a/n: this was so fun to write! upon my research, i realized that this movie has 11% on rotten tomatoes and 6.1 out of 10 on IMDb. it was always a 10 in my book.
You hated airports. The recycled air, the overhead announcements, the judgmental eyes when you ordered wine before 10 a.m.
But mostly, you hated that you were about to lie your ass off for an entire weekend.
Your sister… younger sister was getting married in the English countryside. It was perfect and picturesque, equipped with rolling hills, lavish estates, and family tension thicker than clotted cream. And you were showing up single. Again.
Worse? Your ex was the best man.
God, you hated that man. Best man? More like motherfucking manipulator and cheater. He’s the best at that.
He’s coming with her. The only reason you know this is because it’s like a ritual every Friday—you put on sad music, drink way too much wine, and stalk his socials. You had to make a bakery account to be able to watch his stories, and then you actually ended up ordering a dozen macarons just to stay legit. Besides that, you know all about her. How happy he looks without you. The ring. The new girl. Controversially young and dumb and way in over her head. Showing up single again while your ex was basically toting Sabrina Carpenter around would be social suicide and a knock to your ego. So you did something desperate. Something wild. Something your therapist would definitely “circle back to” in your next session.
You hired an escort. Supporting sex workers is important, right? That’s what you told yourself to be able to embark on this endeavor.
Not just any escort. Charlie. A man with a jawline carved by angels and a voice that could melt the Buckingham guards.
You were frantic in the Uber, digging through your purse like a madwoman. Lip gloss, charger, gum, cash…wait. Cash! Where was the envelope?
You muttered a string of curse words, practically throwing your carry-on open right in the drop-off lane. A family with four kids walked by, side-eyeing you as you pulled out a lace bralette and a half-empty bottle of melatonin. “This isn’t a garage sale,” one mom muttered under her breath.
You found the envelope, unsigned.
“Of course,” you hissed, yanking a pen out of your luggage. You scribbled your name across it just as the Uber driver shouted, “Ma’am, you’re holding up the zone!”
You bolted inside like your life depended on it, because in a way—it kind of did.
He was leaning against the wall when you saw him. That had to be him. You checked your boarding pass again. Gate B23. Shit. Black cardigan. White tee. The faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he clocked your nervous walk.
He stepped toward you like a runway model in disguise equipped with vintage sunglasses, a weekend bag slung over one shoulder, and a face that made it criminal to be that composed. You expected someone charming. You weren’t ready for someone cinematic.
“You must be Kat,” he said, lifting his glasses and giving you a once-over. His gaze wasn’t crude, it was appreciative. Like he could already see the chaos you were about to walk into and he was thrilled to be part of the show.
“You must be Charlie,” you replied, shifting nervously.
His grin deepened. “That’s what they call me.”
You cleared your throat. “So… just to go over things one more time before we get to the house: you’re my boyfriend. We’ve been seeing each other for about four months. We met at a bookstore in the city. You’re—uh—”
“British,” he said, arching a brow, “devastatingly handsome, emotionally available, and madly in love with you. Got it.”
You tried not to laugh. Or melt.
“Okay,” you said, “just… remember my ex is going to be there. His name’s Michael. He dumped me two years ago and now he’s engaged. My mom thinks I’m ‘chronically undateable,’ and my sister will panic if I show up alone.”
Charlie’s expression softened. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t.”
He offered you his arm like a movie star in a romcom finale. You hesitated.
But then you slipped your hand through.
Let the games begin.
You sat down in your airplane seat with the kind of tension usually reserved for jury duty. Charlie took the window, because of course he did, and you opened the safety brochure like it was a sacred text.
“You nervous?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.
“My younger sister is getting married and the best man is my ex,” you said without looking up. “In case I chicken out, I wanna know where the exits are.”
Charlie chuckled and leaned back, folding his arms. “Good to know you’re a planner.”
When the flight attendant came around, you didn’t hesitate. “Jack and Coke, please.”
Charlie raised a brow with that smirk again.
“What?” you said. “We’re going into a different time zone. It’s 5 p.m. somewhere.”
He didn’t say anything, just smiled like someone who knew the ending to a story you hadn’t caught up to yet.
You sipped your drink, watching clouds swallow the world below as the plane climbed.
You had no idea what the next three days would bring. But for the first time in a long time, the lie you told might actually be the best thing that ever happened to you.
chapter two
a/n: I have no idea why she had to sign the envelope in the movie, i just really wanted to use that gif
I want to say it was a Dean Winchester x reader but it could’ve been an oc too.
