4. Bailey

Holy shit,I'm on a private jet. Luckily, I had a passport. I've been out of the UK twice. The first time was when Otis decided we were going to Spain the summer we graduated. I'd had a few high-paying jobs from Elite, so I could afford it. The second time, a break-out actor flew me to Cannes first class to help him quell their nerves before they appeared at the film festival. They needed lots of grounding and reassurance.

The interior of the jet is like a lounge. Four reclining seats face each other at one end of the cabin, while the rest is taken up by a long, cream sofa opposite a huge TV.

A man in a smart pale grey suit awaits us. He stands and shakes my hand. "Hi, I'm Clive, Harper's lawyer." He looks me up and down. "When I introduced him to Elite Connections, I didn't think they'd be able to find someone to go along with his insane scheme. I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harper asks. "I'm amazing. Everyone would love to spend twelve months living with me, pretending to be my husband."

Clive snorts. "There's going to be no pretending about it. You will be married. Speaking of which, I have the prenuptial agreement for you to look over and sign. Let's get this bird in the air, and then we can go over it. All right?"

I nod.

We sit and buckle up. Takeoff is smooth, and before I know it, we're at a cruising altitude, and a flight attendant—is that the right word on a private jet?—is serving champagne and canapés. Once we're alone again, Clive opens his briefcase and hands me and Harper copies of the prenuptial agreement. We're going to be in the air for several hours before we reach Vegas, so I take my time reading the contract. Clive has done a good job of writing it in a manner that's easy for a layperson to understand. Plus, I've read lots of contracts thanks to my line of work, which helps me understand legal jargon.

I don't find any nasty surprises. It's straightforward and sums up everything Harper has already told me. We get married and do some couply things together to sell the fact we're married, including public displays of affection. I get a handsome monthly fee, and in twelve months, we get divorced, and I walk away with an additional lump sum. We're not allowed to bad-mouth each other during the marriage or after.

After reading it through three times, I sign on the dotted line. Strange how doing so makes the crazy sink in more than the heavy ring on my finger or being on a private jet. The contract didn't mention having to give the ring back, but I will. It's Harper's, not mine.

"Awesome," Clive says as I return the contract to him.

He and Harper sit on the sofa, watching a film and chatting.

"I'll be there for the wedding, and then I'll leave you two love birds to it."

"Clive is my best man."

"What he means is I'm the only person who agrees with most of his schemes, which is why he keeps me around as a friend."

Harper rolls his eyes. "Not true. We've been friends since school."

I glance between them. "Are you sure you didn't want to ask Clive to be your husband instead?"

They look at each other and then burst out laughing.

"God, no," Harper says.

"We'd kill each other within five minutes."

I fold my arms. "How do you know we won't end up killing each other?"

Harper shrugs. "I have a good feeling about you." His blue eyes sparkle as he smiles. "Are you jealous?"

I jerk my head back. "Why would I be jealous? I don't know either of you, and this isn't a real marriage." I take a breath. The marriage is real. It's the emotions we need to fake.

"You should probably come up with a story about how you met," Clive says. "Your mother will ask."

Harper groans. "Don't remind me. Can I say we met in Vegas, got drunk, and tied the knot?"

"No."

"Oh." Harper pouts. "Can you come up with a better idea, Bailey? Something tells me you're going to be the brains in our marriage." He winks.

Considering he makes money through stock market investments, I doubt Harper needs anyone to ‘be the brains' in the relationship.

"I'll leave you to it. I'm going to take a nap," Clive says.

He goes to one of the seats, reclines it into a flatbed, puts in ear plugs, pulls on an eye mask, and settles under a blanket.

"He'll be asleep in no time," Harper says. "I've never known anyone who can fall asleep so fast." He pats the sofa. "Join me?"

I sit in the space Clive vacated. The leather is still warm. I put one knee on the seat and loop my arm over the back of the sofa to face Harper. Smiling, he mirrors my position.

"Your idea might be the best," I say.

Harper's eyes light up.

"Saying we met and decided to get married on a whim is pretty much the truth. If we try to say we've known each other for a while, we're more likely to get tripped up when your family start asking questions."

"Or asking to see photos."

"Exactly."

"I mean, we could fake all that."

"It's not a good idea."

Harper taps the sofa cushion. "I agree. If we pretend we've had a romance, my parents would want to know why they haven't met you before and why we eloped to Vegas instead of planning a huge wedding."

"Exactly."

Harper grins. "See? I told you I had a good feeling about you. We're getting along and agreeing already."

For a while, we're bouncing ideas back and forth until we have a cohesive story to tell his parents about how we met, instantly fell in love, and rushed to Vegas to get married.

"I think we're done," Harper says.

"I think so too."

He chews his lower lip. "At some point, we're going to have to stop getting on so well, but right now, we need to be convincingly in love." He puts his hand over mine. "Thanks for agreeing to this."

I nod, too lost in his honey-coloured eyes to come up with a sensible response. Reminding him it's a job or thanking him for hiring me doesn't seem right while his voice is so soft and earnest.

He takes his hand away to smother a yawn. "A nap is probably a good idea. Do you want one?"

I shake my head.

"If you need anything, just knock on the cabin door."

"What could I ask for?"

"Food. Alcohol. Whatever your pretty heart desires." Harper winks and settles himself in one of the chairs.

To pass the time, I watch a couple of films. The flight attendant brings me food, even though I haven't asked for it. The succulent chicken, served with sweet carrots, parsnips, and roast potatoes which are crispy on the outside and fluffy inside, is easily better than any other meal I've had on a plane.

I stare at the ring. A lot. How much did it cost? I can't ask. For twelve months, I'll be living a lifestyle worlds apart from what I'm used to. One I've only sampled for a few hours at a time while working for Elite. I'm like the kid who presses his nose up against the window of the chocolate shop to be told he can come inside and have anything he wants, only to freeze up and not know what to choose. Will I fit in with Harper's friends? Will his family like me? Does it matter if they do? We're getting divorced in a year anyway. If they do like me, will it be harder to pretend to love and then fall out of love with Harper? I need to stop overthinking. This is a job like any other I've done for the agency. The only difference is that it's long term.

Clive wakes first. He goes to the bathroom and then joins me on the sofa.

"Have you slept at all?"

"No."

"Pre-wedding jitters?"

I laugh. "Something like that."

"Harper might be totally out of reality, and he acts like a puppy on speed half the time, but he's a good guy."

"That's good to know."

"For the record, I think you're as insane as he is for going along with this crazy scheme." He pats my shoulder. "We should be descending soon. I'd better wake him up."

"I'll do it." Harper is going to be my husband after all.

Clive relaxes on the sofa and nods.

I go to Harper, crouch beside his chair, and shake him gently. He makes an adorably soft snorting sound as he wakes. He stares at me, eyes unfocused for a few seconds, then blinks and smiles.

"Why hello there, husband-to-be."

"Hi. Clive says we'll be landing soon."

"Oh, awesome." He uses the button to put his chair into the upright position. "Let's get hitched."