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Nov 09, 2023

Read An Excerpt From 'The Fiancée Farce' by Alexandria Bellefleur

Lambda Literary award winner and national bestselling author Alexandria

Lambda Literary award winner and national bestselling author Alexandria Bellefleur returns with a steamy Sapphic rom-com about a quiet bookseller and a romance novel cover model who agree to a modern-day marriage-of-convenience…

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Fiancée Farce, which is out April 18th!

Tansy Adams’ greatest love is her family's bookstore, passed down from her late father. But when it comes to actual romance… Tansy can't get past the first chapter. Tired of her stepfamily's questions about her love life, Tansy invents Gemma, a fake girlfriend inspired by the stunning cover model on a bestselling book. They’ll never actually meet, so what's the harm in a little fib? Yet when real-life Gemma crosses Tansy's path, her white lie nearly implodes.

Gemma van Dalen is a wild child, the outcast of her wealthy family, and now the latest heir to Van Dalen Publishing. But the title comes with one tiny condition: she must be married in order to inherit. When Gemma discovers a beautiful stranger has been pretending to date her for months, she decides to take the charade one step further—and announces their engagement.

Gemma needs a wife to meet the terms of her grandfather's will and Tansy needs money to save her struggling bookstore. A marriage could be mutually beneficial, if they can fool everyone into thinking it's a love match. Unexpected sparks fly as Tansy and Gemma play the role of affectionate fiancées, and suddenly the line between convenient arrangement and real feelings begins to blur. But the scheming Van Dalen family won't give up the company without a fight, and Gemma and Tansy's newfound happiness might get caught in the fallout…

Tansy double-checked the address on her phone. 501 West Highland Drive. This was it.

The four-story brick building was located in Upper Queen Anne, right across from Kerry Park, and what it lacked in height it more than made up for in its footprint, occupying an entire block on the north side of the street. A bronze plaque set into the red brick stated that the property, constructed in 1921, had been added to the National Register of Historic Places and met the criteria for the Seattle Landmarks Ordinance.

Tansy wiped her palms against her thighs and stopped in front of one of the building's arched entryways, frowning at the intercom beside the door. Gemma hadn't mentioned an entry code, but in a building this obviously ritzy, it stood to reason the security would be top-notch. It was a wonder there wasn't a doorman. Apartment 400 . . . there it was, the button for Gemma's unit, located at the very top of the box. Tansy pressed it, wincing at the

staticky screech the intercom emitted.

"’ lo? Who's it?"

Bizarre. That didn't sound like Gemma. Not unless her voice had gotten significantly deeper and far more British overnight.

"Um, hi. I’m not sure if I have the right apartment, but—"

The intercom emitted another piercing shriek before a long, low buzz came from the door. Tansy tried the handle. Open. Minus the voice confusion, so far, so good.

One brief elevator ride later, Tansy stepped out onto the fourth floor, pausing for a moment to get her bearings. The unit numbers descended from left to right, 404, 402, and there, at the end of the hall, apartment 400.

Before she could second-guess herself or chicken out, Tansy rapped her knuckles against the front door.

A muffled curse came from inside the apartment, followed by a yelp, then the thump of approaching footsteps. The door was thrown open, revealing a bare, heavily tattooed, light brown chest that led down into dangerously low-rise jeans.

"Pizza's here, Gem!" the man who had answered the door shouted. He turned, looked Tansy up and down, and frowned. "Never mind, not pizza. Just some chick selling something. Proselytizing? I don't know. Unless it's sex, drugs, or alcohol, there's no soliciting allowed in the building, love."

Tansy frowned. "They allow that here?"

"Mm, doubtful. Anyway"—he began to shut the door—"have a nice day."

Tansy leaped forward, flattening her palm against the door. "Wait, no. I’m not selling—"

"Look, I’m sure you’re a nice person, but I couldn't care less for your religion." He kept his grip on the doorknob, using his other hand to shoo her away. "Go away, now."

"I’m not here to convert you."

He ran his tongue over his teeth, considering her through narrowed eyes. "All right, you’ve piqued my curiosity. I’ll bite. Go on." He beckoned with one hand. "Give me your spiel."

"My—my spiel?" Tansy didn't have a spiel.

"Yeah, you know—if I don't subscribe to your religion and eschew my heretical, hedonistic, queer, and fabulous lifestyle post-haste, there’ll be nothing but hellfire and damnation in my future. All brimstone and eternal doom down under. That spiel."

