Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Reverse Harem Romance

There’s almost no one in the hotel; most of the guests and staff are at the party, so I make my way up to our hotel room quickly. When I open the door, Layla is standing in the middle of the room, packing. Her suitcase is set on the bed, and she’s shovelling in handfuls of clothes and toiletries haphazardly.

She looks up when I step inside. “What?” She snaps.

She sounds angry, but her eyes are puffy. She’s been crying.

My heart twists. All I want to do is step forward and fold her up in my arms, but after my conversation with Amy, I’m scared to. Clearly I’m a total idiot when it comes to relationships. I don’t trust myself anymore.

I clear my throat, keeping my distance. “Zack texted me. He wanted to check if you were okay.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t care about me.” She shoves another t-shirt in her suitcase. “Did he tell you what he did?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. It was completely out of line.”

“He expects me to still be his friend,” she hisses, wiping her eyes hard. “When he treats me like a blow-up doll.”

“I think he’s having a hard day,” I say carefully. “I’m sure he never meant to hurt you.”

She throws her hands up, exasperated. “A hard day? You’re having a hard day. Your ex-wife is getting married. He’s spent the afternoon drinking, dancing, and screwing me. He’s having a brilliant day.” She picks up a dress, crumpling it into a haphazard ball.

“He’s not,” I say honestly. “At least, not anymore. It’s the anniversary of Emily’s death. Usually he spends the morning at her grave, then comes home and drinks himself to sleep. But we were so busy with the wedding, I think he forgot what day it was. It must have hit him all at once.”

She pauses, emotion flickering over her face. “Oh,” she says, lowering the dress. “Oh.”

I nod. “I know he’s acting like a prick, but maybe cut him some slack? I’m sure he’ll apologise as soon as he’s had the time to process everything. He probably feels awful right now.”

She tightens her jaw, picking the dress back up. “No,” she says firmly, folding it. “I won’t forgive him.”

“But—”

She tucks the dress into the suitcase and reaches for the robe she wore last night. “He’s grieving,” she says firmly. “And I’m sorry about that. Of course, I am. But that doesn’t excuse his behaviour. I told him that I loved him, and he hurt me to make himself feel better. I don’t think that’s a valid coping mechanism, and I’m not letting him get away with disrespecting me completely, just because he’s sad.”

Her words hit me like a brick to the chest. “I… you love Zack?”

Her cheeks redden. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. You’re a relationship coach, for crying out loud. You probably all knew before me.”

“Oh.” My lungs feel too tight. “I see.”

Silence stretches between us. She picks her hairbrush off the dresser and shoves it into her case, then straightens, crossing her arms over her chest. “Go on,” she demands. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” I say, my mouth dry.

“You know what.” Her eyes are cold. “Ask me if he’s the only one.”

I look down at my feet. The clock on the mantel ticks away the seconds. “Maybe this is a good thing,” I say eventually. “That we’re ending this.”

Layla flinches. All of the anger seeps out of her face, replaced with shock. “What?”

“If your feelings are getting involved, it’ll only end up hurting you in the long run. Zack certainly didn’t cut things off in a professional or kind way, but—” I nod slowly. “This is for the best.”

“If my feelings are getting involved,” she repeats slowly, enunciating every syllable.

I sigh, wiping a hand over my face. “This was only ever meant to be a teaching exercise for you, Layla. That was all it was ever going to be. And you’ve passed; I’d say with flying colours.”

She stares at me for a few seconds, breathing hard. “It’s not just Zack,” she says tightly. “You wanted me to be vulnerable with my feelings. So, here you go. It’s not just Zack. I’m falling for all three of you. I love you, Luke.”

“It wouldn’t work out,” I say, my voice breaking. “Zack doesn’t want a relationship. And I can’t be with someone like you, Layla. It wouldn’t be right.”

I know I’ve said the wrong thing before I’ve even finished the sentence. The blood drops out of Layla’s face as she stares at me.

“Someone like me?” She says quietly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re young, Layla, and beautiful. You’ll meet plenty of men vying for your attention.”

To my horror, her green eyes start to sparkle with tears. She turns away, hiding her face from me. “Screw you,” she whispers. “God. I… I never thought you thought of me like that.”

