Read Chapter One of Beau and Lyndi’s story!
Lyndi
Adjusting my camera bag over my shoulder, I approached Starlight Manor, ready to capture the big day for a happy couple. Or two, actually. The first wedding was a brunch affair—which I didn’t even know was a thing—and the second would be a traditional evening event under the stars near the venue’s gorgeous private pond.
Starlight Manor was the kind of place that enveloped a wedding in magic, making what was otherwise a lovely event feel like it had been pulled off the pages of a timeless classic.
And it was more than just the setting. It was the talented wedding planner who put it all together. My friend Aria was a magician in Manolos. Taste and class and elegance were so ingrained in her that she couldn’t help but layer them over every wedding, right on top of a foundation of small-town charm.
In short, weddings at Starlight were a photographer’s dream. My fingers tingled with the urge to take out my camera and zero in on little details in the floral arrangements on the meticulously decorated tables. Or the laugh lines on the faces of the bride’s parents as they gazed lovingly at their little girl with the shimmering pond in the background. Maybe even the unshed tears of a lonely guest sitting under the wide oak tree, wondering if she’d ever find a man who would promise to spend forever with her.
I wouldn’t include the photos from the last example in the bride’s wedding gallery, of course. But moments like that were hard to miss in my line of work, and there was something about the raw emotions sparked by weddings that begged to be photographed. They tugged at me, kneading my own lonely heart to a pulp with their intensity.
As a general rule, deep emotions were confusing for me. On the outside, I liked to keep things light and cheery. I was the one who wore my heart on my sleeve and was always down for a hug. In a way, it was almost like a cover for how I felt on the inside. I always seemed to feel my deeper feelings a little too hard. In a suffocating way, making me want to wrangle them or tuck them away.
So, while I appeared sunny and warm on the outside, internally, things were a lot more tumultuous up in here. It was hard to constantly feel like I was at war with myself when it came to things my older sister seemed to do so easily, like getting along with others or feeling at home in a crowd.
But behind the camera? It was almost freeing the way I could capture emotion with the click of my shutter and then feel at peace knowing someone had acknowledged how simple and pure it was. It brought me comfort in a world where I felt like an outsider. Photography gave me a reason to be an outsider that would make sense to everyone else.
As I approached the main house, I grinned at Aria where she stood near the front steps with our town’s most-beloved, meddling, busybody of a florist. Ms. Hattie put a hand on Aria’s baby bump, bending slightly to talk to him or her.
Aria was due in about five weeks, and even though the baby obviously belonged to her and her husband, Ms. Hattie loved to refer to their child as “our baby.” As in, the whole dang town’s baby. Because in Ms. Hattie’s head, we were all one big family, and we all belonged to her.
“Morning ladies,” I said in a singsong voice as I approached, giving Aria a one-armed hug against her side.
Ms. Hattie straightened and beamed at me, looking lit up from the inside in her pink Bluffton Blooms polo. “Lyndi, how are you, dear?”
“Great, thanks.” I patted my camera bag. “Ready for an awesome weekend.”
“Yes, it’ll be a busy one,” Ms. Hattie agreed. “We haven’t had three weddings in one weekend in forever. Not counting Fridays, of course.”
Aria put her hands on the top of her bump and sighed heavily. “I know, but we also haven’t had a wedding brunchbefore, and I didn’t have this little one on the way when they all booked their dates, so I had no reason not to take advantage of a triple-wedding weekend. It sounded so exciting at the time.”
I took in her creased brow and the way she worried her lip between her teeth. Aria Paxton was the epitome of a workaholic. She lived in a cottage on the grounds of this very estate, and when she wasn’t in her office on the main floor planning events for the B&B her parents owned, she was bustling around the grounds overseeing one.
I didn’t know this for sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion Aria even worked while she slept. If anyone could manage that, she could. But now, she was a little over a month away from being a first-time mother, and while I had no idea what that was truly like since I wasn’t one, I felt the urge to help ease the transition.
Maybe it would help if she slowed down now. Like doing less over the next five weeks might help make it not so jarring when she had the baby and it had to be a full stop for a while.
Reaching out and taking the tops of her arms in my hands, I turned her to face me. “Hey, there’s no shame in a little delegation, remember? We all know you’re the world’s best wedding planner. You don’t need to bust your butt all the way up to your due date, do you?”
Aria chuckled. “I don’t know how to relax, Lyn. You know me. If I weren’t here working, I’d be crawling up the walls.”