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Tansy was lost. "I don't have a spiel. I—"

"You don't have a spiel?" The man tutted as if it were Tansy who was being ridiculous. "I can't imagine how you plan to persuade me if you don't have a spiel. Well, I suppose bribery is always an option, but you seem a"—he wiggled his fingers at her—"bit of a do-gooder for that sort of degeneracy."

Was that supposed to be a compliment? "Thank you? I—" "Do you at least have a copy of your religious text that I might be able to peruse at my leisure?" "No, I’m not—"

"That's disappointing. You’re rather bad at this." He frowned, drumming his fingers against the door. His nails were painted black, polish pristine, as if freshly painted. "Are you new? In training, perhaps? Would you like some feedback? Constructive, of course! I don't want to, like, crush your spirits."

"That's kind of you to offer, but I’m—"

"Tansy? Hi." Gemma stepped into view, shouldering her way into the doorway, a delicate wrinkle forming in the space above her nose. She shoved the sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt up her arms, and as she did, the hem rose an inch, revealing nothing but bare skin beneath. A shiver ripped its way up Tansy's spine, and for a second she could’ve sworn her brain buffered, blanking out entirely. She snapped back at the sound of Gemma's voice and tore her eyes from Gemma's thighs before she could be caught staring. "—is Teddy, one of my roommates."

"Tansy! Tansy from last night?" He waited for Gemma's nod.

"Why didn't you say? I’m delighted to make your acquaintance." Teddy bent at the waist, bowing low, offering her a cheeky wink. "And for the record, I’m hardly just Gemma's roommate. I’m also her closest confidant, emergency contact, voice of unreason, and the handsome devil on her shoulder. And on occasion, her one phone call and the purveyor of her bond."

"That was once, and it was a misunderstanding. They dropped the charges."

"You, my friend, are still banned from the Dunkin’ Donuts in the West Village. For life."

What exactly did one have to do to warrant a lifelong ban from a coffee shop? On second thought, maybe she didn't want to know.

Gemma rolled her eyes, smile fond. "I’d assure you Teddy isn't usually like this, but that would be a lie. He's worse."

He beamed. "You know what they say—one woman's worse is another woman's better."

Gemma arched a brow. "No one says that." "They should start. Don't you agree, Tansy?"

"Um." Tansy looked to Gemma for guidance, a clue, something. Gemma shrugged, oversized sweatshirt slipping off her shoulder. "I guess—"

"See, Tansy agrees with me." Teddy wrapped an arm around Tansy's shoulders and steered her into the apartment

Tansy wasn't in Kansas anymore. She was pretty sure she was in Palm Springs—1960s Palm Springs, to be precise.

The walls were painted bubblegum, and the one behind the pink velvet sofa was covered in a deep green palm print wallpaper. The furniture was all midcentury modern, with teakwood and curved lines, save for the giant inflatable swan pool float that was propped against the wall beside the framed television. Someone had been watching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

"Now, Tansy, I figure since you’re going to be marrying one of my best friends in this entire godforsaken world, you and I should get to know each other properly."

"I haven't actually agreed to anything yet, but okay?"

"What do you do for fun? What do you like? Perhaps you have a dark, painful secret you’d like to share? Trauma, while terrible, is fantastic for bonding."

Her head spun. "Just dive right into the deep end, why don't you?"

It was starting to look like that pool float might come in handy, after all.

Teddy stopped walking and frowned. "I’m sorry. Too much, too soon? Should I ask your favorite color first?"

"It's purple," Gemma said.

Tansy frowned. "How did you know that?"

Gemma shrugged, eyeing up Tansy's sweater. "You’ve worn the color twice in two days."

"So you just assumed it was my favorite as opposed to it being a coincidence that I chose to wear it?"

"I don't believe in coincidences." A smile flirted at the corner of Gemma's mouth. "Am I wrong?"

"No," she conceded, grudgingly. Purple was her favorite color. "Let me guess—your favorite color is pink?"

Gemma laughed and plucked a spray bottle off the coffee table. "Nice guess, but no. The apartment belonged to my grandmother, Mara, whose tastes ran a little eccentric. She left it to me, and I considered redecorating, but it's got a certain charm."

