Cardboard Boyfriend
Juliet
---
Juliet was late.
Again.
Okay, technically, she still had seventeen minutes before the Paranormal Romance Readers Convention officially opened its doors, but considering she still had to find parking, haul three boxes of books inside, set up her table, and somehow transform herself from sleep-deprived gremlin into bestselling romance author?
Late.
Very late.
This was what happened when you stayed up until two in the morning trying to write a kissing scene.
Correction.
Trying and failing to write a kissing scene.
Her editor had very politely informed her yesterday that if she did not send something by the end of the month, they would have to “reevaluate future opportunities.”
Which, in publishing speak, meant: You’re dead to us.
No pressure, right?
Juliet tightened her grip on the cardboard box balanced against her hip and hurried across the parking lot.
Big mistake.
Her sneaker caught on absolutely nothing and suddenly she was pitching forward.
“No, no, no...”
Books flew.
Bookmarks exploded into the air.
And Juliet collided face-first with a life-sized cardboard standee of a shirtless vampire duke.
The standee wobbled. And collapsed.
“That’s one way to attract the crowd’s attention.”
Ah, bubblegum. Juliet knew that voice a little too well.
Poppy.
Slowly, very slowly, she turned around.
Poppy stood a few feet away, one hand wrapped around a giant iced coffee, amusement dancing in her hazel eyes.
The anti-Juliet.
Poppy’s dark hair was straight and perfect, not a strand out of place. Her pristine white blouse was tucked into an adorable black leather skirt, paired with heels Juliet would absolutely break an ankle wearing.
One would think she was the bestselling author attending the convention.
Instead, there was Juliet.
Her messy bun of brown curls was hanging somewhere around the middle of her neck, held together by sheer determination and a prayer. She was wearing a pair of jeans that had definitely seen better days, mismatched socks hidden beneath her sneakers, and a dark t-shirt specifically chosen to hide the inevitable coffee stains.
Poppy was effortlessly put together.
Juliet looked like she’d lost a fight with her alarm clock.
“Please tell me you didn’t see that.”
Poppy took a very deliberate sip of her coffee. “Unfortunately for you, I saw the entire thing.”
Juliet looked down at the cardboard vampire duke sprawled on the floor, his perfectly sculpted abs now sporting an unfortunate crease down the middle.
“To be fair,” Juliet said, “he started it.”
“Mmhm.”
“He was standing menacingly.”
“He is cardboard, Jules.”
“Exactly. Suspicious.”
Poppy snorted. “How are you late? You live twenty minutes away.”
Juliet bent to gather the books she’d dropped during her gracious fall. “I overslept.”
“You overslept because?”
Oh some things were best left untouched. Or buried six feet under. “No reason.”
“Juliet.” Juliet. Not Jules. Noted.
“There may have been wine involved.”
Poppy sighed. “How much wine?”
Juliet held up three fingers.
“Three glasses?”
Juliet winced. “Refills.”
“Jesus. The deadline’s really getting to you, huh?”
That sobered her right up.
A month ago, Juliet would’ve laughed it off. Now? Not so much.
She shoved another book into the box. “I haven’t written a single word in three weeks.”
Poppy’s expression softened. “You’ll figure it out.”
Juliet looked down at the latest copy of Love at First Bite, her most recent bestseller.
Funny.
Three books, thousands of readers, and an inbox permanently overflowing with messages from fans thanking her for restoring their faith in love.
If only they knew.
Poppy nudged her shoulder. “You know, most people don’t spend six months mourning a man who dumped them.”
Juliet gasped. “I am not mourning him.” Mourning, it was a strong word.
Poppy raised an eyebrow. “Jules, it’s been six months.”
“Seven,” Juliet corrected automatically. Poppy stared. “What? I needed to know exactly how long I’d successfully avoided drunk-texting him.”
“That’s not healthy.”
“No, what’s not healthy is getting engaged three months after ending a five-year relationship.”
Poppy grimaced. “Fair.”
Because nothing screamed true love exists quite like your ex dumping you after five years and then proposing to his new girlfriend two months into their relationship.
