile faded. "Trying to remember how I got here." I took another step towards him. He lowered his voice. "There's just one thing you should know, Oliver."

"What?"

"I'm dead."