Gemma wandered over to a potted fern in the corner, spritzing the fronds. "The place grows on you, after a while."

"Literally." Teddy flicked a dangling vine of devil's ivy out of his face as he drew back the curtains in front of the window, revealing a balcony covered in plants.

"Yvonne is our resident plant queer," Gemma said, setting the spray bottle aside.

"Yvonne?"

"Another roommate," Gemma said.

Another, as opposed to other. "How many roommates do you have?"

"Five."

Five? Gemma had as many roommates as Belltown Books had employees.

Teddy let the curtain fall. "Occasionally more, if we catch a stray or two."

Gemma rolled her eyes. "He means if we have friends visit from out of town."

Tansy glanced around the apartment. "And these other room-mates of yours? Are they home?"

Gemma shook her head, and Tansy let out a sigh of relief. She was feeling a mite overwhelmed as it was.

"Lucy's on a business trip," Gemma said. "The others—" "Are in Auburn," Teddy said. "Concert."

A pop of magenta caught her eye from the other side of the room. She’d call it art, but the pushpins threw her off. "What's that?"

"I see you’ve spotted our Conquest Collage," Teddy said.

No fewer than two dozen photographs had been tacked to the wall, hot pink string strung between them in a dizzying web like some sort of suspect wall. One of those photos did look suspiciously like a mug shot . . . "Your what?"

"It's silly," Gemma said, coming to stand beside her, close enough that their elbows bumped when Gemma crossed her arms. "Excuse you, but it was my idea and it was brilliant." Teddy turned and addressed Tansy. "As you’re well aware, Gemma needs to get hitched posthaste. Prior to your fortuitous meeting last night, it made the most sense to tap into her pool of past pursuits, as opposed to exploring novel avenues. Less legwork, less explaining all around. Hence, the Conquest Collage."

Teddy's words gave her pause. "Wait. Exactly how many people are in on this?"

"My roommates," Gemma said. "Just my roommates. All of whom I trust to keep a secret."

Tansy didn't relish anyone knowing she’d lied, but it could be worse. It could always be worse.

She turned back to the wall and studied the collage more closely. By no means was she a pop culture fiend, but she’d have to be living under a rock not to recognize at least a few faces. Models, mostly. All breathtaking. Tansy's self-esteem wilted. "These are all people you’ve dated?"

Gemma reached out, plucking at one of the taut pink strings. It vibrated quietly, the sound causing the hair on the nape of Tansy's neck to stand on end. "Dated, slept with, was spotted out with in public. Time is of the essence. I can't really afford to be picky."

Tansy tried not to let that sting and failed miserably. She knew what this was and what it wasn't. In no way was she under the delusion that she was Gemma's first choice. She was here, she fit the bill. What had Gemma called it? A business merger, a marriage of convenience.

Every little girl's dream.

Her eyes drifted, landing on a snapshot of a man posing on a red carpet. "Is that—"

"Taylor's lucky all he kept was her scarf." Gemma pursed her lips. "He made off with a pair of my La Perla panties."

Tansy stood there, staring at the wall, searching for something to say and coming up empty.

Which wasn't a problem, apparently, because Gemma grabbed her hand and tugged. "Teddy, I know you’re looking forward to getting to know Tansy, but we have business to attend to."

"Right." No matter how hard Tansy tried, she couldn't tear her eyes off that wall. "Business."

"That's cool. We’ll just put a pin in it for now," Teddy called out. "Give you some time to think about those deep, dark secrets!"

Gemma led her down the hall and into the first room on the right.

"My room," she said.

The walls were painted a soft shade of mint, the pillows, curtains, and rug bright pops of pink and turquoise. A half-empty bottle of Pedialyte and several cans of LaCroix sat on the nightstand nearest the window.

Gemma turned, obstructing her view of the room as she stepped into Tansy's space. She reached out, shutting the bedroom door with a quiet snick, but she kept her hand on the frame, boxing Tansy in between her body and the wall. "Hi."

"Hi." The echoed greeting came out embarrassingly breathy. Gemma's vanilla and vetiver perfume clung to her hair as it formed a curtain, brushing Tansy's sleeve when Gemma leaned close. The sweet scent conjured the memory of last night's dance, Gemma's hands gripping Tansy's hips, her teeth nipping at Tansy's bottom lip. Tansy swallowed hard, verging on a gulp. The left corner of Gemma's mouth kicked up in a grin. "Alone at last."

