CHAPTER 1 – The Wrong Form
If Lina had known that ticking the wrong box on a government form would get her a fake fiancé, she would’ve triple-checked everything before her third cup of coffee.
But she didn’t. So now she was doomed.
It started on a drizzly Tuesday in Vienna, when the HR department at the language school where she worked sent out a cheerful email:
“Reminder: Please fill out your Employee Housing Eligibility Form by Friday! Subsidized flats available for staff with ‘family commitments’ (marriage / registered partnership / dependent relatives).”
“Family commitments,” Lina muttered, squinting at the PDF.
As a perpetually single, slightly chaotic Vietnamese-Austrian translator with a houseplant death record of eight, she did not qualify. Her current “home” was a shoebox room above a kebab shop that smelled like garlic at 3 a.m.
She sighed. “If only I had a fake husband,” she told her empty mug. “Just for the form.”
Her flatmate had already moved out. The landlord wanted to renovate. She had two months to find a new place, with a salary that cried in euros.
So when she reached the question:
“Are you in a registered partnership?”
She meant to click NO.
Then her cat (technically the kebab shop’s cat, but it liked her best) jumped onto the desk, tail hitting the trackpad.
Click.
Her finger slipped.
A green checkmark appeared in the YES box.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
The form demanded a name.
“Name of partner (as written on employment contract, if fellow staff member).”
Lina froze.
In the room next door, someone sneezed dramatically. The thin wall vibrated. That someone was her neighbor — Jonas Müller, the grumpy German literature teacher at the same language school. He lived in the slightly less smelly room across the hall and had two moods: “sarcastic” and “even more sarcastic.”
She heard music turn up—classical piano, as always. Jonas and his eternal Beethoven.
Lina chewed on her lip.
If she didn’t submit the form, she’d definitely get nothing. If she ticked “single”, also nothing. If she ticked “partnered” with… someone…
“That’s fraud,” she told herself.
The cat blinked at her.
“…Minor fraud,” she clarified. “And only on paper.”
Her cursor hovered.
Jonas worked at the same school. He was annoyingly punctual, responsible, and allergic to rule-breaking. He would never agree.
But the form didn’t ask for his permission. Just a name.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered as she typed:
Partner’s Name: Jonas Müller
She hit submit.
The confirmation email arrived instantly:
“Thank you! Your application for FAMILY HOUSING will be processed shortly.”
Lina shut her laptop and decided to pretend the last three minutes had never happened.
Two days later, she was in the teacher’s lounge, microwaving yesterday’s pasta, when HR manager Frau Grün appeared in the doorway, smiling in a way that made Lina nervous.
“Ah, Frau Nguyen!” Grün chirped. “And Herr Müller! Perfect, you’re both here.”
Lina choked on spaghetti.
Across the room, Jonas looked up from the coffee machine, brows knitting. “We are?”
“Yes,” Grün said, clasping her hands. “I’ve processed the housing forms. Congratulations! You’ve been approved for a couple’s apartment.”
Silence.
Lina’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.
Jonas blinked. “…A what.”
“A beautiful two-bedroom on Seegasse,” Grün continued, oblivious. “Close to the Danube Canal. Very popular with young families! I must say, none of us suspected you two were in a relationship. Such a surprise! But love is mysterious, no?”
Jonas turned slowly to Lina. “What relationship?”
Her soul left her body.
Grün pulled some printed papers from her folder. “The form was very clear. ‘Registered partnership with colleague Jonas Müller.’ Signed by Lina Nguyen. Don’t worry, we are very open-minded here!”
Lina squeaked. “I— That— It was a—”
Jonas’s eyes were sharp, suspicious. “A what?”
“Administrative accident?” she tried.
“That sounds like something you should tell HR,” he said.
“I’m HR,” Grün said pleasantly. “And as far as I’m concerned, you are both adorable. Here is the lease. You can move in next month.”
She shoved the papers into Jonas’s hands, patted Lina’s shoulder, and swept out of the room humming a waltz.
The door closed.
Lina wished the microwave would explode and end her embarrassment permanently.
Jonas stared at the lease. Then at her.
“You used my name,” he said slowly, “to get a cheap apartment.”
Lina’s brain sprinted through possible responses and chose the worst one.
“…Surprise?”
His jaw tightened. “You committed fraud. With me as an accessory. Without asking.”
“In my defense,” she said quickly, “I planned to quietly cancel it before anyone noticed!”
“Oh, fantastic,” he said dryly. “Criminal intent but with procrastination.”
She set the pasta down. “Look, I panicked. My landlord is kicking me out, I can’t afford anything close to the city, and I— It was just one form. I didn’t think HR would actually read it. They never read anything.”
Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose. “They read this.”
“I noticed,” she muttered.
He flipped through the lease, fingers tapping anxiously. “If we tell them it was a mistake, we both get into trouble. At best, they revoke the offer. At worst, they accuse us of lying to gain benefits. That goes on our record.”
Lina swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Silence stretched between them. The microwave beeped cheerfully.
“However,” he said reluctantly, “it is not… entirely hopeless.”
She blinked. “It’s not?”
He sighed. “They approved us based on documentation. If, for a short while, we behave as if the documentation is accurate…”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re suggesting—”
“A temporary arrangement,” Jonas said flatly. “We sign the lease. We ‘move in together.’ In a few months, we can ‘amicably separate.’ HR keeps their happy couple statistic, you keep your housing, I move back out. No scandal. No fraud investigation.”
Lina stared. “You would do that? For me?”
“For my employment record,” he corrected. “And because watching you try to survive Vienna’s rental market alone would be like watching a slow-motion car crash.”
“That’s… fair,” she admitted.
He closed the folder with a decisive snap. “But there will be rules.”
“Of course there will,” she murmured.
“First: absolutely no romantic assumptions. This is purely practical.”
“Oh believe me,” she said, “I have never had less romantic feelings for anyone in my life.”
His eye twitched. “Second: we establish schedules. Chores. Groceries. Shared spaces. I will not live in chaos.”
“Rude,” she said. “Accurate, but rude.”
“Third,” he added, “we keep this secret from students, staff gossipers, and especially from Frau Grün. She is already planning the wedding in her head.”
Lina considered all of this: the lie, the proximity, the fact that Jonas alphabetized his spices and she sometimes forgot she owned a fridge.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she said, “but… deal?”
He extended his hand.
She shook it.
A static shock zapped both of them.
They yelped and jerked back.
“Great,” Jonas muttered, shaking his fingers. “Even the universe thinks this is a bad idea.”
Lina looked at their linked names on the lease, printed in neat black ink.
Fake partnership. Cheap rent. Zero romance.
How hard could it be?
