The Spanish love deception

A wedding. A trip to Spain. The most infuriating

man. And three days of pretending. Or in other words, a

plan that will never work.

Catalina Martin, finally, not single. Her family is happy to

announce that she will bring her American boyfriend to her

sister's wedding. Everyone is invited to come and witness

the most magical event of the year.

That would certainly be tomorrow's headline in the local

newspaper of the small Spanish town I came from. Or the

epitaph on my tombstone, seeing the turn my life had taken

in the span of a phone call.

Four weeks wasn't a lot of time to find someone willing to

cross the Atlantic-from NYC and all the way to Spain-for a

wedding. Let alone, someone eager to play along my

charade. But that didn't mean I was desperate enough to

bring the 64 blue eyed pain in my ass standing before me.

Aaron Blackford. The man whose main occupation was

making my blood boil had just offered himself to be my

date. Right after inserting his nose in my business, calling

me delusional, and calling himself my best option. See?

Outrageous. Aggravating. Blood boiling. And much to my

total despair, also right. Which left me with a surly and extra

large dilemma in my hands. Was it worth the suffering to

bring my colleague and bane of my existence as my fake

boyfriend to my sister's wedding? Or was I better off

coming clean and facing the consequences of my panic

induced lie?