Wonderful.
Self-esteem? Dead.
Belief in love? Buried.
Hope and optimism for the future? Zilch.
Hope of ever writing another love story?
The Reaper came for that one. There was nothing left but a corpse.
Poppy’s expression softened, and Juliet immediately knew what was coming. The supportive best friend speech.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
She was not doing that today.
Today was about smiles, signatures, and contractually obligated sunshine, love, and happily ever afters.
And she would legally fulfill her contractual obligations.
Because yay love.
“It’s fine, Pop. I’m fine.” Say fine enough times and eventually it becomes true, right?
Poppy tilted her head, clearly believing none of her bullshit. Which was honestly a little insulting. Juliet literally wrote bullshit for a living. She should be better at selling it.
“Come on.” Poppy grabbed one of the boxes before Juliet could protest. “Before the convention staff decides you’re a liability and bans you for life.”
Juliet gasped. “Again, the vampire started it.”
“Sure he did.”
Juliet hurried after her, balancing the remaining box against her hip. “You know, for someone who claims to support women, you spend an alarming amount of time mocking me.”
Poppy held the door open. “I support you. I just don’t trust you unsupervised.”
Rude. Accurate, but rude.
The convention hall was already buzzing with activity. Readers wandered between booths clutching tote bags bursting with books, authors arranged displays, and somewhere in the distance, someone was aggressively testing a microphone.
Juliet took a deep breath.
The smell of coffee, paper, and mild social anxiety.
Home.
She smiled.
“Table seventeen,” Poppy said, pointing toward the far end of the room.
Juliet adjusted the box in her arms. “Got it.”
She took exactly three steps before colliding with someone.
Hard.
Actually, scratch that.
There hadn’t even been an impact.
Juliet frowned.
She could’ve sworn she’d walked straight into someone. Instead, it had felt like stepping through a walk-in freezer.
A shiver raced down her spine.
Weird.
She looked up.
A tall figure dressed entirely in black was moving through the crowd, long coat flowing behind him.
Very Grim Reaper chic.
Which was certainly... a choice.
At a paranormal romance convention.
Then again, people fell in love with werewolves, vampires, tentacled sea monsters, and whatever else.
Who was she to judge?
Still.
A Grim Reaper?
At a romance convention?
Who the heck wrote about Death and true love?
Juliet watched as the figure moved through the crowd.
Then, in the span of a blink, he simply... Vanished. No dramatic swirl of black fabric. No slipping through a door.
One second he was there.
The next? Gone.
Juliet stared at the empty space.
Huh.
Definitely needed more coffee.
***
By ten o’clock, Juliet had signed thirty-seven books, consumed two coffees, one muffin, and lost one hundred percent of her sanity.
Progress.
“Can you write To Sarah, never settle for anything less than your own brooding vampire duke?” the woman standing in front of her asked.
Juliet smiled, pen already moving. “Absolutely. Brooding vampire dukes are an essential life requirement.”
Poppy snorted from her chair, spinning around to look at the reader.
Poppy’s official job? Best friend.
Secondary job? Emotional support.
Side gig? Unsolicited audio commentary.
“They’re emotionally unavailable and overdramatic,” she muttered.
“Exactly,” Juliet said. “Standards.”
The reader laughed and walked away, clutching her signed copy like Juliet had personally handed her the secret to everlasting happiness.
Which was ironic.
Because despite her words, Juliet had absolutely no business giving relationship advice.
None.
Zero.
The only thing she’d successfully learned about love in the past year was that men apparently came with expiration dates.
As she reached for the next book, movement caught her eye. A figure dressed entirely in black stood at the far end of the aisle. Dark and gloomy had apparently become very popular.
Tall.
Motionless.
Watching.
Juliet blinked.
A convention-goer stepped directly through him.
Not around him.
Through him.
Juliet froze.
The woman kept walking, completely oblivious. When Juliet looked again, the figure was gone. Huh.
Apparently insanity was a new side effect of being hungover.
“Jules?”
Juliet blinked. Poppy was staring at her from across the table.
