Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Now I’m a tabloid punchline, my client’s panicking, and my perfectly planned holiday has gone straight to scandal.
The solution? Pretend we’re dating until the cameras lose interest.
Simple. And nothing Emily Darling, social-media whizz, can’t handle.
Except Oliver isn’t the snotty aristocrat I expected. He’s funny, kind, unfairly sexy—and a Christmas nerd just like me.
We’re supposed to be faking it, but somewhere between the cocoa and the carols, London starts to feel like magic…and Oliver starts to feel like home.
But when a new viral headline makes me question everything, I find myself at Heathrow with a boarding pass, a broken heart, and a question only the man shouting my name across the terminal can answer—Is love really all around?
All I Want for Christmas Is a Fake British Boyfriend is a sparkling, laugh-out-loud, deep-feeling holiday rom-com full of fake dating, royal mayhem, cheeky kids, cheekier grandmothers, puppies in need of adopting, and the kind of love story that makes even a Grinch believe in miracles
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
EMILY KATHERINE DARLING
A woman determined to live out her
wildest “Love Actually/Bridget Jones/The Muppet Christmas Carol” fantasies with the
best Christmas in London EVER!
(If she doesn’t have a nervous breakdown first…)
The businessman in 12B is glaring at me like I’m the Grinch who Stole His Peaceful Transatlantic Flight, and I’ve been aboard the plane all of ten seconds.
To be fair, I did just smack him with my giant purse while wedging my emotional support binders into the overhead compartment. But it’s not my fault that Premium Economy has less than premium storage capacity.
“Sorry, so sorry,” I mutter as I Jenga a Louis Vuitton bag, a battered ukulele, and some kid’s stuffed panda to make room for my roller bag.
What part of “reserve the overhead bins for rolling luggage” didn’t these people understand?
Gah! If only people would follow the rules, life would be so much easier.
And I would be sweating soooo much less.
The plane is approximately eight thousand degrees, my wrinkle-resistant Nan Baylor blazer is already doing its best Shar-Pei impression, and the Valerian Root capsule I took in the airport bathroom to “relax me for the flight” has done nothing except make my tongue feel chalky. Meanwhile, my phone is buzzing like a swarm of bees, and the businessman is clearly not pleased to see me laying hands on his ukulele.
Or maybe that’s his stuffed panda.
If so, he should keep it on his lap or tucked beneath the seat in front of him, where it belongs.
I finally wedge my rolling bag into place and collapse into my window seat, pulling out my phone to see a string of new texts from Maya.
Maya: Did you remember the emergency binders?
Maya: Remember, technology hates you and likes to explode when you touch it. Especially when you’re nervous. If your laptop dies again, and you don’t have the binders, we’re screwed, Em. Seriously screwed.
Maya: If you forgot them, tell me ASAP, and I can overnight them to your hotel. Yes, it will cost a small fortune, but better safe than sorry. We have to nail this one and stick the landing.
Maya: Don’t freak out, but I just found out that Willow and Stone is pitching Fletchers, too. Apparently, they pulled in a favor from Willow’s godmother in Kent, who knows someone who knows the people who used to plan the Fletchers’ holiday gala in the 80s. God, I hate them so much! Who do they think they are? Trying to take OUR gig!?
Maya: I mean, sure, they planned a Met Gala afterparty that went viral…
Maya: But that’s only because Beyoncé showed up!
Maya: BEYONCÉ, EMILY! HOW DO WE COMPETE WITH BEYONCÉ? We’re going to go bankrupt, aren’t we? Why did Titan have to sell to an evil global conglomerate ten days after we signed the lease on a new office? TEN DAYS! If we’d known we were losing our biggest client, I would not be sitting in this stupidly fancy office right now. I hate it here!!
Maya: Except that I love it because this view of the Brooklyn Bridge, welcoming the dawn while I sip espresso, is giving me life.
Maya: But I also hate it because I hate uncertainty and risk. But we’re still genius party planners and businesswomen, right? You’ll land the Fletchers’ gig, I’ll lock down the Rousseau wedding in the Hamptons, and we’ll be sitting pretty for another year. Right?
Maya: This will be fine.
Maya: So fine!
Maya: FOR THE LOVE OF MY HOLIDAY SPIRIT AND SANITY, JUST TELL ME THAT IT WILL BE FINE AND YOU DIDN’T FORGET THE BINDERS!
I type back: Hey, just finished boarding. The binders are tucked safely into the overhead bin, and I couldn’t be more prepared if I were triplets. Relax! We’re going to be fine.
I think…
The “fine” part remains to be seen—losing our biggest client to a soulless conglomerate that doesn’t believe that Instagram-perfect parties are good for their bottom line has been a serious blow—but I’ve been preparing for this meeting with one of London’s oldest, swankiest department stores for six weeks.
My PowerPoint has thirty-seven slides with embedded video montages from the viral Brighton wedding that landed me the interview in the first place. I’ve memorized the names of every Fletchers’ executive, their assistants, and their assistants’ dogs. I know that James Landford-Fletcher, the CEO of events, prefers Earl Grey to English Breakfast and that his wife collects Royal Doulton porcelain figurines. I’ve studied British charity gala traditions in general (and the Fletchers’ holiday gala in particular) like I’m cramming for the citizenship test.
Which, considering how much I want to live in the U.K. someday, is pretty much a matter of life or death.
I’m as ready as someone who has never had a pop star show up at one of her parties can be.
Hopefully, that will be enough…
The plane lurches into motion, and I grip my armrest, already counting the hours until I can stress-eat my weight in Cadbury Dairy Milk. Not only is the U.K. a beautiful, majestic, historically significant place I adore, it’s also home to the Fruit and Nut bar, a sugary treat that heals all wounds.