Five months later...

I wake up in a familiar bed and I like it. It's not the bed I have to roll over in, open my eyes, and take in the view of Warren passed out, shirtless and stinking of stale sweat. This bed is like heaven compared to the one in my dorm room. The mattress is soft but firm at the same time, and the sheets are as comforting as cashmere compared to my scratchy ones. The room also smells like a freshly brewed vanilla latte instead of old books, Sharpies, and a sweaty gym bag that's never been washed. There's also a massive window that has a spectacular view of the city and allows copious amounts of sunshine in.

Julia's apartment is a luxury.

I never expected to become friends with Julia. When I first met her, she annoyed me. I also wasn't a fan of her when she broke the news that I would be sharing a room with Warren until September, even though I knew it wasn't her fault.

My point of view changed when I stepped into my first creative writing class the following Monday. Just like any other person, I gravitated toward her because she was a familiar face. She greeted me with open arms and we started talking. The first question she asked me was how I was liking Vancouver so far. The second was how my first couple nights sharing a room with Warren had been.

All I did was sigh.

That man...he's an inflexible dilemma that has a high temper, is arrogant, and despises being told what to do. Sharing a room with him has been quite the experience. Since January, we've had several petty fights about what is and what isn't acceptable, ranging from ridiculous to logical. Food was and still is a problem. The cafeteria is made for eating and our dorm room is most certainly not. He has a terrible habit of ordering takeout or bringing his meals to the room and leaving his dishes laying around, creating a disgusting mess. On a daily basis, I also question if he was ever taught how to dress as a child; he continuously lounges around without a shirt and it disgusts me.

But the bathroom is the worst of all. He never puts the toilet seat down; I find remnants of hair from when he shaves stuck in the sink; the mirror is always splattered with shaving foam and spit. There have also been many times where he's forgotten to knock before entering, catching me in nothing but my bra and underwear. This usually results in me screaming and him leaning against the doorway to stare at me.

I miss having my own bathroom.

However, through all our petty arguments, we managed to agree on one thing. In order for Warren to uphold his bad-boy reputation, I agreed that every Friday night I would find somewhere else to stay so he could bring someone home, so long as she was gone by the time I got back. It's worked better than I ever thought it would, and it's the reason I'm at Julia's apartment.

It's been great, having a friend like her. I never realized I missed having this type of relationship with another girl. We've spent our Friday nights sipping glasses of wine and eating caramel popcorn while talking about how ridiculous life can be.

I do admit it was after a couple of glasses of wine, but I ended up telling her about everything that happened with Carter. I expected her to scoff and tell me I should be over it by now because it's been over a year, but her reaction was something I will forever treasure. She was understanding and wholeheartedly said that time doesn't heal anything – it teaches us how to live with the pain. Which is a statement I agree with. Losing someone you love is an event that you will always feel the sting of.

Pushing back the blankets, I swing my legs over the bed and stretch my sleepy muscles. I stare out the window. I don't know what I was expecting before I arrived in Vancouver, but I can say this: I've come to appreciate the few sunny days we get. The coast is known for its rainy weather, so days like today are special.

After I've finished my morning routines, I head for the kitchen. Julia is already awake and there's a mug of coffee waiting for me on the granite island. If there's one thing I love about Julia's apartment, it's the kitchen. It has a U-shaped layout with a graphite handless rail and a stunning granite worktop. There's lots of open shelving, one being entirely dedicated to a line of green plants in clay pots. White cupboards, an open-frame pendant light fixture hangs from the vaulted ceiling, dark hardwood flooring – the whole apartment is gorgeous.

"Morning," Julia says, looking up from the fashion magazine she's reading.

"Morning," I reply, opening the fridge and grabbing the cream. I then sit down on one of the white chairs at the breakfast bar, adding some cream to my coffee. "Thanks again for letting me stay here. I owe you one."

Julia laughs and shakes her head. "You say that every time. It's no big deal, Nova. Honestly. I can understand why you'd want at least one night away from Warren. He can be a psychotic ass."