“Ha, not in your condition, you wouldn’t,” Ms. Hattie teased with a wink. “Lyndi’s right. Maybe you should pass some things off to the staff and rest during the brunch wedding, then come back later for the evening one.”
Ms. Hattie clearly approached the subject from a health standpoint, which hadn’t occurred to me. I only knew my friend’s drive and wanted her to take her foot off the gas a little in preparation for traffic. But I supposed keeping her from overdoing it so she didn’t work herself into an early labor was important too.
Shaking her head, Aria reached up and removed my hands from her arms, giving them a squeeze before dropping them. “You guys, I’m fine. Besides, it’s too late to get anyone up to speed on this weekend’s events, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll get some help for the rest of them.”
Ms. Hattie and I shared a look. Aria’s tired eyes said a whole lot more than her words did, but I sighed, relenting. “Fine. Just please let me know if I can help with anything. If I’m not actively taking photos, I’ll do whatever I can to lighten your load.”
It was the least I could do. When Aria had taken over event coordinating at Starlight, she’d hired me immediately to be their main photographer. My hobby of taking photos of people having fun instead of actually joining them quickly morphed into a lucrative career thanks to the success of her endeavor, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes telling me she meant it. “But listen, I have to get back to it. The wedding party will be here soon, and I need to make sure everything is in order.”
This morning’s wedding was nontraditional in a few ways. The bride and groom were renewing their vows, so they planned to show up together, already ready for their quick ceremony and the lavish brunch that followed. Which meant I hadn’t needed to be here hours early so I could take candid photos in the bridal suite.
And thank goodness for that, considering the doozy of a wedding that would follow this one. There were twelve bridesmaids. Twelve. I couldn’t imagine having that many women in my life who were so important I’d want them next to me on my wedding day. I liked to keep my circle small, and thankfully, my sister Layla and our two best friends loved me, quirks and all.
“I’ll see you later for the next one, Ms. Hattie?” Aria asked her as she turned to head inside.
The older woman nodded. “See you then, mama.”
Aria’s eyes went wistful as she smiled and turned away.
When she was gone, Ms. Hattie shot me a grimace. “That girl is going to overdo it this weekend. I can feel it.”
The corners of my mouth twitched downward. “She’ll be okay. I’ve got her.”
“I know you do, sweetheart.” Then her eyes searched my face, and a distinctly mischievous glint entered their depths. “I ran into your grandmother at the market yesterday.”
“Oh?” I felt my stomach twist and knot, a familiar sense of dread wafting over me.
“Yes. I mentioned my son is coming to town.”
Inwardly, I groaned, suspicions confirmed. My grandmother had a knack for making me feel like I was doomed to walk the earth alone for the rest of eternity. As if that same fear didn’t already follow me wherever I went.
I knew I was bad at love. I knew my most successful relationships were the ones I had with the men in my romance novels who didn’t even exist in real life.
But all of that didn’t mean I wanted her to stick her nose into my love life and try to be my fairy grandmother. If I never found love, I’d never get my heart broken. And since I already lived my life feeling like my own emotions were harder to wrangle than seemed fair, that was the ideal scenario.
“Great,” I said to Ms. Hattie, keeping my voice even and matching her benign expression. “Thanks for that.”
Her face softened. “Oh, Lyndi. She just wants to see you happy.”
“No, she just wants to see me married. There’s a huge difference.”
Ms. Hattie put her hands on her plump hips and cocked her head. “Well, speaking as a very happily marriedwoman, I beg to differ.” When I stuck my tongue out at her to take this conversation from pathetic to playful, she dropped her hands with a chuckle. “Brett’s coming with me to your sister’s wedding.”
“You’re taking your son and not your husband? Don’t happily married women like to attend weddings with their husbands?”
“Well, of course. But then your sister decided to get married three weeks before your cousin plans to. Since I’m invited to both weddings, and Brett will be in town for one of them, my husband decided to sit one out. Let’s be honest, there’s been quite an uptick in weddings lately.”
“Uh-huh,” I deadpanned.
If I feared my grandma’s matchmaking, Ms. Hattie was about a gazillion times worse. Her meddling was probably the cause of most of the weddings she’d attended recently, including my sister’s.
And wow, she looked mighty proud of it.
“Anyway,” she said with a wave of her hand, “Brett’s excited for a night with his mama, and Thatcher can only handle so much socializing.”
I knew the feeling. Give me my core circle of friends, my family, and the people in this town like Ms. Hattie who felt like family even though there was no relation, and I was a happy girl. But if I had to be a guest at all the weddings I photographed? I’d lose my mind. In fact, I preferred the company of a good book to almost everyone on the aforementioned list.