“You’ve got that look again.”
Juliet frowned. “What look?”
“The one where I can’t tell if you’re having an existential crisis or a caffeine overdose.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“Because I left my good drugs in the car.” Juliet rolled her eyes and reached for the next stack of books.
Unfortunately, the universe had apparently decided she hadn’t suffered enough for one morning.
“Excuse me?”
Juliet looked up. And immediately wished she hadn’t. Mark stood on the other side of the table.
Mark.
Ex-boyfriend Mark.
Ex-boyfriend-turned-someone-else’s-fiancé Mark.
Wasn’t-ready-to-commit-to-her-but-someone-else-sure Mark.
Because apparently the universe wasn’t satisfied with mild emotional distress.
No.
It had chosen violence.
“Hi, Jules.”
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Absolutely not.
Beside him stood a petite blonde woman wearing an engagement ring roughly the size of a small country and clutching a copy of Love at First Bite to her chest.
The woman beamed.
“Oh my God. I’m such a huge fan.”
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
Any of those prop weapons around here real?
Just put me out of my misery, please.
Where was that Grim Reaper wannabe when you actually needed him?
“Oh, this is my fiancée, Emily,” Mark said.
Emily practically vibrated with excitement.
“I cannot believe I’m meeting you. Your books got me through my last breakup.” She laughed. “Actually, Love at First Bite is kind of responsible for us being together.”
Juliet’s smile froze.
Excuse me? Her book... was why they were together, happy, engaged and their way to happily-ever-after?!
Emily smiled up at Mark. “I made him read it. He hated it.”
“I did not hate it.”
“You absolutely hated it.”
“I objected to the vampire.”
“You said and I quote, ‘No self-respecting man sparkles.’"
Mark laughed.
Laughed.
The same laugh Juliet hadn’t heard in seven months.
Funny how she used to think she’d never stop missing it.
Funny how she suddenly couldn’t stand the sound.
“Oh!” Emily held out her book. “Would you mind signing it? Could you make it out to Emily and Mark?”
Juliet stared at the book.
Then at the ring.
Then back at the book.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Not today, Satan.
“Excuse me,” she blurted, shoving herself away from the table so abruptly she nearly took her chair with her. “I just... I need.... bathroom.”
Smooth, Juliet. Very smooth.
She vaguely registered Poppy calling her name as she fled.
Cowardly?
Maybe.
Necessary?
Absolutely.
Juliet pushed through the convention hall, weaving between readers and vendors as fast as humanly possible without committing involuntary manslaughter.
She was almost at the side exit when she saw him.
A man stood near the back of the convention hall, half-hidden behind a display board. Another one dressed in black. Wonderful.
But then.
Then the man moved.
Leaving a trail of red behind.
Juliet slowed.
Was that...
Blood?
The man stumbled slightly, his shoulders hunching as if he was in pain.
Okay.
That wasn’t good. No one else seemed to notice. People passed by him, laughing and chatting, completely oblivious to the trail of blood staining the carpet behind him.
Weird.
Very weird.
The man turned and Juliet caught a glimpse of his face. One side looked normal. The other... The other looked wrong.
Gray skin stretched too tightly over sharp bones. Dark veins spiderwebbed beneath the surface, disappearing beneath the collar of his coat.
It looked disturbingly realistic.
Movie-quality realistic.
Juliet’s stomach twisted. Okay, either someone had gone way too hard on the special effects, or this guy was seriously injured. The man looked straight at her and then he turned and disappeared through the side exit.
Juliet hesitated.
On one hand, following creepy, possibly concussed strangers was how people ended up on true crime podcasts.
On the other hand, if he was actually hurt...
“Monkey butt.”
Shakespeare would be proud.
She had to go after him, no other choice. He was injured - he couldn’t be walking that fast, could he?
The side hallway was empty.
Of course it was.
Because apparently mysterious bleeding men could teleport now.
Juliet pushed open the exit door.
A burst of silver light exploded directly in front of her.
“What the fu—”
Something slammed into her chest.
Pain.
Blinding.
Impossible.
And then-
Nothing.
