How to Marry Keanu Reeves in 90 Days Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Kwana Jackson

  Cover design by Daniela Medina and Sabrina Flemming

  Image references courtesy of Jasmine Martin; Shutterstock

  Cover copyright © 2021 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First Edition: November 2021

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Jackson, K. M., author.

  Title: How to marry Keanu Reeves in 90 days / K.M. Jackson.

  Other titles: How to marry Keanu Reeves in ninety days

  Description: First edition. | New York : Forever, 2021.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021023035 | ISBN 9781538703502 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781538703489 (ebook)

  Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories. | LCGFT: Romance fiction. | Novels.

  Classification: LCC PS3610.A3526 H69 2021 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021023035

  ISBN: 978-1-5387-0350-2 (trade paperback), 978-1-5387-0348-9 (ebook)

  E3-20210831-DA-NF-ORI

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Cyber Punked

  Chapter 1: Break Point

  Chapter 2: Silver Spoons

  Chapter 3: Between Two Ferns

  Chapter 4: Rabbit Rabbit

  Chapter 5: Devil’s Advocate

  Chapter 6: Clearly Darkly

  Chapter 7: Much Ado

  Chapter 8: Deep Web

  Chapter 9: Thumb Sucker

  Chapter 10: To the Bone

  Chapter 11: Liaisons Dangereuses

  Chapter 12: They Are All Angels

  Chapter 13: The Replacements

  Chapter 14: Replicas

  Chapter 15: The Great Warming

  Chapter 16: Babes in Toyland

  Chapter 17: Yeah, I Think I’m Back

  Chapter 18: Awake or Still Dreaming

  Chapter 19: Whoa

  Chapter 20: Side by Side

  Chapter 21: Shoot the Hostage

  Chapter 22: Destination

  Chapter 23: Feeling Minnesota

  Chapter 24: Bad Batch

  Chapter 25: Night Heat

  Chapter 26: Influence

  Chapter 27: You’re Magnificent

  Chapter 28: The Whole Truth

  Chapter 29: The Night Before

  Chapter 30: River’s Edge

  Chapter 31: Reloaded

  Chapter 32: Tune In Tomorrow

  Chapter 33: Something’s Gotta Give

  Chapter 34: Smack in the Middle

  Chapter 35: Rush Rush

  Chapter 36: Maybe My Always

  Chapter 37: Magnificent

  Epilogue: A Walk in the Clouds

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  About the Author

  For Will

  These years with you have been the

  most excellent adventure.

  * * *

  And

  for Keanu & crew:

  some mentioned here, and many more in my heart,

  thank you for bringing much needed smiles when at times all we could see were our masks.

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  Cyber Punked

  Bethany Lu

  People always looked at me like I was half crazy. Made me feel like the odd girl out, but not True. Never True.

  I guess that was why when he’d said I’d gone mad—or maybe the word he’d used was insane—this time I took it to heart. Sort of. Okay, fine. So I may have only briefly paused to give his reaction to my plan a smidge of consideration before continuing my full-steam-ahead charge.

  But he had to understand, life was happening. The world was still spinning, even if it felt like mine had stopped. Once again.

  Or maybe I wanted it to stop. I didn’t know. But that part didn’t matter, did it? Does it?

  What mattered was that True got me. That he had me. That he understood, that he’d still be there for me, be my friend. Bring me back from the edge. Like before. Like always.

  Besides, True always knew it was Keanu or nothing for me.

  Chapter 1

  Break Point

  Bethany Lu

  89 days ago

  BREAKING: The sky isn’t falling, but prepare for the storm! Keanu Reeves is tying the knot in 90 days! America’s favorite boyfriend is a boyfriend no more…

  I heard something go pop in my ear, like a burst balloon, and suddenly felt dizzy. Time seemed to stop and do a weird sort of axis shift. It was almost as if I was floating—and not in the good “I don’t want this buzz to wear off” way, but the “Crap! Somebody stop this ride. I’m about to throw up, so let me the hell off. Now!” way.

  I could see myself in the spot where it all was happening, strangely outside my body, looking in like a spectator on the drama that was my life. There was me, Dawn and, of course, True—the three of us gathered as was usual for a Saturday in my West Harlem loft. On my worktable, lit by the sun streaming through the skylight, was my latest not-quite masterpiece, still in its rough form on canvas. Faint washes of color and fabric swatches with torn news clippings waited to be set into place. But the project was currently pushed to the side to make room for the fresh bagels True had brought in with him after his morning run.

  Moments before, everything had been normal, each of us talking over one another as we stuffed our faces with carbs and cream cheesy goodness and drank enough coffee to keep a triple shift of ER interns alert.

