I thought faking a fiancé would finally let me step out of my sister’s shadow. But in the middle of my own scheme, I discovered that true love had been closer than I’d ever realized.
The moment I opened Mom’s letter, I felt a familiar wave of dread wash over me. The whole family was gathering for Christmas, including my sister Megan and her new boyfriend. Perfect Megan, with her perfect life.
I could already picture her—radiant, accomplished, with some dazzling guy by her side while I just sat there, blending into the background as usual.
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An idea hit me out of nowhere.
What if I show up with a fiancé of my own?
I looked around the office, and my gaze landed on Zach by the printer. He was organizing files. Reliable, responsible, and… not exactly “Prince Charming,” but he could work. And more importantly, he worked for me.
“Hey, Zach,” I called, strolling over casually.
He looked up. “Yes, Claire?”
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“Would you be interested in a, um, side project over the holidays?”
He raised an eyebrow. “A side project?”
“Yes, but more… personal,” I said, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “It’s just a quick thing with my family. I need someone to… play a role.”
“A role? What kind of role?”
“My fiancé,” I replied, letting the word drop with a casual shrug.
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“Your… fiancé?” He looked like he’d misheard me.
“Yes, just for Christmas.” I grinned, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. “It’d be helping me out. My family is a little… competitive about relationships.”
He stared at me. “I don’t know, Claire… that seems… unusual.”
I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Think of it as an opportunity, Zach. It could be good for your career. You know, help things along.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, God, Claire. If it’s just for the holiday…”
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“Yes!” I clasped my hands together a bit too eagerly. “Just one holiday.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. But only this once.”
“Perfect,” I said, unable to hide my excitement. “All you need to do is show up, look convincing, and smile.”
***
As Zach and I walked up the long, winding path to my mom’s grand house, I clung tighter to his arm. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, yet my heart sank when I spotted Megan.
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She sat on the plush couch next to her boyfriend, Jason, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her hair was perfectly styled, her smile dazzling. She looked up, eyes glinting when she saw us.
“Well, well,” she drawled, standing up and sauntering over. “Claire! And… who’s this handsome man?” Her eyes swept over Zach with suspicion.
“This is Zach,” I said. “My boyfriend.”
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“Boyfriend, huh? Oh my, Claire, where did you find someone so… perfect?” She let the word linger, clearly enjoying the hint of doubt in her voice.
“Work. We met at work. He’s great, actually.”
Zach nodded, giving Megan a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Megan.”
Megan’s gaze lingered on us for a moment longer before she returned to Jason, whispering something in his ear that made him chuckle.
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My cheeks burned. I could tell she wasn’t buying our act for a second.
Later, while Zach was chatting with my dad, I overheard Megan and Jason talking in the hallway. I stopped, straining to listen.
“Can you believe it?” Megan was saying with a laugh. “Mom said she’d leave her inheritance to the first one of us who got married! Guess that means Claire and her ‘boyfriend’ are in a bit of a rush.”
Jason laughed softly. “You don’t think she’d actually…”
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“Oh, she’ll try, alright,” Megan replied. “But it’s Claire. She always falls short.”
So, Mom is turning our lives into some twisted race to the altar? Fine. If marriage is what Mom wants, then I’m ready to give her exactly that.
Later that evening, I dragged Zach to a small shop nearby and picked out the cheapest engagement ring I could find.
Holding it up, I said, “Tomorrow, at dinner, you’ll propose.”
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Zach’s eyes went wide. “Claire, are you serious?”
“Yes. It has to be done. You’ll understand soon.”
***
The Christmas dinner table was set to perfection. Crystal glasses sparkled under the warm lights, and holiday decorations framed every inch of the room. I glanced at Zach, who caught my gaze and gave me a small, frightened smile.
Then came the moment we’d practiced for, rehearsed like actors preparing for the role of a lifetime. I could only hope he’d remember his lines.
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“Everyone,” Zach said, clearing his throat as he stood up, his face pale but resolute. “I have something important to say.”
