From Fake to Forever

Genres: Clean & Wholesome Romance

Synopsis

From Book 0:

Love was never part of the deal...

Jiya Ahmed has a dream: she wants to complete her MBA and get a job in the city. The problem is that her parents think it's high time she put her books away and focused on becoming good wife material - but surely there's more to life than finding the right boy?

Ibrahim Saeed has a goal: he wants to avoid marriage but more specifically, he wants to avoid the arranged marriage his father has planned for him. Why would he want to end up like his (clearly unhappy) older brother with a partner of his father's choosing?

Ibrahim's cheeky brother introduces them with the perfect setup: a fake relationship to stall their parents. As they embark on their plan, the attraction they set out to fake starts feeling all too real ... but love was never part of the deal.

From Fake to Forever is a hilarious rom-com about two people who pretend to date to escape their families' expectations before sparks begin to fly...

Release date: June 27, 2022

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

‘I think it’s high time we found you a good girl and got you married.’

And there it was. Just as it had been for the last six months or so. The same thing his older brother Zafar had gone through, and Ibrahim was fed up.

What his father failed to realise was that Zafar and his arranged marriage were part of the reason that Ibrahim had sworn off the entire bloody institution.

His older brother – like he always did – had followed their father’s decree and married a girl of their father’s choosing rather than his own. Apparently, that was ‘the way it had always been’, which as far as he was concerned, was a pathetic excuse to shackle yourself with a woman who would make your life miserable. Not that his sister-in-law made Zafar’s life miserable as such, but by constantly giving in to the demands of tradition and duty to family, his brother had lost himself. Ibrahim was determined that he would not sacrifice himself at the same altar, no pun intended.

‘It’ll encourage you to get home at a reasonable time and having someone to welcome you home with a smile, a home cooked meal and all the comforts of a happy home will make you a happy man.’

His father’s archaic thinking was yet another thing that always rubbed him up the wrong way. He had never seen his mother do much of the above, so for the old man to imagine someone would do it for his son was laughable.

Giving his father a few non-committal answers, Ibrahim made his escape, thanking his stars as a taxi pulled in at the rank near the office building in Central London. He had already been late for his catch-up with his brothers and being ambushed by his father had further soured his mood.

Trying to shake off the conversation with his father as he stepped through the doors to the restaurant, he made his way to the table his brothers were sat around.

‘Glad you could make it.’ Zafar scooted along to make space for him on the bench. Their youngest brother, Haroon, sitting opposite, threw out a casual greeting. Rayyan and Ashar still hadn’t shown up.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Parents’ evening and I don’t know.’

‘Ah.’ Unlike Zafar and himself, Rayyan had chosen not to join the family business in any capacity, and much to their father’s displeasure, had become a teacher. Ashar was a law unto himself and could be anywhere doing anything.

‘What kept you so long?’ Haroon waved a hand in the air, trying to get the waitress’s attention.

‘Four-letter word called work. You should try it sometime.’

‘Ha! And end up like you? No thanks.’ Being the youngest of the brothers, Haroon – aka Harry – was the definition of a spoilt and entitled brat. There was no fix his brothers couldn’t get him out of when his charm didn’t work and having all available attention on him was something he considered a birthright.

He waved his hand again at someone behind Ibrahim and catching his eye, he winked at him.

‘I saw that. Don’t start deliberately winding him up.’ Zafar pocketed his phone and turned to give their youngest brother a pointed look.

‘He needs to lighten up. He’s so highly strung all the time.’

‘I was caught by Dad as I was leaving the office.’

‘Ohhh.’ This was said by both of them, followed by silence. They all knew it was best to avoid their father most of the time but being caught by him unawares was the worst.

‘Ohhh what?’ Ashar arrived and unceremoniously pushed Harry along the booth to sit down.

Harry responded with one word. ‘Dad.’

‘Ah. So, what belter did he come out with today? It must have been a cracker because this one’s knickers seem to be in more of a twist than usual, judging by his face.’

Ibrahim loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘He made out like it was a complete coincidence that he saw me, when there was absolutely no reason for him to be on my floor whatsoever.’ Harry scoffed and Ibrahim was about to carry on when the waitress came to their table.

