WE GOT MARRIED FOR THE TAX BREAK. THEN THE IRS AUDITED OUR HEARTS

Chapter 1: The Spreadsheet Proposal

The night Oliver proposed, there were no roses, no violins—just a shared Google Doc titled "Project: Fiscal Union 2024" with color-coded tax savings projections.

"Marry me," he said, pushing his glaChapter 1: The Spreadsheet Proposal

The night Oliver proposed, there were no roses, no violins—just a shared Google Doc titled "Project: Fiscal Union 2024" with color-coded tax savings projections.sses up his nose. "We'd save $17,892 a year."

I sipped my chardonnay. "That's the least romantic thing I've ever heard."

He added a pie chart. "I'll throw in health insurance."

We signed the papers at City Hall wearing jeans, with his college roommate as our witness. The kiss was strictly for the judge's benefit—a dry peck that tasted like black coffee and mutual tax evasion.

Chapter 2: The Loophole Lifestyle

Our marriage had rules:

No shared bank accounts (but Venmo requests for half the toilet paper)

Separate bedrooms (his smelled like protein powder, mine like regret)

Mandatory date nights (only if deductible as "networking")

It worked perfectly until Thanksgiving.

Oliver's mother clasped my hands. "Darling, when are you giving me grandchildren?"

I choked on cranberry sauce. Oliver patted my back with the enthusiasm of someone swatting a fly. "We're focusing on her career," he lied smoothly.

That's when I noticed his dimple.

Since when did he have a dimple?

Chapter 3: The Audit

The IRS letter arrived on pink paper.

"Notice of Examination: Marriage Bonafides."

Oliver spread the documents across our kitchen island. "We need evidence of a real relationship."

"Easy." I grabbed his phone. "Let's take some couple-y photos."

His lock screen was a selfie of us at his cousin's wedding. My head rested on his shoulder. His smile looked... genuine.

"When did you—"

"Evidence," he interrupted, snatching the phone back.

Chapter 4: The Rehearsal Dinner That Wasn't

Our "proof" required:

✅ Joint bills (we forged electric statements)

✅ Romantic trips (a photoshopped Paris getaway)

✅ Affectionate correspondence (I found drafts in Oliver's Notes app: "Good morning, beautiful" unsent)

The IRS agent sat across from us, unimpressed. "Describe your first kiss."

Oliver adjusted his tie. "City Hall. Cherry chapstick. She tasted like—"

"—like you'd just done my taxes," I finished.

The agent's pen hovered. "Most couples cry at weddings."

"We're accountants," we said in unison.

Chapter 5: The Deduction We Didn't Claim

We lost the case.

Standing on the courthouse steps, Oliver stared at the penalty notice. "$34,721. We should've just fallen in love."

A raindrop hit the paper, blurring the numbers.

I wiped it away. His hand covered mine.

"Hypothetically," he said quietly, "if we did get married for real..."

I kissed him properly this time—no audience, no tax implications. Just the faint taste of coffee and something new.

Interest.

Epilogue

This year's joint return included a new line item:

"Marital counseling: $150/hr (worth every penny)"

Tags:

#FakeMarriage #RomCom #TaxSeason #IRS #MarriageOfConvenience

Want alternate endings? Try:

Oliver was scamming her all along (drama)

They open a divorce consultancy (comedy)

The IRS agent sends a wedding gift (twist)

Let me know which version you prefer! 💘