"It's not that he can be," I reply, swiping a piece of the croissant she's been working on. "It's that he is a psychotic ass." I pop the French food in my mouth and enjoy the buttery flavour on my tongue.

My words end the conversation, and we spend the rest of breakfast talking about what we're going to be doing for the summer holidays. I was going to head back to Alberta for the first couple of weeks, but my parents decided it would be a good time to go on a trip to Europe. I applaud them for taking the opportunity – they haven't been on vacation since their honeymoon and they definitely deserve it after raising four kids.

So now I'm remaining in Vancouver for the summer, which is good because it means I get to complete my bucket list. I know, at some point, I will be doing the Grouse Grind.

Julia tells me that she'll also be staying here for most of the summer. "We'll have to get together," she says.

"That'd be great," I reply, finishing my coffee. I slide off the chair, take my mug to the sink, and then rinse it out. "Well, work calls and I, sadly, need to stop at my room to obtain my uniform."

The bakery is always busy on Saturdays; people from off-campus come to have a taste of our delicious baked goods and premium roast coffee. I don't mind the large crowds because it distracts me from dwelling on the fact that I have to put up with an egotistical, disrespectful male roommate. I don't understand how he's a year older than me, yet I act more mature than he does.

"Ouch," Julia says. "Hope Warren knocks this time."

I roll my eyes. I swear to God, if Warren walks in on me one more time, I'm going to strangle him. No one can really understand what it's like to live with him unless you've experienced it.

"I'll text you later, Julia," I call over my shoulder.

"Bye, Nova!"

After I've collected my belongings, I exit the apartment and take the elevator down to the lobby. Outside, it's not hard to find my grey Honda Civic Sedan parked alongside the busy street. I remove the keys from my pocket and get into the car, sighing as soon as I sit down. I'm silently praying this isn't going to be another one of those times where I walk in on Warren still asleep with a girl next to him. I would prefer to act like the villain and kick Warren out instead of the girl, but I only hold so much power. Warren infuriates me with his resilient cockiness and good looks.

Sighing one more time, I ignite the engine and start the twenty-minute drive back to campus.

* * *

I'm welcomed by the obnoxious sound of Warren talking on his cell phone. He's lying on his bed, wearing nothing but a towel that's been wrapped tightly around his waist. His hair is sopping wet, making droplets of water streak down his face. He looks up and winks at me, pointing at the towel he's wearing. I roll my eyes and shake my head at him.

He's a constant flirt and it drives me up the wall.

Flipping him off, I throw my bag on my bed and gather up my uniform – a simple pair of jean capris, a black V-neck T-shirt with the bakery's logo on the front in white cursive, and a pair of white tennis shoes.

Closing the bathroom door, I change quickly and then spend a good ten minutes carefully reapplying my makeup and styling my hair. One good thing about having shorter hair is that I don't have to tie it up like the other girls at work do. I give myself a fresh spray of perfume – a fragrant mix of lemon and vanilla – and then exit the bathroom.

"Yeah, Hazel," Warren says, sounding exasperated. "My girlfriend is doing fine."

I stop and turn to stare at him, holding back a laugh of disbelief. Warren having a girlfriend is like trying to grab your right elbow with your right hand – impossible. He looks at me and makes a Go away motion with his hand. I don't know where he's expecting me to go considering the fact we share a room, but I turn my attention elsewhere. Not because I'm listening to him, but because I have to be at work in just under an hour and need to get a move on.

Although, while I gather my belongings, I can't help but eavesdrop. I'm curious to know why he's lied to this Hazel girl about having a girlfriend.

"When is your wedding?" Warren asks.

"August third," Hazel replies, her voice sounding scratchy through the speaker of Warren's phone.

I wonder who this Hazel girl is. A childhood friend? A family member? Warren and I have never taken the time to discuss our personal lives; we know each other about as well as we did the day we met.

