My Fake Wedding Novels & Stories

So I pressed my forehead against his, sucked in a deep breath that completely had his scent then began to speak. “You and I are a team. We agreed to be one. To be there for each other. To help each other. And that is what I'd do. Marriage was never part of my life goals, just like being in a relationship. But like we are fake dating, we can simply fake marry…” “We can't fake a mating ceremony, Arwa.” “But it doesn't have to be real for me. I can do it, and when you find my family, I leave. Isn't that fake?”

I questioned her. She looked at me with uncertainty, took a deep breath and answered, "We need you to be a fake bride”. I released my hand from her grip but she continued, "It's less than two weeks away from now, I promise we're going to annul it. The only thing we need is your presence as the bride". I chuckled forcefully, "I have a lot on my plate and I do not have time to on a charade". I tried to open the car door but she held on to me tightly and started pleading. I wasn't ready to be caught in between the rich folks but she kept on emphasizing how I'd fit the role perfectly because I have almost the same body frame as Daisy.

After all it was a fake engagement and wasn’t supposed to meet the usual destination of a wedding. But her thought was proved wrong as soon as she stood at the backyard. There was a swimming pool lounge as well and it was decorated with lights and rose petals having the moon on the middle. A stage was beautifully set at a little distance. The place was decorated and it was looking breathtakingly beautiful. Eden stared at the sight in front of her for a few moments. Not exactly at the place or the beautiful decorations but at the person who was supposed to look like a demon like always but somehow managed to look like an angel today.

His hand brushed against mine intentionally, a lingering, scorching touch that made my fingers tremble. Kian flashed Julian a tight, corporate smile, but the moment my husband blinked, Kian’s gaze dropped straight to my high velvet collar, eyes flashing darkly. Cassian smirked openly. His tattooed fingers clamped tightly around the wine stem, his eyes pinning my lips with a predatory, shameless hunger. They were playing the game perfectly. We all pretended we had never met. We all pretended last night never happened. And as I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs, I desperately prayed to whatever god was listening that it would stay that way forever.

"But he isn't the one holding my hand right now." What the hell. She was playing. She was making a mistake. I did my best to stay composed. I tried to smile. I tried to show she was joking. Then the cameraman asked. “Why did you say that? We know Mr. Santiago is your husband.” She blinked. “Is he? I remember divorcing him six years ago.” Then she immediately pressed her palm to her mouth, faking innocence. “Ups. Sorry. We are married. Happily even. Dante is the villain. Mateo isn’t.”

I was sitting alone at the empty dining table when my phone buzzed. It was an anonymous text. No name, just a picture and a message. The picture was of Albert’s hand, a hand I knew better than my own. But the laurel wreath tattoo symbolizing our mate bond had been altered—a tiny letter ‘M’ was now etched into the design. The message read: All I had to do was ask, and he let me leave my mark on him. Another message came through. So what if the ceremony is fake? He told me that in his heart, I’m his chosen one.

Deborah was the first to react. She smiled and said, “Oh, Riley, you’re back? Why didn’t you knock? You scared me.” “I went to the bank today. “When we got married, you gave me a twenty-thousand-dollar cash wedding gift. I took it out today. The bank said only two thousand dollars of it was real. The other eighteen thousand dollars were all counterfeit.” The living room fell completely silent upon hearing my words. The smile on Deborah’s face disappeared.

The auctioneer announced, "And now, for our final and most mysterious item of the evening, a painting from an anonymous donor—‘Priceless’ Love!" A giant red curtain was pulled away. An oil painting was revealed. It depicted Fiorella in a wedding dress and Caius in a suit, painted like gaudy 18th-century nobles. The style was a caricature of classical portraiture, their proportions comical, their expressions stiff and self-satisfied. But the killing blow was the frame. Obscenely lavish, it glittered with a cheap, blinding light—it was crusted with fake diamonds that anyone with an eye for quality could spot from a mile away.

I drowned out the voice of reasoning in my head letting myself get carried away by things so fake and Instead succumbed to the state of ignorance. It was so clear that all those planning, meetings, and enjoying the finer things of life were all just an illusion, a sad illusion. I subjected myself to planning a fake wedding, I didn't even know the man I was getting married to except his name and the basic things I had to learn from Luke to keep appearances and avoid any speculations.