Not that I’d ever tell them that. Though, something told me they already knew.
“Well, I guess I’ll look forward to Grandma’s meddling at Layla’s wedding, then. Or shoot, even before. Let me guess, she asked you to ask me if I’d be his date.”
“Are you bringing a date?” she asked with a too-innocent expression.
“No, I’m not. But I’m not going to steal yours, because then your husband would have to go, and I feel for the guy.”
She smirked. “Well played, dear. Save Brett a dance, will you? That’ll make your grandmother happy, and I wouldn’t hate to see him let loose and have a little fun. He’s so serious all the time.”
“You got it,” I promised half-heartedly.
Ms. Hattie’s son Brett was a stud, no doubt about it. But he lived at a Marine base in Okinawa, so obviously there was no chance I’d take a second look at him. I loved my life in Bluffton, South Carolina, and there was no way I’d fall for a Marine stationed overseas and let him whisk me away to join him.
Besides, if any Marine could tempt me into leaving my beloved hometown—and let’s be honest, it wouldn’t work anyway—it was Beau Devereux.
The man with a name that fully embodied his entire appeal. Smooth. Suave. And as swoon-worthy as any man I’d ever read about in the pages of my books.
But it didn’t matter because Beau didn’t look at me like that. I was sure of it. He’d had plenty of opportunities in the year I’d known him to make a move if he did.
Ms. Hattie looked up at the massive white mansion and sighed. “All right, my work here is done, and it’s almost go-time. I’m gonna head back to the shop to get things ready for tonight’s event. See you in a few hours for round two.”
I gave her a wave and started to reply, but then my eyes landed on a familiar cherry-red coupe as it pulled onto the circular drive and my heartbeat stuttered painfully in my chest.
Ms. Hattie slid her gaze over to me conspiratorially. “Oh, look, it’s the real reason you won’t do more than save a dance for my son.”
Without even giving me a chance to deny it, she made a little noise to suggest she was pleased with herself and went on her way.
Frozen in place, I watched as Beau gracefully exited the car and rounded the hood, looking like a full-on snack in a white button-down shirt and crisp khaki slacks. His chocolate belt matched his shoes—as it always did, no matter the color. The man practically oozed style.
When he looked up and his hazel eyes met mine, a lump formed in my throat. Oh, how this guy could knot me up from the inside with only a look. He offered me a tentative smile before moving quickly to the passenger door of his car, then he opened it to reveal a beautiful older woman wearing a peach dress with a matching shawl. She slipped her hand in his and allowed him to help her out of the car, then held up a finger to him as she dug her ringing phone out of her purse.
I watched as the woman stepped away to answer it, then my gaze flicked back to Beau. He handed the valet his keys with a nod of thanks, then tucked one hand in a pocket as he loped up the stairs.
Right toward me.
Shaking my head, I managed a smile only half a second later than I probably should have. “Hey, Beau.”
“Hey, Lyndi. How are you?”
“Well, thanks.” I glanced at the woman still talking on the phone, her shoulders bunched up in a defensive posture as she gestured with her hand while she spoke. “Is that your wedding date for the brunch?”
Not only was Beau an active-duty Marine stationed at nearby Parris Island Recruit Depot, but he also had a side-gig where he traveled up the Eastern Seaboard on weekends to attend weddings as a plus-one-for-hire. He called the business Mr. Fake Date and even had an app developed for women to book his services.
One corner of his glorious mouth lifted. “She’s my client, yes.”
The strong emphasis he’d used on the word client caused my brow to quirk involuntarily. “Isn’t that what I said?”
“No,” he replied with a chuckle. “They hire me as their wedding date, but to me, they’re clients. Not dates.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Seems a little like splitting hairs to me, but you do you, boo.”
He laughed breezily, the light sound causing my heart to stutter a little. “Anyway, yes, she’s my client. Mother of the bride.”
“Interesting.”
The woman looked to be in her sixties, and even though I’d been shocked the first time I’d seen Beau at a wedding with a woman of her age, I was used to it now. Beau’s clients came in all ages, shapes, sizes, and whatever other classification you could think of.
It seemed like no one—no matter how attractive or delightful or effervescent—was beyond hiring this man to pretend to be her date if there was a good enough reason for it. And standing off on the sidelines while Beau accompanied these women had shown me they always had a good reason.
I wanted more information, my curiosity feeling like fingers scratching inside my brain. But I didn’t bother asking. Beau had a rule about maintaining his clients’ secrets. He valued privacy and was a master at keeping up the charade in front of the other wedding guests.