‘Jiya, sweetheart, where have you been?’ Of course, Harry would start flirting first thing. ‘I’ve not seen you for what feels like for ever. This place just isn’t the same without you.’

‘You saw me yesterday, Haroon Saeed. It seems you’re mixing me up with someone else. Again. So, what can I get you gentlemen?’

‘You break my heart, Jiya.’

‘You’ll live. Shall we start with drinks?’

Laughing at their baby brother being put down so beautifully by the waitress who obviously knew him given their level of familiarity, they placed their orders and in no time at all, their food and drinks were on the table.

There was silence around the table as all four of them savoured the first few bites of their meal until a few moments later, Ashar prompted him to continue.

‘Apparently I need a wife who will welcome me with a smile and a home cooked meal so that I’m eager enough to get home on time. Ha, as though we need another Stepford wife in the house.’ He felt a sharp pain in his shin as Harry kicked him hard and then glared at him. ‘No offence, Zaf.’ His older brother grimaced.

‘He’s got a friend’s daughter who would be “just right” for me and he’s invited them for the party. He’s hoping to announce my engagement after our grandmother has blown out all eighty candles and cut the cake.’

‘Congratulations,’ Ashar said drolly.

‘Shut up.’

‘Ignore him. What else did he say?’ Zafar had finished his food and turned to face him, his expression intent.

‘He didn’t say anything more because I left. If I had stayed there and let him carry on, I would have probably blown my stack and that would have set him off on another one.’

‘You ought to go and tell him that you’re not interested, just like I did. He can’t force you.’ Ashar looked like he actually believed what he’d just said.

‘Do you not know who our father is? And just because you get away with certain things doesn’t mean the rest of us will.’

‘I’ll talk to him. Just because I did as he said it doesn’t mean that he should start doing the same thing with you as well.’

‘No, Zaf, there’s no point in anyone talking to him. He’s like a bloody wrecking ball; he’ll just ignore what others say and do what he wants anyway.’

The four of them sat back, thinking about their father’s ability to dominate the conversation even when he wasn’t present.

‘What if you already had someone?’ Ibrahim looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow in question.

‘What if you tell the old man that you’ve got a girlfriend who you’re serious about and ready to propose to? In fact, you can bring her as a guest to the party and that way, he’ll lay off setting you up with his mate’s daughter.’

Ashar ruffled Harry’s hair, much to his annoyance. ‘Since when did you get so clever?’

‘Get off!’

‘Quick question: where exactly am I going to find this saviour of mine? Besides, he’ll know I’m not serious about her because I would have only known her for a month.’

‘What happened to that legal eagle you were with? You could ask her.’ Ibrahim scowled at Ashar’s suggestion.

‘Selina? Not a good idea. She was already expecting far too much from me when I called things off. If I called her back, took her home to a family gathering and introduced her as my significant other, she’ll have sent out the invitations to our wedding before the evening’s over.’ He shuddered to emphasise his point and his brothers chuckled.

Just then, the waitress came back to their table. ‘Can I get you guys anything? Coffee or dessert? And don’t you dare say anything outrageous.’ She pointed her pen at Harry.

He clutched his chest like a melodramatic actor of some bygone era. ‘You wound me, Jiya. I thought we were friends.’

‘We are, but only when you’re not being a drama queen or a royal pain. And from what I can see, you’ve been a good mix of both this evening.’

Ibrahim noticed the way Jiya was responding to Harry, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and was amused by it. In fact, now that he was actually paying attention to her, there was a lot more he was noticing. He was sure he’d seen her on previous visits to the restaurant but strangely, he’d never stopped and looked this closely before.

She had an open and happy face but he could sense her confidence and determination a mile off. She had very light make-up on, rather than a face caked with it. It highlighted her complexion, but didn’t detract from her natural features and beauty. Her straight hair was tied up in a high ponytail and she was dressed all in black; the only colour visible was her bright pink nail polish.

He was so distracted just watching her and noticing things about her that he didn’t realise that everyone had turned to look at him, including her.

She was giving him a look filled with curiosity, her almond-shaped, dark brown eyes sparkling in the overhead light. Ashar kicked him under the table and belied his aggression by politely asking him if he wanted to add anything to their order. His legs would be finished by the time they left at this rate.

He cleared his throat. ‘The cookie dough, please. Thank you.’