The room fell silent. My mother’s eyes lit up, practically sparkling. Megan raised an eyebrow, barely able to contain her smirk, and I could see Jason nudging her with an amused grin.
“Claire,” Zach began, turning toward me.
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I watched as he slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers grazing the cheap ring that we’d picked out together in that cramped jewelry store. My heart pounded so loudly that I was sure everyone could hear it.
“I never thought,” he began, glancing around the table, “that I’d find someone like Claire. She’s… well, she’s one of the most passionate people I know.”
He paused, and I saw something flicker in his eyes—maybe nerves or maybe something else.
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My mother clasped her hands with excitement. Megan smirked, folding her arms, clearly enjoying the performance. I forced myself to breathe, gripping my napkin so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Zach continued, “She pushes me to be better every day. And I realized… well, I realized that I couldn’t imagine my life without her.”
His voice softened, almost genuine, and for a moment, I felt the room fade as he looked at me. I nearly forgot we were pretending. Nearly.
“Will you marry me?”
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“Yes!” I clapped my hands together, throwing on the biggest smile I could muster. “Oh, I… I can’t believe it!” I gushed, practically shoving my hand out so he could slide the ring onto my trembling finger.
As he slipped the ring on, I was praying no one noticed the rush of desperation beneath it all.
“Oh, Claire, sweetheart!” Mom cried, practically bouncing in her seat. “This is just… wonderful! I’m so happy for you both!”
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As I tried to force a laugh, I could feel Megan’s eyes boring into me. But I was determined to play this role to the end, whatever it took.
“Oh, Claire, darling,” Mom continued. “You know, I’ve been saving something very special for this day.”
She hurried out of the room, her heels clicking with excitement. A few minutes later, she returned, carrying a box wrapped in delicate silk.
“This was my wedding dress,” she said, her eyes misty with nostalgia as she opened the box. “I saved it, hoping one day I could give it to one of my daughters. And now… it’s yours.”
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Mom’s joy, Zach’s quiet resignation, and Megan’s smirk—it was too much. I forced a smile, trying to keep my hands from shaking. “Oh, Mom, I… I don’t know what to say. This is… so generous.”
“Tomorrow,” Mom said, beaming, “we’ll have the ceremony. I’ve already called the family priest.”
Beside me, I felt Zach go rigid. His face was drained of color, and my own heart pounded with panic.
What have I done?
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***
The next day, just before I slipped into the wedding dress, Megan sidled up to me. She leaned in, her voice low and mocking.
“You know, I made up that whole inheritance story, right? Just to see what you’d do.”
“What?” I whispered, barely able to believe it.
She shrugged, feigning innocence. “I knew you’d overhear. I just didn’t think you’d actually fall for it this hard.”
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My face burned with anger and embarrassment. Megan tricked me, and I walked right into it. I was left with a choice: go through with that charade or run out and face the humiliation.
As I stepped up to the altar, dressed in my mother’s gown, the weight of it all hit me. The cheap ring on my finger felt heavy, like a reminder of every lie I’d told.
I looked over at Zach, who stood beside me, clearly trying to hold it together for my sake.
But is this how I want to spend this day for the sake of a ridiculous rivalry?
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In that final second, something in me snapped. I couldn’t do it. I pulled up my dress and bolted down the aisle, the fabric billowing behind me like a parachute. I didn’t look back, didn’t stop to see the stunned faces of my family or hear Megan’s laughter or… or… or see Zack’s eyes.
I just ran.
When I finally got home, reality crashed down like a wave. I let my jealousy, my need to prove myself, push me to this.
And now? Now, I have a cheap ring, a fake fiancé, and a sinking feeling of shame.
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***
Back at work, I went straight to my office, eager to start the day and hoping to shake off the embarrassment from the holiday disaster. But as I walked in, Zach’s desk was empty.
Puzzled, I glanced around, half-expecting him to walk through the door at any moment. Instead, I noticed a folded piece of paper on my desk, my name scrawled in Zach’s familiar handwriting.