Christ. I’m doing this all wrong. “Layla, that’s not what I meant at all. I just mean—”

“What?” She snaps, wheeling back around. “I’m young and beautiful, so I’m not reliable? Is that what you’re saying? I’ve got a hot body and a pretty face, so why would I be loyal? Of course I’m manipulating you. Of course I just want to sleep with you. Of course I’ll leave. Why should you trust me when I’m so goddamn easy?” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I heard what Amy said to you.”

I close my eyes. “Oh,” I say faintly. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me!” She shouts, her voice echoing through the huge suite. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this. But your ex-wife is a judgemental, callous, cruel bitch. When I was sixteen years old, she treated me like I was the whore of Babylon. And you’re still choosing to believe her over me?! You don’t even have a relationship with her, but you’re taking her side?!”

“Layla, I’m not taking her side—”

“Yes. You. Are.” She shakes her head, her face pained. “I’m not just sex, Luke. For so long, I thought I was. But you’ve made me understand parts of myself I didn’t even know existed. And now you’re breaking up with me because you think I’m too goddamn hot for you?” Her voice chokes off.

I fight to keep my voice level. “I’m so sorry that you overheard what Amy said about you, but I honestly, truly didn’t believe any of it.”

“No? Because this morning, you kissed me and held me and treated me like I meant something. And now you’re acting like I’ll never mean more to anyone than a fling. Because I’m pretty.”

My headache is getting worse. “Layla, this was only meant to be a teaching arrangement—”

Fury lights her face. “Stop saying that! Stop acting like this is all in my head! Zack did it too, and I’m not letting you pull that crap. I know it’s not true.” Slamming her suitcase down on the mattress, she marches across the room, coming to stand right in front of me. Up close, I can see the tear-tracks in her makeup. “Look me in the eye,” she demands, “and tell me that you don’t care about me romantically. Tell me there’s nothing here between us. Tell me it’s all in my head.”

A few seconds pass.

“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

She leans closer. I breathe in her warm scent. “Tell me that you didn’t realise we were crossing a line. Tell me that you didn’t know I was falling for you.”

I lick my lips. “I can’t,” I admit. “I knew.”

Of course I knew. We all did. The whole reason we brought Layla on this little retreat was to woo her. We weren’t plying her with silk sheets and chocolate-covered strawberries out of friendship. It wasn’t a conscious plan — we’re not that cruel — but honestly, what other reason could there be? The stupid fake-boyfriend experiment doesn’t exactly extend to tying her up, or sending her to weddings with toys stuffed inside her. It’s not like we can discuss that stuff on the podcast. We don’t have the right to act surprised that poor Layla started developing real feelings. It’s what we wanted.

We tried to make her fall for us. Because all three of us want her.

Her shoulders sag. “Yes. You knew. You all knew.” She stomps back to the bed, slamming her suitcase shut and yanking the zip closed. My heart hurts. I hate this. I hate how much pain I’m causing her, but I don’t know what else to do. “You’ve played me. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to trust you.”

Red-faced, she grabs the suitcase handle and pulls it off the bed, dragging it over the thick carpet to the exit. I watch as she steps out into the corridor. Desperation bursts up inside me.

“I can’t do it again,” I blurt out. “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

She turns back in the doorway, her face like a mask. “Explain.”

“I… I realised at the wedding that I can’t go through it again. I can’t let myself fall in love with someone and watch it slowly fade away. I can’t. It’ll break me.” She doesn’t move. I push on. “I didn’t just lose Amy when we divorced. I lost a whole life. I lost nieces and nephews. I lost grandparents. Godchildren. My house. My career. The future I’d built for myself.” My throat tightens. “Sweetheart, it would be so easy to jump head-first into this with you. God knows I want to. But I need to be logical about this. I can’t be with someone unless I’m really sure the relationship will work out. And the odds of this working out with you specifically… they’re too low. I’m sorry.”

Emotion flickers in her eyes. For a second, I think she understands.

Then her mouth presses into a grim line.

“You’re a coward, Mr Martins,” she says quietly. “You spend all day teaching other couples to open themselves up to love. But you’d never do it yourself. You tell other people to take risks you think are too dangerous for yourself. You’re a hypocrite and a coward. And I hate cowards.”

She leaves, slamming the door behind her.