American Boyfriend

American Boyfriend

InkStar P.

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Alessia De Luca is determined to prove to her family that she has moved on from the man who left her at the altar two years ago. Desperate to avoid their pity, she enlists her arch-nemesis Noah Wilson, a moody colleague, to pose as her boyfriend during a summer trip to Italy, where her ex-fiancé, Antonio, is getting married. But circumstances changed and she's thrown into a dilemma that almost ruins everything. However, things get more complicated when Noah plays his role a little too well, and Alessia realizes that she's falling for her perfectly 'fake' boyfriend.

Chapter 1 Boyfriend Dilemma

Alessia groaned, burying her face in her palms. "I have just a week to get a boyfriend. Fuck."

The sound of crunching chips filled the air, drawing her attention to the woman sitting across from her, unfazed by the crisis at hand.

Straightening up, Alessia narrowed her eyes. "You're really not going to say anything?" she demanded, arms crossed.

Brielle barely spared her a glance before rolling her eyes. "What else is there to say? I've told you already-quit the lie. Just tell your family the truth. They won't kill you. They might be pissed, sure, but that's as bad as it'll get," Brielle said, tossing another chip into her mouth. She pointed a manicured finger at Alessia. "And honestly, you're not finding a man like that in a week."

Alessia sighed and let her gaze wander around the lunchroom. The days were slipping away, and she still couldn't confess to her family or, worse, find a fake boyfriend.

If only she had kept her mouth shut. She wouldn't be in this mess. After successfully dodging family visits for two years, they had insisted on her presence this year.

Mama had mentioned she'd been avoiding them-accurately so-but Alessia had denied it, using her "busy schedule" as an excuse for not traveling the world to see them.

The truth was, home stirred up memories-painful ones. It was the reason she'd left Italy for America, searching for a fresh start. But then Mama dropped the bomb: Antonio was getting married.

Alessia had no idea how to process that, so she had said nothing. Mama, sensing her unease, reassured her.

"We know, Amore, this must be hard for you. It's okay to feel sad, angry-whatever you feel. But we want you home, sweetie."

Alessia's emotions spiraled out of control. "I've moved on. It's been two years," she had snapped, ignoring the tightening in her chest. But that was where she messed up. Mama had then asked her to come home if she'd truly moved on and even invited her to attend Antonio's wedding-his wedding.

Mama's subtle hint about bringing someone with her hadn't gone unnoticed by Alessia. When she hesitated, Mama assured her that it was okay to come alone. And that's when Alessia's big mouth betrayed her.

She had told her mother she was seeing someone. Someone serious. And yes, they would come to the wedding.

Now, she couldn't bring herself to tell Mama it was all a lie. And how she had felt so small and insignificant at that moment, not wanting their pity.

And now, she was in deep.

"You know, you could save yourself the headache and ask Noah to go with you. He fits your description," Brielle said, snapping Alessia out of her reverie.

Alessia's face twisted in disgust. "Ew, no thanks," she huffed. The last person she wanted to involve in this farce was Noah. Fucking Noah. Brielle only shrugged, glancing at her watch as she began gathering her things.

"Suit yourself," she said, slamming her hands on the table loud enough to turn a few heads. Alessia raised an eyebrow.

"You know, for someone in need of help, you're pretty picky. It wouldn't hurt to swallow your pride and ask him. Who knows? He might even say yes," Brielle said, her tone pointed.

Alessia gave her a bored look as she started packing up her things. Lunch break would be over in-yeah, three minutes.

"And if he says no?" Alessia challenged, though she had no intention of asking him.

Brielle shrugged. "Then you call your mum and tell her it was all a lie. Or better yet, tell her he died. That way, you don't even have to go."

Alessia stared at her, a mix of surprise and amusement on her face. "Seriously? They'd think it was a joke. Besides, how convenient would it be for 'him' to suddenly die a week before the wedding?" she asked, exasperated.

Brielle closed her eyes in response, clearly summoning her patience. "Jesus, Ali, death knows no time," she muttered while zipping her bag.

Maybe Brielle was right. Maybe she could tell her family-

"Is that Noah?" Brielle's voice shot up a few octaves, dragging Alessia's attention back to the present.

She turned to see the man himself, his tall, broad frame impossible to miss, his blonde hair catching the light. He scanned the room before his gaze locked on hers. His lips twitched slightly, and Alessia quickly looked away.

"Yeah, lunch is over. I'll see you later, okay?" Alessia mumbled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Brielle's cheek before walking off.

She knew she was being childish, avoiding him like this, but she had bigger problems to deal with than another argument with Noah.

That always seemed to happen when they crossed paths. She hurried to the nearest elevator, hitting the button just as the doors began to close. But they didn't-because a large hand had stopped them.

Noah stepped in, his eyes briefly meeting hers before muttering something under his breath.

Alessia shut her eyes. Just when she thought she'd managed to escape meeting him. Her rivalry with Noah was born when he first walked into the company. She'd watched him greet every other employee with a smile, but he frowned at her, staring at her like she irritated him.

She had thought it was just a coincidence and he had no problem with her -like, why would he when they just met?

But, she was wrong as Noah kept giving her weird glances and doing his best to avoid her, not to talk of their frequent disagreements. Noah wasn't her best, but well, the man was hot.

She stared at her fingers and immediately knew she couldn't -she couldn't ask Noah to be her fake boyfriend.

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