Dean joins reader as a plus one for a wedding, like a fake relationship (not sure if it’s like a proposal situation or date for hire type thing). On the plane ride there he dislocates her thumb holding her hand too hard. Family falls in love with him. They’re on the coast somewhere because there was a bonfire on the beach type scene.
Idk why it came to mind but I couldn’t find it on ao3. I don’t think any of the other characters are in it, or if they are it’s just their name in passing
Note: So sorry for the hiatus. Life got in the way. Thank you for sticking around and being so patient with me 💕
Word Count: ~1.9k
Description: You wake up in a comfortable warmth the morning of the wedding. This leaves Eliot consuming your every thought as you get ready.
• • •
You start to stir as you feel the light of the sun creep through the sheer curtains of the hotel room. You feel a comfortable warmth envelop you and sink further into it, seeking shelter from the harsh chill of the room.
Suddenly you feel the bed shift under you and realize the warmth you’re feeling is Eliot’s chest beneath you. His arms are wrapped around you as he pulls you close in his sleep.
A soft smile graces Eliot’s no longer sleeping face as he feels you cuddle closer to him. He knows he won’t often get the chance to hold you like this so he pretends to not notice the way you breathe hitches with every movement. He may never get to hold you like this again but he will dream happily at night at just the memory of your soft skin against his calloused hands.
You lay there, eyes now open, as still as you can and just soak in this seemingly unconscious act of affection. This isn’t like every other touch of this torturous weekend. This is real, perhaps unintentional, but real nonetheless. This isn’t for an audience, this is just Eliot holding you to him as he rests.
Sadly the moment is ripped from you as you hear your sister knock on the door to your room. Eliot pretends to startle awake and you do the same as you quickly pull away from each other.
“Y/N!” your sister calls out. “We gotta get going. The makeup artist will be at the venue in half an hour.” Eliot lays back down, now that he knows the disturbance had nothing to do with him.
You sigh and roll out of bed. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten!”
You wash your face and brush your teeth as you try to calm your racing thoughts.
By the time you leave the bathroom, Eliot has settled back in to sleep, stretching his body across nearly the entire bed. You can’t help the smile that crosses your face at the sight of the nearly always tense hitter at ease for once.
You grab your dress and the small day bag you had for the trip and close the door as quietly as you can.
***
You and the other girls are chatting in the green robes your sister gave you each as gifts. You are in the middle of getting your hair done when a text lights up your phone.
Eliot: Did your sister plan lunch for all of you?
“Ooh, you’re blushing y/n” you hear the voice of your sister’s best friend from across the room, “Texting your new man?”
The other girls chuckle and they continue to talk amongst themselves.
You roll your eyes and pretend to ignore them, but can feel the blush light up your cheeks. You show your sister the text to get her answer.
“Mom talked about running to the store and picking up salads or sandwiches later. I just don’t want anything that will upset my stomach. It’s already in knots with everything else today.” She points down the hall and adds, “There’s a kitchen through there if you want her to pick you something to make instead though.”
“Thanks,” you reply as you type out your response.
Y/n: My mom might be picking something up. There’s a kitchen in the bridal suite so we have options. Why?
Eliot: Tell your mom not to worry about it. If it’s alright with your sister, I’ll take care of lunch for you ladies.
Your sister elbows you lightly as she teases, “Do you smile like that at every text or just when pretty boys with long hair text you?”
“You should see the smile I save for spam texts” you deadpan back at her. “Eliot wants to bring us all lunch if that’s alright with you.”
“He’s handsome, has a southern accent and he cooks? Should I be expecting the save the dates when I get back from my honeymoon?” The shit eating grin on her face widens at your clear embarrassment.
“So is that a yes on lunch?”
“Yeah, and tell him I said thank you.”
The hair stylist interrupts “Alright, you’re good to go and I’m ready for the bride.”
You swap places with your sister and grab your phone.
Y/n: She said she’d appreciate you bringing food.
Eliot: Perfect. I’ll be there in 30 and I’ll make y’all something fresh.
Y/n: Thanks! You’re the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.
Your heart sinks in your chest as you read over your own words. It is for the best to stay reminded of the reality of the situation. It would only hurt more if you let yourself get fully lost in it. In just a couple of days everything will return to normal and you’ll still be pining after Eliot and he will remain blissfully unaware.
You try to brush off these thoughts and be present with the others and most importantly, your sister. You put your phone away and rejoin the conversation. “Eliot said he’ll be here in 30 to make us lunch.”
“Damn,” your sister’s maid of honor chimes in, “Where did you find him again and does he have any single friends?”
You and the others laugh at her joke. “I don’t know, with looks like that, I’m more interested to know if he has a brother.” adds in one of the bridesmaids.
Before long the makeup artist is done with the mother of the groom’s makeup and it is your turn in the chair. You settle in and try to distract yourself from Eliot’s imminent arrival by listening to the idle conversation the other women are having.
Part of you is excited that he’s showing up, in small part due to the rumble your stomach lets out, but mostly just because it’s Eliot, and you are a fool who couldn’t help falling head over heels for him. The minutes pass as you try to calm your ever increasing heart rate, but the moment you hear a rapping at the door, your heart begins practically beating out of your chest.
The artist only has your makeup a little over halfway done, so the maid of honor lets him in.He drops off an armful of groceries in the kitchen that the maid of honor leads him to and follows her back to the room you are all in.
He smiles softly at you, which you miss completely as the artist works on your eye makeup. “Hey beautiful,” he says, setting your cheeks ablaze, before turning to the rest of the room,”I should have lunch ready for you ladies in about 20 minutes.” With that he turns on his heel and leaves the room before you have a moment to reply.
The makeup artist makes quick work of the rest of your makeup as the girls chatter around you. Your sister in the chair next to you looks over at you and teases “Damn, y/n. If that’s how he looks at you when you’re not even done being dolled up, I don’t know how he’s gonna tear his eyes away from you long enough to even notice there’s a wedding happening around him in a couple hours.”
In lieu of being able to roll your eyes at your sister, you opt to flip her off.
A bridesmaid chimes in “No, she’s right y/n. That man is absolutely smitten with you.” For a moment, you almost let yourself believe it, but you know he was just playing it up for the girls. After all, that’s what you asked him to do.
Moments later the artist wraps up and finally you are free to go see Eliot in the kitchen. You quietly approach, and of course Eliot hears your steps and knows exactly who it is, but he pretends not to notice you standing in the doorway. He likes when you watch him and maybe he knows if he took the time to look at you right now, he wouldn’t be able to resist holding you in his arms again and you leaving this morning already nearly broke him.
You take in his frame, his arms flexing under his henley as he expertly chops up the last couple of vegetables in front of him, a few strands of his hair falling into his face from his half-ponytail, and those jeans that fit his ass just a little too well for your thoughts to remain pure. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re already in love with him because this almost vulnerable sight would be enough to make anyone fall for him. “Hey beautiful,” you parrot his earlier words back at him.
A goofy, lopsided smile crosses his face, as he puts the knife down and begins assembling sandwiches. He looks into your eyes, not daring to even let his eyes drift as far as your nose. “Hey,” he almost whispers “What can I do for you?”
“You’re already doing more than enough Eliot. I really just came in here to say thank you. Not just for this,” you gesture at the food, “but for this entire weekend. I know it’s a lot to ask of anyone and I really appreciate you doing this for me. I owe you one”
Returning his attention to the food he replies “You don’t owe me a damn thing sweetheart. I’m just happy to help.” He begins cutting the sandwiches into fourths diagonally, of course and you start taking them and placing them on the tray to at least help a little.
Your heart skips a beat when your hands graze against each other as he hands you the pieces that were on the other side of the knife. It is far from the most intimate touch you have had with him, but just like this morning, the private moments, even the unintentional ones, are a lot harder to brush off as part of the performance.
As you finish laying the different kind of sandwiches on the tray, he goes to the fridge and grabs a charcuterie board he had clearly made himself before you entered the kitchen. It was this sight that finally made your stomach let out a rumble. He looked you up and down before asking “Hungry?” with a smile.
“A little.” you joke in return.
He reaches around you to grab the sandwich tray. With both hands full, he leans over and kisses your cheek before replying “Then lead the way princess.”
And with that small act, clearly not an accident nor an act you were left reeling as you rejoin the others. He places the two platters on the table before “I will see you this evening, but I think your sister would be pissed if I show up to the wedding like this.”
Your sister laughs, “Well, he’s not wrong.”
With that, he takes his leave with a quick peck on your lips and a polite wave to the room. Your heart is beating out of your chest and you can only hope nobody can tell.