There was a subtle change in her expression, as though she had been watching him just as closely as he had her a moment ago. She nodded and turned to walk away, giving him a spectacular view of her behind. Her ponytail swayed with her steps, brushing her shoulders every now and then and Ibrahim had the oddest urge to run his fingers through it.

He felt something hit the side of his head, looked down to see a balled-up napkin and then looked up at Harry, who was grinning like a monkey who’d just found a sack of nuts.

‘You like Jiya!’ He jabbed the air with his finger. ‘Ibby likes Jiya, Ibby likes Jiya!’ He was using his sing-song voice and Ibrahim tried to reach for the bastard across the table until Zafar pulled him back.

‘Why won’t you tell him to stop pissing me off?’ he complained to his older brother.

‘Stop reacting to him as though you’re both back in primary school. The more you rise to his bait, the more he’ll do it.’ Harry nodded in agreement and then scowled as Ashar clipped him on the back of the head. ‘Stop it, Princess. He’s stressed out as it is. We’re supposed to be helping him and you’re not.’

‘Haroon.’ It was Zafar’s tone of voice that did the trick because Harry’s expression changed instantly and he sat up straighter.

They all loved and respected their eldest brother immensely, but Harry practically worshipped him. He would never do anything he thought Zafar might be unhappy about and when Zafar said stop, Harry stopped. Which came in handy when he was being an arse.

‘So, if Selina’s a no, then what are your options? Did Dad say anything about his friend’s daughter? You never know, she might—’

‘Don’t even bother finishing that sentence, Zaf. I’m not doing it. Full stop. As for options, I don’t have any in mind at the moment.’

‘What about a fake girlfriend?’ They all turned to look at Harry, who had both his hands up in surrender. ‘Just hear me out before you shoot me down. I didn’t even finish my earlier suggestion properly.

‘Instead of asking Selina, get a friend who you know and trust, and who knows the score beforehand, and get her to pretend to be your girlfriend for the party. Then after a while you can tell everyone that it didn’t work out. At least it’ll give you some breathing space and time to think about a more long-term solution.’

Ibrahim sat back and thought about the suggestion. It actually wasn’t that bad an idea and although he would never say it to the brat, Harry was right. It would definitely give him some time to think about what to do. His grandmother’s birthday celebrations were in just over a month. He couldn’t call his ex-girlfriend because that would be the equivalent of taking a loaded shotgun and firing it at his own foot. Both feet in fact.

So, this was the next best thing given the time frame he had. Except …

‘Where am I going to find someone who fits the bill in such a short space of time?’

‘Here we go. Two coffees, one milkshake and a cookie dough with vanilla ice cream. Enjoy.’ Jiya placed the items on the table and after smiling at them all, turned and walked away.

Ibrahim watched her as she made her way back to the counter and started chatting to one of her colleagues. She had an easy way about her that he found refreshingly different, giving him ‘girl next door’ vibes, which he’d never thought were his thing.

He jerked his head back towards his brothers when he heard a snort. It was Harry. Obviously.

‘What’s happened to you?’ Ashar spoke with his straw hanging out of his mouth.

‘Don’t say anything stupid, Harry. I won’t be happy.’ The fact that Zafar had to warn the shrimp was quite amusing.

‘It’s nothing, bhai, the coffee was just a bit hot.’ Harry was hardly ever serious, always ready for a laugh, especially at another’s expense. The only person he seldom did that with was Zafar. In fact, although he should address all of them as bhai for the simple fact that they were all older than him and it was a sign of respect, he only addressed Zafar that way. Ibrahim would worry if Harry ever referred to him as bhai.

Finishing off his own dessert, he ran his hand through his hair and let out an exhausted sigh. ‘I’ll just have to figure something out and take it from there. I’m done for this evening so shall we make a move?’

Being the eldest, Zafar had the honour of paying the bill and Harry went back to chat with Jiya, his charming smile back in place. Ibrahim made his way outside with Ashar, taking a deep breath of fresh air and feeling some of the tension leave him. Sure, he had to find a way to thwart his father’s plans, but it wouldn’t make a huge difference if he figured things out tomorrow instead of tonight.

‘Fine, let’s catch up tomorrow. And you’re buying lunch.’ Jiya pointed her finger at Harry, who had come over to have a chat with her as his brothers were leaving The Lounge.