  But now here I was, clutching the edge of the worktable with one hand while holding tight to my phone with the other as I stared at the screen in disbelief. This had to be a joke. Probably a stunt or a promo tweet. I swallowed. Well, I attempted to, but the dry lump that had materialized out of nowhere wouldn’t go down my throat. I scanned the nonsensical tweet again and told myself it was just that: No. Sense. Nonsense. Clickbait. It had to be. Keanu was the bait, but I wasn’t going in for the click. No freaking way.

  Sweat popped out along my brow, defying the comfortable air-conditioned temperature in my loft as I tried to resist the temptation of those three dots at the end of the tweet. Clicky little enticements, just messing my head up with silent little whispers of Come on, you know you wanna know.

  My fingers practically twitched. I think maybe
my hand was even slightly shaking. But I couldn’t click. Clicking would only lead to doom.

  If I clicked, I’d either (a) look like an ass and have my feed clogged with ads for whatever these evildoers were pushing for the next month—most likely some dating app or other such crap to highlight why I shouldn’t be happy in my current perfect singledom status. Or (b) it would lead me to the supremely unlikely realization that the story was true and—horrors—Keanu was actually getting married, which also meant that life as we knew it to be would essentially cease to exist in ninety days.

  Either outcome would be a disaster, and it seemed the only mentally stabilizing way out was smashing my phone to bits.

  It was then I heard a clap, followed by the snap of fingers way too close to my face.

  Wait. Was someone shaking me? And now they were hitting me on the back. Holy roughness! The hell?!

  I blinked. True was standing in front of me.

  Sweet, sweet True. My anchor and life preserver all in one.

  He was wiping at my mouth. Shit, had I been drooling? Still, a napkin would have been nice in this moment because (a) germs, and (b) his thumb swiping across my bottom lip was hitting too hard on my sexual sensory buttons, even through my shocked stupor.

  I scrunched up my face and pulled back a notch, still not enough to get out of his close range. Eep, his face was practically on top of mine. His big brown eyes clouded with worry. And I couldn’t help noticing his full lips were drawn tight to the point of looking pained. Oddly, though, all these facial expressions made him somehow even more handsome, with the scruff on his chin extra scruffy, not hiding his dimples. It was quite unnerving, and slightly panty quivering. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

  “Lu! Lu! Bethany Lu!”

  Oh, damn. True was going in with my full government name. Something he only did when really riled up. He snapped his fingers again and reached out, putting his hands on my forearms, like he was about to give me another shake. Time to bring the brain back to earth. Lucky for me, Morphie did most of my heavy lifting and broke the scene apart with an ear-piercing, squeaky bark.

  I glared at True as I pushed down on his hands, and he immediately backed up a step. “What are you doing?” I snapped at the same time Morphie nipped at True’s worn New Balances. Good dog. It was so unlike my mini beagle to come off his lazy little high horse and put effort into anything that I got a swell of pride seeing those brown ears flop around on account of me.

  But True being True and those old sneakers being damn near bulletproof, it seemed he’d hardly felt a thing from Morph’s valiant efforts. Instead, he ignored poor Morphie and his spectacular show of chivalry and kept his focus on me. “What am I doing?” His voice mimicked the disbelief in his eyes. “That’s what I should be asking you. At first, I thought you were choking on a piece of bagel, the way it looked like you lost your breath, but then you started zoning out, looking at your phone like one of the Walking Dead, mumbling about ninety days.”

  Well shit, I hadn’t even realized I was thinking out loud. I coughed, then attempted something between a laugh and a growl. “Grrr.”

  True stared at me deadpan.

  “You and your zombies,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna eat your brain. It’s probably unseasoned anyways.”

  His only reaction to my joke was a blink and the tiniest nostril flare letting me know the comment didn’t pass his hearing.

  I felt my lips twist. Bet he wouldn’t have been all stoic and unreactive if I had licked his damn thumb like I’d been contemplating a moment before. Bet that would have gotten more than the flare of a nostril. I sighed, knowing I’d keep all thoughts of tongue licking to myself. I could joke and tease about a lot, but licking True’s um…extremities…that was definitely off-limits. Forever.

  Besides, the impulse was probably just a direct result of being cooped up in my loft too long and letting my double-A battery supply run low. “And speaking of,” I said, though no one was speaking of anything of the sort, but I had to get my mind off licking and batteries. “What’s with you and those old sneakers? Didn’t I give you a new pair not long ago?” I pointed at his feet. “How those are still functioning I’ll never know. They’re so worn and dirty you could give my dog an infection. The least you could have done is changed them before you came upstairs from your apartment.”

  True lived in the same building, down in 4B. My father owned the property and had given us both a nice deal.

  He looked down, then back at me like I’d grown another head. “So now my sneakers aren’t good enough for your little penthouse, Ms. 10A? Should I have showered before I came or just dropped off your brunch at the door?”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  True’s left brow quirked. “Sure. Besides, these are fine. They still have some miles left in them.”