My heart sank as I unfolded the note. It read:
“Claire, I’m sorry for leaving like this, but I think it’s for the best. I didn’t agree to be your fiancé for the promotion or because of the pressure. I did it because I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I wish things had been different, and I hope you find what you’re really looking for.”
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I hadn’t realized how blind I’d been to his real feelings. I sat there, realizing I’d just lost someone who genuinely cared.
Without a second thought, I grabbed my coat and headed out. I found Zach’s address in his employee file and drove to his apartment, determined to make things right.
***
When I arrived, the doctor let me in. Zach was sitting beside an elderly woman on the couch, holding her hand gently. She looked frail. She was probably his mom.
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As I took in the scene, everything clicked into place. He needed the income to help her.
I stepped forward.
“Zach, I had no idea… I’m so sorry for everything. I never considered what you were going through.”
Zach looked up, surprised but calm. “It’s alright, Claire. I didn’t expect you to understand.”
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I swallowed, feeling a surge of regret. “Let me help. With her medical bills, I mean. Please.”
After a long pause, he nodded. We sat together, talking about everything that had happened, the absurdity of our pretend engagement, and the misunderstandings that had piled up between us.
“You know… if you’re still interested, I’d like to go on a real date with you,” I finally confessed.
Zach smiled, and I felt my heart lighten. This time, there was no pretending.
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Demanding Parents Expect Nanny to Pay $1000 for Vacation Flights – Their Harsh Reality Check
“Jane, we need to talk about the vacation.”
I nodded, curious.
We had been home for two days now. Back from our trip to the seaside, staying in a luxurious resort. It was almost the break I needed, minus the fact that I had the Smiths’ three children, and their friends, the Johnsons’ two sons to care for as well.
I was just doing my job in a fancier location.
“Of course,” I said. “It was a lovely trip. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“Yes, well,” Mrs. Smith started. “We need to discuss the plane tickets. When will you be able to return the $1000?”
I blinked. I was sure that I had misheard her.
“Sorry, $1000? For the tickets? What?”
“Yes, for the tickets, Jane,” she spoke slowly as if I was stupid. “We spent a lot on them, and we thought you’d be grateful enough to pay us back.”
My heart raced. I didn’t have that kind of money to spare. I was their full-time nanny, with a mother to care for at home.
“But you told me that everything was sorted. You said, ‘Don’t worry about it, Jane. We’ve got it all covered.’”
Mrs. Smith’s expression hardened. Mr. Smith gazed at me.
“That was before the Johnsons refused to sign a business deal with Craig. That was the entire purpose of the holiday. Mr. Smith and I needed to woo them. So, there’s no need to seem generous now, Jane. You have exactly one week to return the money, or it will be taken from your pay.”
I was stunned. The room felt like it was spinning.
“But… I can’t afford that, Mrs. Smith,” I admitted. “Most of my salary goes to the rent at home and my mother’s medication. I can’t take that away from her. And you didn’t mention anything about paying you back!”
“That’s not our problem, Jane. One week,” Mr. Smith reiterated, reaching for a croissant from the tea tray left for Mrs. Smith. With a wave of his hand, he signaled the end of the discussion.
That night, I sat in my tiny room a few feet away from the Smiths’ house. I was seething. How could they do this? I needed a plan, and I needed it fast.
Then it hit me: the Smiths cared deeply about their social standing and their reputation.
“Of course, that’s all they care about,” I muttered to myself as I brushed my teeth before bed. “But I can use that to my advantage.”
The next day, after I dropped the kids off at school, I created a fake email account. I drafted a polite but detailed message about my experience, making sure to be clear without naming any names.
But there were enough telltale signs pointing to the Smiths, from their cars to the kids, to the gold facial appointments that Mrs. Smith bragged about.
Thereafter, I sent it to the key people in their social circle, including the other influential families that the Smiths wanted to be in league with.
“I just don’t understand what they want from us,” I overheard Mrs. Smith say into the phone later that day. “Eva asked me if everything is true, but I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
A few days later, the gossip started spreading. The Smiths’ dirty little secret on how they treated “their staff” was out, and naturally, their reputation took a hit.