"I don't know, Haze," he says slowly. "She's pretty swamped with work and her summer classes. I don't think she'd be able to make it."

"Warren. You're my little brother – I can tell when you're lying to me. My wedding is something I want you and your girlfriend to attend. Mom and Dad miss you, too. It's been almost a year since the last time we were all together. Please come."

Warren stares up at the popcorn ceiling and sighs. "Fine. I'll come back to Halifax for the summer."

"With your girlfriend?"

The hopeful note in her voice makes me snort. She clearly doesn't know her brother as I do. He's an ass – all he does is sleep with a girl for relief and pleasure, and then kick her to the curb.

He shoots me a dirty glare before saying, "Yes, I'll ask her."

"Great! Well, tell her I say hello. I'll call you next week so we can figure out a flight that'll arrive before Canada Day. Mom and Dad are having their usual family barbeque. Everyone is going to be there. I'm sure they'd love to see the star athlete of the family."

I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Warren sit up straighter. "Wait. You want me to come in July? Why? The wedding isn't until August."

"I need some help with the final decisions, and when the hall is open, I'm going to need a couple of extra pairs of hands to help with setting up the decorations."

Warren squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay," he sighs. "I'll talk to you next week after the exams are over."

"Great! I'm so excited!" Hazel squeals.

"See ya, Haze."

"Bye, Warren."

The call ends there and I blink as Warren throws his phone against the wall in frustration. I've gotten used to his temper tantrums, but this is different because he's not frustrated with another person or because he lost a volleyball game. He's frustrated with himself.

I almost laugh at the very sight.

He groans and flops back against the array of pillows, cursing explicitly.

"Trouble in paradise?" I ask

He mumbles some disjointed words in my direction, and I'm guessing they're not very nice by the frown on his face. I ignore whatever he's said and turn my back to him. I collect my nametag and slip that inside my bag, along with a new tube of lip balm.

"Well," I continue, sitting down on my bed to lace up my tennis shoes. "If I'm processing this correctly, it seems as though you're going to need to tell your family the truth."

"Or..."

Warren trails off and I hear the mattress springs creak beneath the sudden shift of weight. I look up from the laces and see him walking toward me. We make eye contact and I see this look I don't like. His deep blue eyes are mischievously brilliant, almost psychopathic.

"Be my fake girlfriend this summer," he says once he's standing in front of me.

I've never liked surprises – birthday parties, high grades on tests I thought I was going to fail, learning about what happened to Carter. Anything that's out of the ordinary, I am not a fan of. Surprises make me nervous and usually result in me laughing like a beached whale or bawling; my emotions become uncontrollable and I don't know how to properly handle them.

So this...His preposterous idea of me creating the illusion of a fake relationship is enough to make me start laughing distastefully.

"Please tell me you're joking," I say between gasps for air. "You can't be serious, Warren. In case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly get along as a couple would."

"Why not?" he shrugs.

I raise my eyebrows. He's standing in front of me, still wearing nothing but that towel. As if he has all the time in the world, he moves his eyes up and down my body and then slowly nods his head in approval.

"Yeah, you would do just fine – I haven't provided a description of what my girlfriend looks like to my family," he says.

"Okay," I say, resting my palms on my thighs. "Let me rephrase that: I am not doing something like that for you." I get to my feet and sling my bag over my shoulder. I hold one finger up in front of his face. "First of all, how can you lie to your family? It's ridiculous and downright rude." I raise another finger. "Secondly, me helping you would only lead to empowerment."

"Empowerment?" he asks.

"Yes," I nod. "Agreeing to do this absurd suggestion you've made will only make you think that everything is okay when everything is, in fact, very, very wrong. Fake relationships are a waste of time and don't interest me."

Warren cocks his head and squints at me while he rubs his jaw with the heel of his hand, his dark blue eyes roaming every inch of my body. There's a hint of humour in them and I can see his dimples. He knew exactly how I was going to react to his proposal, yet he still finds joy in annoying and torturing me. Jerk.

