Free Faking It by Leah Marie Brown Page A

looking at myself in the mirror.
    “ Oh my God! ”
    “What’s wrong?” Fanny walks into the bathroom and looks at my reflection in the mirror. Her eyes widen. “ Merde! ”
    “I know, right? Could I look more ridiculous?”
    The clingy skort is a bit too short, leaving my pale legs exposed. Paired with my “I like it Raw” T, it makes me look like a trampy teenaged alien.
    “It’s not that bad.”
    I grimace. “Are you kidding? Look at my legs!”
    “What’s wrong with your legs? I wish I had legs that long and shapely.”
    “Remember the movie Signs with Mel Gibson?”
    Fanny frowns. “Yes.”
    “Remember when Mel sees the alien for the first time?”
    Fanny shakes her head.
    “He’s in a corn field, and the alien sticks his long, ashy leg out. If they make Signs Two , I could double for the alien leg.”
    “Whatever, Vivian.” Fanny laughs. “Why don’t you try on another pair of my biker shorts?”
    “Thanks but I don’t think my ego stand it.”
    I wish I could fit into Fanny’s clothes, but she’s petite and I am tall—when we stand next to each other we look like the Jolly Green Giant and Sprout.
    Fanny tilts her head, narrows her gaze. “It’s really not that bad. The skort is—”
    “Stop.” I hold up my hand. “No need to finish. It’s a freaking skort .”
    “You won’t have to wear it for long.” Fanny puts her bike helmet on and adjusts the chin strap. “Chantal said your luggage is already on the way.”
    We leave our posh room and head to the courtyard. The group is assembled in a cluster near a row of sleek aluminum bikes. We are exchanging bonjours when a tall tanned man in muscle-hugging biking gear exits the château. The group falls silent; all eyes on the Adonis striding confidently across the courtyard. We haven’t ridden a single kilometer, and already I am finding it difficult to breath.
    Please, God, don’t let him be Jean-Luc. Please.
    “ Bonjour , I am your guide, Jean-Luc.”
    “Of course you are,” I mumble.
    “Pardon?”
    Jean-Luc turns his smoldering gaze on me. Did I mention he has velvety brown eyes fringed with long lashes?
    “Nothing.”
    My tongue suddenly feels heavy, my mouth dry.
    Jean-Luc’s gaze slides down to the cartoon sushi rolls on my T-shirt. A single black eyebrow lifts in an utterly French, utterly arrogant expression. I warm with embarrassment. Who does this smug Frenchman think he is, anyway?
    Jean-Luc turns away. Without another glance in my direction, he launches into a lecture on French road rules and biking safety. I stare at the dimples on his angular face and wonder at the cruel twists Fate keeps throwing my way. I would have preferred the drill instructor with the bulging veins.
    “To accommodate for any lingering effects of jet-lag, the day’s ride will be an easy one, through lavender fields and ancient vineyards.” Jean-Luc puts his helmet on his head. “We can look forward to one small attack just before the village of Gordes, but it is quite pleasant, I assure you.”
    “Pleasant and attack should not be used in the same sentence,” I whisper to Fanny.
    Jean-Luc fixes his smoldering gaze on me, smiling languidly. I swear his lips twitch. Great. Twenty minutes in, and already he finds me absurd. I tug the skort down in a futile attempt at modesty.
    “The ride is only twenty-four kilometers. No problem.”
    I am still trying to do the math in my head when Fanny says, “You see, Vivian? Only fifteen miles today.”
    “Fifteen miles? You have got to be kidding me? Are you serious?”
    I have a vision of Nathan riding beside me, encouraging me to pedal faster with promises of bubble baths and foot rubs. I only agreed to the biking portion of our honeymoon because I wanted to please Nathan. With my wedding canceled and Nathan refusing to speak to me, where will I get the motivation to ride halfway across France?
    Fanny must sense my growing gloom.
    “You can do this, Vivian. You must do it!”
    Jean-Luc hands us