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This title is printed to order. This book may have been self-published. If so, we cannot guarantee the quality of the content. In the main most books will have gone through the editing process however some may not. We therefore suggest that you be aware of this before ordering this book. If in doubt check either the author or publisher’s details as we are unable to accept any returns unless they are faulty. Please contact us if you have any questions.
What's a heartbroken American to do when she's in London trying to get over her ex? Find herself a fake fiance. Obviously.?
I'm walking past Big Ben, trying to get over the world's worst break up, when I slam into a hot hunk of British man.
And pour scorching hot coffee all over him.
My caffeine casualty not only forgives me for ruining his shirt, but when I ramble on about needing to distract the press from my recent heartbreak, he agrees to be my pretend prince charming faster than you can say 'espresso'.
Our agreement is clear: nothing is real.
Except the more time we spend pretending to be a couple, the harder it is to keep my side of the bargain. And his smoldering stare tells me he might be having the same problem.
And then we have a game night. Maybe it's naked Twister that pushes us over the edge.
I'm starting to think my fake fiance might be husband material.
For real.
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This title is printed to order. This book may have been self-published. If so, we cannot guarantee the quality of the content. In the main most books will have gone through the editing process however some may not. We therefore suggest that you be aware of this before ordering this book. If in doubt check either the author or publisher’s details as we are unable to accept any returns unless they are faulty. Please contact us if you have any questions.
What's a heartbroken American to do when she's in London trying to get over her ex? Find herself a fake fiance. Obviously.?
I'm walking past Big Ben, trying to get over the world's worst break up, when I slam into a hot hunk of British man.
And pour scorching hot coffee all over him.
My caffeine casualty not only forgives me for ruining his shirt, but when I ramble on about needing to distract the press from my recent heartbreak, he agrees to be my pretend prince charming faster than you can say 'espresso'.
Our agreement is clear: nothing is real.
Except the more time we spend pretending to be a couple, the harder it is to keep my side of the bargain. And his smoldering stare tells me he might be having the same problem.
And then we have a game night. Maybe it's naked Twister that pushes us over the edge.
I'm starting to think my fake fiance might be husband material.
For real.