It's Complicated

I’m the queen of dating disasters - I’ve had more rotten dates than you can shake a long-stemmed rose at. After years of one disappointment after another, I’m beginning to feel like I’ll never say “I do.” So after being dumped one too many times, I do something stupid: I make a pact with my best friend Asher. If neither of us is married by 35, we tie the knot. I’ve got to meet Mr. Right by then, don’t I? But when I take a job redecorating Asher’s bachelor pad, I realize he’s a lot different from the guy I thought he was.

I hate Charlie Cavendish. Rich. Over-privileged. Smug. The guy’s far too good-looking for his own good, and he’s always got that smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth, telling me what he thinks of me. And now, my worst nightmare has come true. Charles Cavendish has moved into my building, which means I can’t avoid seeing him everywhere I go. He’s always there, judging me, especially when I come in late at night. Hey, I can’t help it if my “single American girl in London” writing gig means I’ve got to check out every new club in town.

One thing I’ve learned this Valentine’s day is that fake fiancés should remain just that: fake. Pretending to be engaged to James Brody, the hot, single London deputy mayor who graces gossip columns, is just a business deal. Nothing more. I’m his appropriately demure fiancée that makes him look like he’s not the playboy the media thinks he is, and he’s my ticket to getting my pushy mum off my back about not being married and producing her two perfect grandchildren. The problem is, I’ve started to enjoy being with James. Then there’s that kiss we shared. Yeah, that.

Noah Grant was my first. He was the guy who went from childhood friend to teenage love. The guy I spent one heady, intoxicating summer with, only to have my heart snapped in two—not by him, but by me. Fast forward 12 years and just when I think I’m finally over Noah, he’s back. Older, wiser, hotter.