I found it to be almost honorable—the way he never outed his dates to other women who daringly flirted with him even though they knew he was there with someone else. Almost honorable because his entire purpose for being there was a lie.
But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to betray his clients’ confidence. I had a thing for puzzles and it was kind of fun for me to figure out the behind-the-scenes drama that caused someone to hire Beau.
As a photographer, I was insanely good at reading people. I observed from afar, camera in hand, able to find patterns and stories even without being explicitly told anything.
It was in the way people looked at each other when they thought no one was watching. It was in their body language or the subtext behind their words. I loved capturing moments shared between people that would have otherwise faded into oblivion.
And yes, I knew how stalkerish that sounded, but hey—at least turning it into a career made it a little less creepy. Right?
“Today should be fun,” he said, watching his client over my shoulder. “Are you working both weddings?”
“Are you?” I asked, my head pulling back like someone had tied a string to the back of it and tugged.
“Yeah, I like having two appointments in one day. Means I can take a day off tomorrow and actually have some free time for once.”
I almost snorted at the way he’d said appointments. He took his job very seriously. Well, both jobs. I’d only seen him in action as Mr. Fake Date, not as Sergeant Devereux, but I’d overheard him and Zac talking about work and what he did in the Marine Corps.
Judging by the way he spoke about it, I could tell it was something that meant a lot to him. The actual job itself—teaching Marine recruits how to use their firearms during boot camp—and also the pride of belonging to the world’s sexiest military branch. In my humble, totally unbiased opinion, of course.
“Right, well, yes,” I said, fiddling with the zipper of my camera bag, “I am working both weddings.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then the mother of the bride let out a loud sigh of frustration as she ascended the steps, looking a little rattled. “Sorry about that. That was my ex-husband. The nerve on that man, I swear.”
Without missing a beat, Beau zipped down the remaining steps, then offered her his arm.
She made a little sound like she was charmed, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow with a wide smile. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Shall we?”
The woman looked at me like she couldn’t believe how lucky she was. Like she’d bought a one-dollar scratcher at the gas station and was shocked to find a row of sevens with a thousand-dollar prize attached to it.
Or maybe a million. If Beau were a scratcher, he’d be worth a million. Easy.
“See ya later, Lyndi,” he said as they passed me, and I belatedly waved after he’d already turned his back.
For a long moment, I just stood there, watching them disappear through the massive double doors of the manor. Between photographing weddings and being a romance novel addict, I was used to being surrounded by amazing, unattainable men.
That was how I viewed all grooms because clearly, they were amazing enough for someone to want to marry them. And since they were getting married, that made them unattainable.
Obviously.
As for the romance novels? The men dreamed up by countless authors who had the perfect imaginary lips and always used them to say the right things at exactly the right moments? Well, duh, they could be the most amazing guys in the world, but they were still fictional. One couldn’t find a man more unattainable than that.
And Beau? He was the ultimate book boyfriend come to life. Or rather, a combination of multiple book boyfriends. Practically as fictional as the men in my books, he constantly put himself in situations that screamed fake relationship romance trope.
And I knew this because we’d spent the last year working the same wedding circuit, and I’d watched him transform himself into whoever his clients wanted him to be. Over and over and over again.
He could be a bad boy whose only purpose was to soften up a woman’s parents before they met the actual man she wanted to bring home to them.
He could be the perfect gentlemen, aiming to impress a dad who would only hand over his company to his daughter if she proved she was willing to settle down in addition to having career goals.
Or he could be a potential threat—the guy who would nearly get punched by another man, who for whatever reason needed to see her with him in order to realize his own feelings for the woman he loved.
But all of these versions of Beau weren’t the real him. And even though six months ago he’d become besties with my sister’s fiancé, and I’d thought I’d be able to find out who he was behind the charade, it hadn’t happened.
Every time the four of us hung out, I’d watch him over the top of my Kindle from the corner—I’d be present, but happier in the background. He’d laugh and smile and entertain, bleeding with the confidence of a man who didn’t overanalyze everything or second-guess himself. I actually kind of envied him for that reason. But I never heard him say anything that clued me in to who he was on the inside.
But … it was for the best. After all, he’s leaving for a new duty station in a few months, and as tempting as it was to think about peeling back his layers and discovering who he was beneath his glittering exterior, it wouldn’t matter how I felt about what I found out.
I knew I’d never leave Bluffton, and I knew he wouldn’t stay.
Click here to check out The Fake Date on Amazon!