  I snorted. “Miles? They’re practically running by themselves at this point.”

  He stared at me. I stared back. This was us. Standing off. Doing what we do.

  “So you’re good?” This question came from Dawn, breaking our little stare down and leaving us in a draw. “Can I take my finger off the 911 speed dial because for a minute there you had a sister damn near fretting, but since we’re only talking sneakers and the Walking Dead, I’ll cancel the red alert.” Dawn was looking at me with a high level of impatience. She waved her phone in my direction and then across my worktable. “I don’t know what gets into you, Lu. One minute you’re normal”—she let a heavy pause rest here before continuing—“-ish, talking business, schedules and your work, and the next you’re who knows where.”

  “I’m fine! It’s no big deal. Well, probably no big deal,” I said, looking back at my phone.

  Dawn raised an eyebrow while I shot back with narrowed eyes plus a “seriously, stand down” silent gesture. This only caused her to grimace at me more intensely, in that moment flipping between her dual roles of my art agent and best friend since high school.

  Actually, me, Dawn and True have been connected since high school. Not the trio we are now but more of a clunky quartet, brought together by time and circumstance.

  Dawn shrugged and traded her phone for a cheese bagel with extra cream cheese. The handmade bagels from the place on Broadway and 94th were her weekly carb indulgence. Even with my near freak-out she wasn’t missing out on this. Hell, I should be thankful she even slowed down. Dawn despised deprivation, so my manic panic would have to get put on hold. “You sure, you’re fine?” she asked through a mouthful of dough and cream cheese. Her eyes shifting from my artwork laid out on the table then back to my face.

  I nodded, then looked back at my work. The mass of color, torn paper and fabric now hardly made any sense to me.

  I felt my lips go tight. I wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.

  Keanu Reeves was getting married.

  Chapter 2

  Silver Spoons

  Bethany Lu

  This is fake, right? There’s no way it can be true.” I pushed my phone toward Dawn. She had been going on about my upcoming schedule and asking when I thought my next batch of canvases would be done.

  “What?” Dawn took the phone from my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. Not the brisk way she usually had. Not that I’m saying my friend was in any way rude or snatchy, but gentle wasn’t generally her style either. Between Dawn going in with the soft touch and True with my full name, I must have put them both in a panic for a minute there.

  Dawn glanced at my phone, and her eyes went wide. There was a brief flash of alarm, and I could guess exactly how she felt. Was she cold? Did her insides recoil and twist inside themselves?

  “No way. And in ninety days? This is bullshit. It sounds like they are pulling from that reality show.”

  “Right?” I said, agreeing with her. Thank goodness for Dawn. I could always count on her when it came to seeing things my way. “That’s what I thought.” I laughed. It may have come out slightly hysterical. “He’d never do that. Not t
o us. Not to me. Not to the world. Also, that show is crazy pants.”

  “In the best way,” Dawn interjected. She shook her head and handed me back my phone. “Nah. Definitely not. This really is bullshit. Keanu wouldn’t do it, hon.” She went from riled back down to soft and gentle again, amping my anxiety. It was as if she were talking to a small child or someone praying in the waiting area of an ICU surgery center. Fuck. Could it be Dawn thought there was some truth to this tweet?

  I tried hard to look beyond her wall of defense. Through to the bond of our almost thirty-year friendship. We connected, she and I, in a way that no one else on the planet ever had and I suspected ever would. Well, all except True, but he was different. You know, given he had a penis and all, and the fact that he was, I don’t know, just…True.

  Dawn tapped at her phone, then looked at me, the placating tone now laced with an edge of anger. “Actually, I’m low-key pissed at whoever on the PR team thought it was a good idea to release this news. Ninety days my ass. Are they putting us all on some sort of fan-flail doomsday countdown clock? Just do it if you’re ready, or get engaged and be quiet about it. We’ll find out when they are on the cover of People like everybody else or when TMZ releases the telephoto shots. It’s not like he’s a royal. Damn!” She shook her head as she turned up her lip and placed her phone back on the edge of the worktable, careful not to put it where it would get paint or glue on it.

  She glared at the phone. “Keanu is never getting married. He’d never settle down and make just one woman, man, person…ferret, that happy while ruining the lives of the rest of the world. I have a right mind to make a complaint.”

  “I agree with you, but where would you even start?”

  She shook her head and gave me slightly overconfident “trust me” eyes, which I’d learned from all our years of near misses, whoops and almost-had-its not to trust all that much. But with the glint she had going on, I half expected her to go protesting at some PR firm in a stunning vintage ’70s designer outfit, signage in hand, shouting about how someone must pay for these grievous misdeeds.