Don't Fall For Your Fake Husband

　　-SIENNA-

　　"I have to get out of Manhattan," I say as I sink into my friend Harper's light cream sofa and toss my bag aside. We met on Friday night at Harper's for a drink and to catch up, since I haven't been able to keep in touch with my friends lately due to my crazy work schedule. I've hardly been able to get here. Luckily, one of the projects I was working on was canceled. Maybe I'll be able to sleep at night again.

　　"Noooo," my friends Harper and Michelle reply at the same time. "But you love your apartment," adds Michelle, as she places her Margarita on the coffee table.

　　It's true. I've lived there for 10 years, ever since my mother could afford it, earning enough money from her job as a receptionist at the art gallery and selling her own paintings.

　　It's true. I've lived there for 10 years, ever since my mother was able to afford it, earning enough money from her job as a receptionist in an art gallery and selling her own paintings.

　　We lived in Brooklyn, at my aunt's house, ever since my grandparents politely sent my teenage pregnant mother far away. Apparently, the hippie community on the left coast where they lived wasn't that open. My mother had to leave everything behind and move in with my grandparents' sister. After my aunt passed away, the little money my mother inherited allowed us to rent a house in the city. And when we visited the old pre-war apartment on the west side, which turned away all potential tenants because of the unusual layout of the rooms, it was love at first sight. My mother didn't mind the bedroom next to the front door, the kitchen/living room in the middle and the second bedroom at the back. She just stared at the large windows and analyzed the light coming in through them, probably thinking about what she would paint.

　　"Yeah. I did the math and I can't afford it. I even looked for something else in the area to rent, but you know how the prices are." I exhale with a depressed look. The thought of losing my mother and the place we used to call home brings me great melancholy.

　　"You can stay here with me," Harper says, blinking her sage green eyes rapidly. "I know you'd have to sleep on the couch because there's only one bedroom, but it's my apartment and you don't have to pay rent. You might even save some money."

　　Harper is an interior designer. Her parents bought her the little condo as a present when she finished college and the place is very nice, but it's tiny. It suits her small stature. Me, with my 1.80 m, I'd knock it down. Our little group of friends consists of me, Harper, Michelle and Nina, who is now in Italy. We met at college and shared an apartment. We bonded instantly and have been inseparable ever since.

　　"You know she can't stay here, Harper," disagrees Michelle. "Nina's coming back in six months and you've already promised her this sofa until she finds her own place. Siena's long legs spin like a helicopter when she sleeps. No wonder she kicks all her boyfriends out of bed." Michelle looks at my legs and raises one of her eyebrows ironically. With her medium height, dark skin and curvaceous body, Michelle is my physical opposite. She and I have the same degree in economics and work in the same company, but, social butterfly that she is, she works in sales instead of finance.

　　"I mean, she kicks them out of her life," corrects Harper with a smile. She has a fantastic smile and she knows it. She uses it as a weapon on many occasions. Today she's blocking me from kicking her with my long legs.

　　"You guys are so funny," I reply sarcastically. They love to tease me about my lack of relationships. Which I usually don't mind, but today I'm at my wit's end. It's not that I don't believe in it. I just can't trust anyone enough to spend my life with. I'm not a nun, I just limit contact with guys to the physical part. "Seriously, I don't mind going back to Brooklyn, but I'm going to miss my apartment so much." The thought of leaving the place where I made so many memories with my mom makes my eyes sting. I need to change the subject quickly before I start crying here. "I can't find a roommate. Everyone who's come to visit the apartment thinks it's so weird. It's not just the layout of the inmates, but the fact that the only full bathroom is inside my room. They give me weird looks when they figure out where they need to shower. Like I'm a pervert or something who built this on purpose just to watch people go in and out of the bathroom."

　　"I know I've offered before, but—"

　　"Stop." I don't let Harper finish. "I've said it before, and I'll say it one last time. I'm very grateful for your offer, but I won't be taking your money. I have enough debt as it is, and I need to get my finances in order."

　　The three of us pause for a sad moment and Michelle breaks the silence: "I have a solution for you." I open my mouth eagerly, but she suddenly shuts me up, raising her finger with her long, well-manicured nails. "Before you say anything, let me explain the whole story."

　　"Go on."

　　"So, there's this Canadian guy who's being traded to New York to play goalie for Hank's team." Hank is her boyfriend who plays hockey for the Rangers. He's a really nice and handsome guy who adores her. They met two years ago and hit it off instantly. She moved into his apartment after three months and I'm sure he'll propose to me any day now. "The guy needs a place to stay and he can pay a whole year's rent in exchange for a small favor. Nothing sexual, don't look at me like that!"

　　"So what? What's the problem? Is he a weirdo? A slob? Does he like to steal underwear? I don't care. I'm desperate."

　　She inhales deeply and continues, "No, Hank says he's fine. A little grumpy, but a normal guy. The issue is he had some problems with his visa and needs a green card ASAP to keep playing for the team. You'll have to marry him and stay married for a whole year."

　　Wait, what?