Tansy's cheeks prickled and burned.

"Just like I remembered," Gemma breathed. With her right hand, she reached out, fingers tracing the spread of heat up Tansy's jaw without actually touching skin. "That blush slays me."

"Thank you? I think."

Gemma beamed. "I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together, Tansy. But first." Gemma dropped her hand and stepped back. "Down to brass tacks."

Tansy nodded, feeling steadier without the heat of Gemma's body and the smell of her perfume suffusing her senses, distracting her from reason. "All right."

Gemma took a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on her palms. She hooked one bare foot over the other, crossing her legs at the ankles, the picture of ease save for the tightening at the corners of her eyes as she stared at Tansy. "Tell me, Tansy, what do you want from me?"

Tansy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of whether she should have a seat and where. "Who says I want anything?"

Gemma threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and melodic, with a hint of smoke that sent another shiver racing up Tansy's spine. "The day I meet someone who doesn't want something from me is the day I’ll know hell froze over."

Tansy frowned. "That's awfully cynical." Gemma stared at her.

She crossed her arms. "Well, it is."

"Forget my cynicism for a moment. You told me you thought about my offer. Between now and when I left the wedding, something must’ve changed your mind, because—correct me if I’m wrong—you seemed pretty adamantly against accepting last night. What was it you called my proposal?" Gemma's lips quirked at the corners. "Crazy?"

"It still is crazy," Tansy muttered. "This is absolutely insane." "And yet here you are." Gemma nodded at where she stood.

"No one forced you to come here. And you contacted me, no less. If I were you, I might refrain from playing fast and loose with the insults." Gemma flashed a smile. "Glass houses and all." Tansy's cheeks burned.

She’d come here to bargain—money for her hand in marriage, as old-fashioned as that sounded—not to have her nose rubbed in her desperation. Yes, she needed money, but at what cost? Getting tangled up with a Van Dalen? Another Van Dalen?

Clearly she hadn't been thinking straight.

"I think coming here was a mistake. I think I should probably just go."

And get to work brainstorming some other solution to save Belltown Books, because she had less than three months to come up with an alternative. A six-million-dollar alternative.

Damn it.

Tansy's fingers rested on the doorknob, but she couldn't quite bring herself to open the door.

Gemma's eyes bounced pointedly between the doorknob and Tansy's face, brows rising as if daring Tansy to walk out.

Tansy had come this far . . . was she really about to let the scraps of her pride stand in the way of saving the store?

She dropped her hand and sighed. "I stand by what I said. I’m not calling you crazy. But you have to admit that this? This is crazy."

Gemma's lips drew to the side, her smile wry. "Tell me about it."

Tansy realized Gemma was being sarcastic, but she took a deep breath, preparing to launch into her explanation of what had driven her to take the plunge and reach out. Now was as good a time as any. "This morning, my stepmother, Katherine, told me she wants to sell Belltown Books."

"Belltown Books." Gemma frowned. "She wants to sell your bookstore?"

"It's mine. I just don't technically own it." She winced. "When my father passed away, everything of his went to Katherine's by default and now she wants to sell to Scylla and—I grew up in that store. My parents raised me in the apartment above it, the apartment I live in today. The store is my entire world. It's my home. It's who I am, and I don't know what I’m going to do without it." She wiped her clammy hands against her thighs. "I convinced Katherine to hold off on accepting Scylla's offer because I’d like to buy the store from her myself."

Gemma nodded. "Sounds like a solid plan."

"It would be"—she cringed—"if I had enough money."

Gemma stood and crossed the room to her desk, chuckling under her breath. "Guess I don't need to dust off my ice skates."

Tansy faltered. "What?"

"Hell's still toasty, is what I’m saying." She opened a drawer and withdrew a checkbook and a pen, whose cap she proceeded to tug off with her teeth and spit across the room. "How much?"

"How—how much?"

Gemma nodded. "How much money would you like?" She said it as if the sky was the limit.

Tansy's mouth opened and shut. "You’re going to write me a check, just like that?"

"I don't see why not. You need money; I have money. I need a wife"—Gemma gestured to Tansy with a sweep of the hand holding the checkbook—"and there you are."

Right time, right place, apparently. "And you can't afford to be picky."

But she could afford to bankroll the bookstore, and that's all Tansy should care about. All Tansy did care about.