I subconsciously cross my arms over my chest to hide it from his prurient gaze. By now you'd think I'd be used to how...open he is, but it always catches me off-guard. My mouth feels a little dry, and my stomach is starting to growl from the lack of food to digest. I had been planning on stopping to grab a breakfast sandwich before work, but this conversation is ruining my chances at being able to do so and still making it to work on time.

I open my mouth, then close it. What do I say to him? He's the type of guy that doesn't give up until he gets what he wants. So all I do is shake my head and say, "You're crazy. Find another girl." I step past him, purposely bumping his shoulder with mine. He stumbles a little and I grin to myself. Hopefully, I've gotten my point across. I am not going to partake in a fake relationship for the hell of it. It's absurd and pointless and I have better things to do with my life.

My hand is on the door handle when he grabs my shoulder and spins me around. My back hits the door with a soft thump.

The overwhelming scent of spicy aftershave fills my nose, and he's so close that I can feel his hot, peppermint breath on my face.

"I heard you talking to your little friend through the bathroom door last week, Scotia. The textbooks and supplies you need for journalism can really hurt your bank account, right? So I'll tell you what: If you do this for me, I will pay for the fall semester and winter semester. That's classes, textbooks, pens and pencils, dorm room rental – all of it. It's a once in a lifetime deal, baby. I'd think carefully if I were you."

"You were listening in on my conversation?" I demand. "What goes on in my life is none of your business."

"You talk loud when you're on the phone," he shrugs, flashing me a devilish grin. "So what do you say, sweetheart? Is it a deal?"

I shake my head, furious that he heard me talking to Julia about how quickly my bank account is dwindling from living on campus and paying for necessities. Even with a job that has great tips, I'm still having trouble. Not everyone has a life like Warren Ashford; they don't get everything they want, plus a silver spoon and a safety net in case things go wrong. Some of us have to work for what we want, and that's exactly what I'm doing.

"C'mon, Nova," he taunts. "I have a scholarship. Think of the money my parents put aside for me. It would be all yours if you'd do me this teeny, tiny, little favour."

I let out an exasperated laugh. "No way in hell am I doing that for you, Warren. As I said, find another girl. I was not put on this planet to be someone's puppet."

He steps back, crossing his arms over his impressive bare chest, studying me with his fascinating eyes. The muscles in his arms flex as he takes a deep breath.

"You wouldn't be my puppet," he starts. "You would be –"

"Why would you lie to your family?" I blurt.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Let's just say my parents are big on the whole concept of continuing on the Ashford line. I got sick of them always trying to hook me up with a girl whenever I visited home, so I made up a girlfriend. Sure as hell put a stop to their constant nagging. It also allowed me to continue to perform at my best on Friday nights."

I wrinkle my nose in disgust. He's everything a man shouldn't be.

Resisting the urge to rip my hair out, I shake my head. "Find another girl," I repeat.

I turn my back to him and step out into the hallway, ready to spend the next five hours with my mind focused on serving coffee and pastries to customers.

"The offer stands until Monday morning," he calls after me. "Keep in mind that on top of aiding you with your education, I will pay for your plane ticket and food. All I need to hear is one simple word, Scotia."

I grip the strap of my bag, digging my nails into the soft leather. There is one simple word I could throw back at him that would terminate this conversation, but something makes me bite my tongue. I don't know why – I hate Warren and everything he stands for. It's just...I've never been anywhere but Alberta and British Columbia (minus a trip to Disneyland when I was eleven). Flying across Canada to the East Coast has always been a dream of mine and this is my chance at a free ride.

The only downside is that I'd have to spend ninety per cent of the time acting as a loving girlfriend, which is a foreign feeling to me. I've only ever felt that way about one person and now he's gone. My ability to love someone like I loved Carter is gone; buried deep under the cold grounds of Alberta with him. Faking a relationship would be impossible for me to do.