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Stellan

I’m standing at a carnival booth, surrounded by bright colors, the sounds of laughing children, and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy. The day is warm, the sun shining down, and here I am, passing out raffle tickets like some kind of overpaid carnival barker. This is my life now, apparently. All because of a stupid PR stunt to clean up my image.

I can already tell that Fiona isn’t thrilled about being here, either. She’s standing next to me, looking all put-together in a floral dress that’s way too pretty for this kind of event. She keeps glancing around, clearly uncomfortable, like she’s waiting for something—anything—to distract her. Honestly, I get it. I wouldn’t want to be here either if I had to pretend to be in a relationship with a guy like me.

But damn, Fiona looks stunning.

I’ve seen her in pictures, of course—her dad’s a big deal, and I’m used to seeing her face all over the place. But seeing her in person is different. She’s tall, with these long, toned legs that go on for days, and her hair’s this rich, deep shade of brown that catches the sunlight like it was made to shine. Her eyes are a color I can’t quite pinpoint—somewhere between green and hazel, with flecks of gold that look like they belong in a painting.

It’s crazy, really. And I don’t know if it’s the sunlight, or just the fact that I’m standing here, pretending to be her boyfriend, but I can’t stop staring at her. It’s like I’ve suddenly realized that she’s not just the owner’s daughter. She’s... beautiful.

“Here,” I say, handing her a stack of raffle tickets. “You’re in charge of handing these out. I’m just here for the good looks and charm.” I give her a wink, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“I’ll let you have that one,” she replies, though her tone is a little more amused than I expected.

We start handing tickets to people as they walk by. Well, I do. Fiona seems to be more interested in staring off into the distance, avoiding eye contact with pretty much everyone. It’s funny, actually. She’s gorgeous, but she acts like she’d rather be anywhere else. I get it, though—having to smile and pretend to be happy for a bunch of strangers is probably the last thing she wants to be doing.

A couple of girls walk by, eyes lighting up when they see me. They’re clearly excited to get a picture with me, and who am I to deny my fans?

“Stellan! Oh my god, can we get a selfie?” one of them asks, practically bouncing with excitement.

I flash a smile, giving them the full celebrity treatment. “Sure, of course.”

They glance at Fiona, eyes pleading. “Um, could you take the picture?”

Fiona looks annoyed, but smiles graciously. “Sure, although you’re probably better taking a picture of the dirt and garbage,” she snaps the photo, “better quality.”

I laugh, smiling at the girls. “She’s a ray of freaking sunshine, isn’t she ladies?”

They awkwardly laugh as they thank me for the picture and walk away.

I lean in, so I can speak directly to Fiona with no one else overhearing. “You’re supposed to like me, remember?”

She looks thoughtful, pressing a finger to her cheek. “Sorry, guess I’m just not that good at acting.” However, she smiles wide after saying it, and I’m nearly struck dumb by her beauty.

I laugh it off before she notices me gawking at her. “I can’t help it if I’ve got fans.” I shrug.

Fiona raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Stop acting like you’re the second coming of rock and roll.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, it’s not every day you get to be adored by fans.” I grin, nudging her playfully.

She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips again. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Aw, you love it. Admit it,” I tease.

Fiona laughs, rolling her eyes, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh all day. I realize I like it—more than I care to admit. Maybe I’m starting to enjoy this whole ‘fake dating’ thing more than I should.

But as the next wave of people comes through the gate, my attention shifts. A guy walks in, and I can tell immediately that something’s off. Fiona’s whole body stiffens when she sees him, her eyes narrowing, jaw tightening.

I glance over, noticing the guy’s confident stride, like he owns the place. He’s well-dressed, wearing a blazer and looking like he thinks he’s too good to be at a charity event. I can see why Fiona doesn’t like him. He’s the kind of guy who thinks he can get away with anything, and the way Fiona’s reacting tells me there’s history there.

I raise an eyebrow. “Who’s the guy?”

Fiona doesn’t look at me. “Grant,” she says, her voice tight.

“Grant?” I ask, sensing the tension between them. “What’s the deal with him? He looks like a walking douche.”

Fiona finally meets my eyes, her expression hard. “We used to date,” she says shortly, her voice laced with disdain.

I blink, taken aback. “Used to?”

She nods, her mouth set in a firm line. “Yeah, well, that was before I found out he was cheating on me. The asshole.”

I glance back at Grant, who’s now heading our way with a smug smile plastered on his face. I feel a protective instinct flare up, and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because Fiona’s so obviously upset, or maybe it’s because I’m starting to realize I don’t want anyone making her uncomfortable.

“Nice guy,” I say dryly. “I’m guessing you’re not exactly thrilled to see him.”

Fiona’s expression hardens even more, and she clenches her jaw. “I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Grant reaches us, and he looks at me with an appraising gaze. He’s sizing me up, and I can tell he’s not happy to see me standing next to Fiona.

“Fiona,” Grant says, voice too smooth. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Obviously,” Fiona says, her tone ice-cold. “What are you doing here, Grant?”

Grant smiles, his teeth a little too white. “I heard there was a charity event. Figured I’d make an appearance.”

I watch as Fiona takes a step back, clearly uncomfortable. There’s a palpable tension in the air, and it’s obvious Grant has that same cocky, ‘I can get whatever I want’ vibe. I don’t like it. Not one bit.

“Well, enjoy yourself,” Fiona says curtly, her voice tight with barely restrained anger. “You know the way out, I’m sure.”

Grant doesn’t seem fazed by her coldness. In fact, he almost looks pleased by it. “I was hoping we could catch up, you know, see how you’ve been doing,” he says, his gaze flicking to me and then back to Fiona. “But it looks like you’ve got company. I thought you hated hockey players.”

Fiona’s face goes pale, and I can tell this whole situation is dredging up a lot of bad memories for her. “Don’t pretend you care, Grant. You lost that right a long time ago. And this is my boyfriend , Stellan. Maybe you’ve heard of him. I’m sure he can sign an autograph, or snap a selfie with you.”

I smile, proud of her. “I’d be happy to sign something for an adoring fan,” I say, oozing with sarcasm and charm.

Grant’s smile falters for just a second, but he quickly recovers. “I’m good.” He glances back at Fiona. “Well, if you change your mind, Fi, I’ll be around.”

As he walks away, I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The guy might be good-looking, but he’s also a total jerk. The way Fiona shut him down made me kind of proud of her. She doesn’t need to deal with that guy’s crap.

I turn to her, offering a small, reassuring smile. “You okay?”

Fiona takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Just... I didn’t expect to see him here, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to deal with him if you don’t want to,” I say, my voice soft. “I can make sure he stays away.”

Fiona looks at me, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of appreciation in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

And for the first time since we started this whole ridiculous PR stunt, I wonder if maybe this isn’t just about the media after all. Maybe there’s something real here—something more than a fake relationship.