Mrs. Smith called in a masseuse to soothe her muscles.
“Just let them into the spa when they arrive, Jane,” she said. “I need all the help I can get.”
Later that day, when I went to pick the kids up from school, the other nannies were hanging about, waiting for the bell to ring.
“Did you read the email about the Smiths?” one of the nannies said. “Jane, are they really like that?”
I nodded.
“They’re good parents, but they’re horrible people,” I admitted, not wanting to give away that I was the person who sent out the email.
“How long will you work for them?” another asked me. “I couldn’t live or work under those circumstances. Rich people need to learn that respect for them is earned, too.”
I smiled.
The nannies went back and forth as we waited. And through their chatter, I discovered something interesting about Mrs. Smith.
Turns out that my employer had a habit of “borrowing” items from her friends and never returning them.
“An entire Gucci handbag, Jane,” Mina said. “Mrs. Smith asked my ma’am if she could borrow it for a fundraising gala two months ago.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said, shocked. “I didn’t know that she was capable of that sort of thing. But she doesn’t like me getting too close to her things anyway.”
A few days later, Mrs. Smith held one of her ladies’ luncheons. It was a monthly event that she loved hosting, but this time it was only two weeks into the month.
“I need this to go well, Jane,” she said as I cut fruit up for the kids. “So, you need to attend it. The kids will be at school. Everything will be catered for. Just walk around and talk to the women. Make us seem human.”
I knew that she was puzzling. She must have heard more than enough through the grapevine.
During the event, I walked around as requested of me. But I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip. And I had nothing to lose. The Smiths were probably going to fire me at the end of the week when I couldn’t make the $1000.
“We’ll deal with it, darling,” my mother coughed into the phone when I told her the truth of the matter.
At the luncheon, I walked around, casually mentioning to the ladies how much I admired Mrs. Smith’s collection, making sure that I spoke to Eva, Mina’s employer.
“Mrs. Smith has a stunning handbag similar to yours,” I said. “Gucci. Did she lend you this one? She’s always telling me that she lends her things out because she has so much.”
Eva looked at me over the top of her champagne glass.
“Is that so, Jane?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
Whispers started circulating. By the end of the luncheon, Mrs. Smith’s reputation for borrowing without returning was the hot topic.
The next morning, her friends began asking for their things back.
Mrs. Smith was mortified.
During dinner the next night, Mr. Smith called me to the table, asking me to join them.
“Thank you, but I usually wait for Ivy and Melanie to eat,” I said politely, mentioning the chef and her helper.
“No, sit with us,” he insisted.
I obliged.
Despite his tone, I hoped that maybe he was going to tell me that the money could be forgotten. And that everything would return as normal.
“It has come to my attention that an anonymous email has gone out,” he said, cutting into his steak.
“A disgusting email,” Mrs. Smith added, taking a long sip of her wine.
“Did you have anything to do with it?” he asked me, his eyes trying to coax a confession out of me.
I shook my head, looking down at my plate.
“Then that settles it,” he said, knowingly. “You’re dismissed. You can pack up and get out tomorrow.”
I did exactly as I was told and moved back home. A week later, Mrs. Johnson called me.
“Jane, can you come over for tea?” she asked warmly.
“Of course, Mrs. Johnson,” I replied, curious about the nature of the invitation.
As we sat in her luxurious living room, she looked at me with genuine concern.
“I heard about what the Smiths did to you. It’s disgraceful.”
I nodded, trying to keep my composure.
“Well,” she continued. “We’ve decided to cut ties with the Smiths entirely. And we’d like to offer you a job. Better pay, better working conditions. We could use someone like you for our kids.”
I was stunned.
“Of course!” I exclaimed. I needed the job desperately.
“You’ve earned it,” she smiled. “The boys loved having you watch them during the holiday. And somehow, you got Jonathan to eat his peas!”
I don’t know how the Smiths reacted to me working for the Johnsons, but I hoped that they felt betrayed.
What would you have done?
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