‘I tell you what I can promise: you won’t have to pay for lunch. Deal?’ Harry waggled his eyebrows at her and Jiya giggled. He was a complete rascal but he was also one of her closest friends, so she let his mischief slide.

The first time she had met him had been on her first-ever waitressing shift the year before. He had been with a group of friends and had bantered with her outrageously as though they were good old friends and had always interacted that way. And then they had become good friends. The best of friends, in fact, much to her surprise.

Jiya had never been comfortable being friends with the opposite sex until recently. Her mother had always warned her that girls and boys couldn’t be friends. ‘If a boy says he wants friendship from you, it is probably a cover-up for something else.’ She’d raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes as though that explained everything.

Jiya had followed her mother’s thinking until she’d got to university, where she realised that boys came in all shapes and sizes. Some were exactly as her mother had predicted, often expecting more than she was willing to give and backing off – sometimes rudely – when it wasn’t forthcoming. Others – like the Haroon Saeeds of the world – were happy to be friends and respected the boundaries she put in place.

Besides, she was totally focused on her ambition and had no time for anything beyond friendship. She was going to finish her MBA and get a job in a top ten firm and although she would love to do a short stint internationally, she had to be realistic. Her parents would never allow that, so she’d focus on doing the best she could where she was and no one and nothing was going to come between her and her ambition.

‘Tomorrow then, at midday.’ Harry turned to follow one of his brothers out, waving his fingers at her as he went. ‘See ya.’

The next day Jiya met Harry outside the café they often caught up at. She sat down at the little table outside, enjoying the feeling of the summer sun hitting her face. Thankfully it wasn’t too hot that she’d burn, and she wouldn’t mind that slightly golden tone her skin took when she spent some time in the sun.

‘So, what are the latest goings on in the life of Miss Jiya Ahmed?’

Harry slurped his drink out of the straw like a four-year-old.

‘Eww.’ She gave him the reaction he was after and giggled as he grinned at her. ‘So, last week, I went home after an early shift and coincidence of all coincidences, Auntie Nadia was there with a boy I think was her nephew.’

‘Ooh, an ambush.’ He leaned forward on the table after rubbing his hands together like some dastardly villain. ‘Let me guess – the nephew was single.’

‘What gave it away?’

‘Tut, tut. Sarcasm isn’t desirable in a good bride, Jiya,’ he said with mock severity.

‘I wasn’t sarcastic with them. I was perfectly polite and even smiled at Abdul when I was introduced to him.’

‘But you’re not interested in him.’

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. ‘You know the score, Harry. I want to make something of myself beyond being a dutiful daughter or wife or daughter-in-law or mother or—’

‘I get the picture, J. Look, you don’t have to tell me, I know what you want. What I don’t understand is why your family doesn’t get it.’

She groaned into her palms as she covered her face. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s the same bloody drama everywhere. My brother was ambushed by our dad last night but at least he didn’t have the potential bride in tow. That’ll be the case on the day of the party. I’m glad I’ve got a few years to figure out how to avoid such a fate. There’s three of them before it’s my turn.’

Jiya saw his smug expression at not having to put up with unwanted matchmaking and wished she could wipe it off his face. Better still, she wished she could have the freedom of time, so she could at least make her dreams come true before agreeing to settle down with someone.

The barista brought their food out as she was sitting there contemplating when the most brilliant of ideas struck her. She leaned across the table, her sudden action surprising Harry into jerking his head away from her, his expression half worried, half horrified.

‘Maybe I should take you home as my boyfriend. You’re from a good family with great prospects and maybe they wouldn’t stop me from seeing you. We could “go out” while I’m doing my MBA and then, once I’ve secured a job, I can dump you! It’s the perfect plan.’

‘Gee, thanks J. Way to boost a man’s confidence.’ She barely noticed his dry remark, instead watching in disgust as he opened his panini to load it with ketchup. He closed it again and, waggling his eyebrows at her, took a noisy bite. ‘Yum!’

‘This is the best plan ever!’ she said with absolute conviction.

‘This is the worst plan ever because that’s not us. Besides, I don’t want you cramping my style. I’m a man in much demand, Jiya – you dumping me wouldn’t be believable in the least.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. You can dump me – I don’t mind. Happy?’

His phone bleeped twice, indicating a message alert and Jiya got busy eating while he checked his message. His loud chuckle had her looking up again.

‘What is it? Another lewd joke?’

‘Even better. My dad sent my brother a picture of the girl he thinks would be perfect for him and Ibrahim’s forwarded it to us, whinging about it in the group chat.’

‘Poor guy. He should get a temporary girlfriend, too.’ She said it spontaneously and took another bite of her panini.

Harry slapped his hand on the table, making her jump and pointed a finger at her, his other hand still holding the phone. ‘Yes! You two can help each other.’

‘Uh, you what?’

‘Yes.’ He shook his head and let out a low chuckle in the way someone did when the penny finally dropped about something. ‘Ah, Haroon Saeed, you bloody genius!’ he congratulated himself.

‘Hello? What on earth are you talking about?’ Jiya looked at him closely, confused at the sudden change in both him and the conversation.

‘I told Ibrahim the same thing yesterday, believe it or not, about having a girlfriend to take the pressure off. Look, you need a boyfriend to help stop your parents from bringing Abduls home to see you, and give you enough time to finish your MBA and get yourself a job. Yes?’

‘What does that have to do with—’

‘Just answer me with a yes or a no. Don’t ruin my flow with your questions.’

She rolled her eyes at him again. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. And Ibrahim needs a girlfriend to stop my dad from matching him up to some friend’s daughter. At least for long enough until he can find a different solution, because my dad is ready to make the introduction. I can introduce you to Ibrahim instead.’

‘But I hardly know him. In fact, I don’t even know which of your brothers you’re referring to? Is he the one you came in with yesterday?’

‘No, the one who came after we did and you can get to know him. You tell him about yourself, he tells you about himself, or of course I can dish the dirt on both of you, and you both help each other out in your year of need. Simples.’ He winked at her as he said the last bit.

She chewed quietly for a moment, mulling over what he’d just said. It wasn’t as outlandish an idea as it had first seemed. But …

‘Question: why would your brother agree to this?’

‘Because he wants to thwart the old man and his nefarious matchmaking.’ He cackled theatrically, the drama queen.

‘Ha. That’s rich coming from you. You’re playing matchmaker right now.’

‘But for the greater good, child. Look, let’s say you both agree, your family will stop bombarding you with Abduls …’

‘So, you’ve said.’

He flung a balled-up wrapper at her head. ‘Let me finish. Your family stop harassing you because you’ll be “with” a perfectly suitable boy from a great family with a genius younger brother,’ he pointed at himself with both index fingers, ‘and you can focus on completing your course, making your applications and sodding off to wherever you get a job.

‘My old man will see Ibrahim with a gorgeous, bright girl like you with a genius best friend,’ he pointed at himself again, the conceited joker, ‘and think that he doesn’t need to set him up, thus getting off his case. It’s a win-win situation, sugar.’

She narrowed her eyes at him as her mind ran on at breakneck speed, trying to pick holes in his argument. But she couldn’t see any.

He was watching her closely as he ate the last bite of his own sandwich, and after swallowing, he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, ‘Ibrahim has contacts in the business world. Contacts across the globe even, if you get my drift. Maybe if he’s feeling generous, he could help his “girlfriend” with some networking, maybe even in an office abroad.’ He leaned back and shrugging his shoulder dismissively he added, ‘Just a thought.’

He had a point, and judging by the supremely smug smile on his face, he knew it. She lobbed the balled-up wrapper back at his head, earning herself a laugh as he caught it cleanly.

As he’d promised, she didn’t pay for lunch and, agreeing to call her soon to further his genius plan – his words – they each went their own way.

A week later, Jiya found herself pacing her little room, waiting to be summoned downstairs. An annoying woman – an old friend of her mother’s actually, intent on destroying her life – was downstairs with another proposal of marriage and Jiya hadn’t been given the chance to avoid today’s meet-up.

Her mother had waited until late last night to tell her that ‘Auntie Nadia is coming and she’s bringing a boy and his family with her. I’ve ironed the light blue suit for you and make sure you don’t have any absurd colour nail polish on, OK? All right, shabba khair.’

Good night? It had been a dread. . .