Gemma's frowned. "What's with the long face?"

Tansy quickly schooled her expression. "Hm?"

"You were frowning," Gemma needled. "It's nothing."

"It made you frown, so clearly it was something." "It's not—"

"Tell me." Gemma huffed. "Tell me so I won't do it again." Tansy couldn't help but laugh. "Are you always this stubborn?" "Are you usually this evasive?" Gemma countered. "And for the record, yes. I am."

Tansy knew when she’d been bested. "I know I’m not exactly your type."

Gemma set her checkbook and pen down on her bedspread. "No, you aren't."

Tansy hadn't expected Gemma to lie, but she hadn't anticipated her being quite so blunt about it, either. Tansy pasted on a smile she prayed didn't wobble. "Right. But I guess beggars can't be choosers."

Gemma went still. "I’ve never begged a day in my life, and I have no interest in starting now." She crossed the room, stopping in front of Tansy, head and hips cocked as her gaze traveled from Tansy's face down to her feet and back again. "And you aren't my type, because up until one month ago, my type was ‘temporary.’" Gemma tapped the end of her pen against her checkbook. "So, how much?"

"What if it's a lot?" She wrung her hands together. "Like a lot a lot."

Gemma sighed through her nose. "The idea of spending my family's money on saving a small, independent bookstore from being cannibalized by a behemoth of a corporation warms the cockles of my heart. Whatever the sum, I can guarantee you it's a small price to pay to make sure my cousin doesn't run my family business into the ground. So are you going to tell me how much or should I just leave it blank?"

Tansy broke out into a cold sweat at the mere idea of that having that sort of carte blanche access to Van Dalen funds. She shook her head. "I need"—deep breath—"six."

Gemma stared. "Six what, Tansy? Hundred? Thousand?" Her lips twitched. "Sheep?"

"Sheep?" Tansy balked. "What would I do with sheep?"

Gemma laughed. "You tell me. This is basically my dowry we’re discussing."

She rubbed the front of her throat. "Six, um, million." Gemma didn't even bat an eye. "You got it."

And just like that she wrote out the check. "There." She signed it with a flourish. "As you can see, I’m more than willing to put my money where my mouth is." Gemma tore out the check and carried it back over to her desk, tucking it inside the top drawer. "I’ll give it to you once you’ve held up your end of our bargain." She looked at Tansy over her shoulder and shrugged. "Because no offense, Tansy—I like you, I do, I just don't know you well enough yet to trust you. And if I give this to you now, there’d be nothing stopping you from ghosting me, and I really can't afford to have that happen."

That was fair. Except "What's stopping you from reneging once I marry you?"

Once she married Gemma. Holy hell, this was happening. "Once you marry me, what's mine is yours."

"What about a prenup?"

"Unnecessary." Gemma waved her off, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

"Unnecessary? Aren't you worried I’ll—I’ll—"

"Take half my money?" Gemma shrugged, completely blasé. "You’re welcome to it."

Tansy tamped down a spark of irritation, crossing her arms. "I don't understand you."

This was a lot, okay? A lot to take in, a lot to wrap her head around. Factor in more figures on a check than she could dream of and Gemma's indifference to it all, and Tansy felt anything but sure-footed.

Gemma laughed breezily, falling back against her pillows. "Are you calling me an enigma?"

Maybe she was. "I guess I’m just waiting for the catch." Gemma held up her hands, palms facing out. "No catch."

That was all well and good . . . if she could take Gemma at her word. "No offense, but I don't exactly trust you."

Gemma's eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch as she studied Tansy, the silence in the room deafening. Tansy nibbled on the inside of her lip, her only concession against the overwhelming urge to fidget. It was either that or break eye contact, and she refused to do that.

"Good," Gemma said after a moment. "You shouldn't." Tansy frowned sharply.

"Which isn't to say you can't trust me, only that trust is something you earn, and I haven't earned yours yet," Gemma added. "In fact, I’m glad you don't trust me. It shows that you’re discerning, and I like that. But don't worry. I’ll earn it."

Tansy crossed her arms. "You sound awfully confident." Gemma smiled. "I am."

All at once the fight inside her that had reared its head when Gemma had pointed out that Tansy needed her as much as Gemma needed Tansy fled. Her shoulders slumped and her arms fell, dangling at her sides. "You’re really not going to make me beg for it or something?"

Gemma's smile dropped. "Why would I do that?"

Tansy shrugged. It's what Tucker would’ve done. He’d have delighted in having something to lord over her. Something else to lord over her.

Gemma's nose wrinkled. "Do you want me to make you beg for it?"

Absolutely not. Tansy shook her head.

"Then no." Gemma sank back into her pillows. "Begging's only fun if everyone's on board."

She couldn't imagine ever being on board with begging of any—

Oh.

Tansy's face flamed, and Gemma's smile broadened.

She cleared her throat, shoving down those thoughts. Thoughts that would get her nowhere. "We get married. Then what?"

"Then I inherit the majority shares of VDP, assume the role of president, and try not to fuck the company up too badly. You’ll buy your bookstore. Bada bing, bada boom. We’re both happy."

"And after?"

Gemma shrugged. "Then we stay married for two years, after which time we part amicably."

"And logistically? Are we supposed to live together?"

"I suppose it would look strange if we didn't," Gemma mused.

As if this entire charade didn't already have strange written all over it.

"My apartment is a two bedroom. And I don't have any roommates." Let alone five. Plus, Tansy couldn't beat the convenience of living right above where she worked.

"That's a good point," Gemma said. "Most newlyweds would probably want privacy." Gemma nodded. "All right. I’ll start packing."

Tansy choked on her tongue. "Now?"

Didn't they have three months before they had to get married?

"Not right this very second, no." Gemma looked at her funny. "But soon. The last thing I want is to cut it close and have some sort of clerical error with a wedding license screw me over."

Wedding license. A reedy laugh slipped out before Tansy could clap a hand over her mouth.

The corners of Gemma's mouth tipped up in small smile. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Tansy ducked her chin, hiding from Gemma's scrutinizing stare. "It's just . . . a wedding license, you know? It makes it all so . . . so real."

"I’d certainly hope so," Gemma said. "Seeing as it needs to be real."

Well, duh. "I know that." She shook her head, looking up at Gemma from beneath her lashes. "I just mean . . ." God, what did she mean? She couldn't even put a name to what she was feeling—a nonsensical melee of . . . nonsense. "This is all just happening really fast."

"Too fast?"

Unequivocally. Tansy swallowed down another frazzled laugh before it could burst free. "Should we discuss dates? Venues?" Whatever else people who weren't in love and barely even knew each other talked about when planning a wedding.

"Venues?" Gemma started to laugh, the kind that built on itself until she wiped away tears. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. No venue. No ceremony. No reception. Definitely no shoving cake in each other's faces. I figure, we wait a couple weeks for news of our engagement to simmer down and then we go to the courthouse—or Vegas, if you’re so inclined. Anyone asks for details, we tell them we had a small, intimate wedding with only our nearest and dearest. Does that work for you?"

Tansy hadn't been under the delusion that she’d be getting her dream wedding out of this deal, but the idea of eloping to the courthouse left her disappointed in a way she had no business feeling. No business at all.

But she had no reasonable reason to protest Gemma's plan. "Works for me." She racked her brain, trying to think of topics they still needed to cover, discussions they needed to have. "What should I tell people if they ask how we met?"

"As long as it isn't the truth, you can tell them anything." Tansy laughed under her breath. "Helpful."

"Relax. If anyone asks, say that we met in your bookstore. I was browsing and you recognized me from the cover of a book and we bonded over a shared love of romance novels. That's not even straying too far from the truth. See, piece of cake."

She wouldn't go so far as to call it a piece of cake, but she could work with it. "That sounds reasonable."

"Any other questions?"

Only a million, but when put on the spot, her mind blanked. "Can I get your number? In case I think of something."

The left corner of Gemma's mouth rose. "Already sent it to you.

Send me yours."

Tansy fished her phone from her purse and opened Instagram. She clicked on Gemma's direct message and copied the number to her contacts before drafting a new text with her name as the message. "Done."

Gemma smiled.

Right, then. Tansy supposed that was all there was to it. "I guess if that's it, I’ll be in touch."

"One last thing."

Gemma stretched across her bed and grabbed a robin's-egg blue box off her nightstand. She tossed it at Tansy and beamed.

"Can't forget your ring."

Excerpted from The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur. Copyright © 2023 by Alexandria Bellefleur. Reprinted courtesy of Avon Books, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers