by Ames, Ilsa
“The dress?” I offered up for discussion. Where did you buy those? Was there a place where you could buy dresses for a fake marriage? Did I have to wear one of those huge confections of lace and silk or would a simple white dress work?
“Oh, I’ll have Amber take you to get that sorted. The will and the estate provided a ton up front for wedding expenses, so go wild. Whatever you want.” He frowned. “I mean, maybe don’t go dropping twenty-grand on a Vera Wang or something, but, yeah. Get a nice one. The dress of your dreams.” He looked at me cooly, his eyes dragging over me like he was drinking me in—like he’d lost himself in his imagination.
Had he pictured me in a wedding dress, with contacts in and my hair done? Poor guy. There was no amount of makeup or hairspray that could make me look like the blonde that had leaned over his bar earlier.
“I don’t need much, really, Tiago, just something simple will do. Besides, it’s not like it’s a real wedding anyway, right?” I smiled to take the sting out of my words.
I’d love it if this was a real wedding, and Tiago was really about to be my husband. I pictured him making breakfast in our kitchen—shirtless, of course. I pictured him kissing me at the front door, sending me off to work with—
What the hell was I thinking?! I couldn’t just run off and get married. Not in a week! I had a nonprofit to run! I had to make sure there was someone to run things while I ran off and got married to my secret crush. Oh, yeah, and have a baby for him.
With him.
Suddenly, reality came down on me hard.
“Um, I might need more than a week. I have to make sure there’s somebody that can take my place at the office.”
“How long do you think it would take?” He didn’t look upset, he just needed an answer.
“I’ll let you know tomorrow? Uh, I’m going to head out for the night, okay?” I stood quickly, grabbing my things. I could feel myself shaking.
What the heck did you just say yes to?
“Here’s my card. Call me tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have an answer for you, okay?”
I turned, and I rushed out of the bar as fast as I could, ignoring him calling my name. Fuck, what the hell did I think I was doing? I couldn’t marry that man, no matter how gorgeous he was!
I flew down the sidewalk and to my apartment a few blocks up from the bar. The pace of my thoughts matched the clack of my heels as I sped away, and I didn’t even notice the sweet scent of the orange blossoms that permeated the air.
You can’t marry him, that inner voice said to me. But the money would be so helpful, I thought.
You can not marry him, came the reply. He’ll break your heart, it went on. He’ll break your heart because for you, this isn’t fake.
And I knew right there that marrying Tiago—real, fake, or otherwise—meant my voice was probably right.
I was probably never going to be able to let him go when this whole thing was over. I was probably going to get my heart broken.
…I was still going to say yes anyways though.
3
Tiago
I stared at my reflection in the mirror, frowning as I straightened my bowtie and tried to push the thoughts of my father out of mind.
It’d been a week since the night I’d jumped right in and asked June to marry me. And today was our wedding day, a week after I’d proposed—“proposed”—to June. I still wasn’t even sure she’d show up, though. She’d bolted from the bar that evening, and I’d barely spoken to her since.
And still, there was my dad, worming his way into my thoughts as I straightened my tuxedo. My father was a prick, that’s all there was to it. I’d grown up in a house that many would consider a palace. There’d been so many rooms it took me years of exploration to memorize where each was and what was in them. Four floors that spanned out over an acre would do that to a kid. I’d barely had time to play outside there were so many rooms inside to get lost in.
The exploration had been a distraction when I was out of school for the summer or on holidays. Sometimes I wouldn’t see my father for weeks, and that was probably for the best. He’d handed me over to nannies as soon he’d buried my mother and didn’t want to be bothered with an infant that cried.
Later, he hadn’t wanted to be bothered with the questions of a young child, and then those of a teenager. He would interact with me through the nannies, and then the caretaker he’d hired later. I knew he’d had reports about my progress from each, and my schools, but I rarely saw him.
The occasions when I did see him were spent with awkward, cold questions, and his eyes. Those hard eyes of his that always seemed to accuse me, even when he smiled that brittle smile of his. He’d hated me, and I knew it early on.
Then I left I’d left a note, on one of the progress sheets he’d had designed for my caretaker. I couldn’t remember my exact words, but it all boiled down to “I’m off to find my life and family. Fuck off.”
I’d told him he’d been a shitty parent. I might have also said it was probably best my mother died because at least she didn’t know what a dick he was.
Might have. That might also be why he’d set this challenge for me. I stared down at the list my father had typed up, with very specific details, and knew that’s exactly why he’d done this; to set me up to fail so he could laugh from his grave at my failure.
I’d never measured up for him, to him. All of those progress reports over the years had been returned with notes on how to improve my behavior, to increase my intelligence, or to make me a man.
I’d read them all with a grimness. At first, those notes hurt me, I was only a little boy, but then I’d come to hate them, and him. Nothing had ever been good enough. If I won the state science fair, he’d ask Talia, my caretaker, why I hadn’t won the national science fair too. If I made straight A’s, he’d want to know why I hadn’t been smart enough to graduate and go on to college early. I never measured up in his eyes.
Now, he was giving me that final test, and he knew it would either break me and tear me down to his level, or he’d finally make a “man” out of me. I didn’t give two fucks about his opinion now, I’d passed the point where I cared a long time ago. Now, I just wanted that money, for Layla.
“Yo, it’s about time, man.” My best friend, and best man for the day, Tim, came strolling into my office wearing a well-fitting tux. Tim, was Layla’s dad.
“Yeah,” I growled. “Seems like it is.” I turned, sizing him up. “You look sharp, man!”
Tim grinned as we did our normal weird four-step handshake before he turned and slumped down onto the couch in my office.
Tim was tall and blond, and honestly, always kinda looked like a country music singer or something to me. He was the type of guy who spent his days in jeans and a t-shirt, not a tux. And now, looking at me from my couch, I knew just because I knew him so well that he had questions.
…Everyone had questions on the subject of me marrying a chick no one I knew had ever heard about before, trust me.
“So…”
“I know, I know,” I muttered, shaking him off as I turned back to fix my tie. Tim had of course said yes to being my best man, but I think twenty minutes before the actual wedding was about his limit before wanting to know what the story was here.
“Look, I’m just curious who the chick is, Ti.” I slouched down on the couch next to him, sighing. Tim chuckled, raking his fingers through his blond hair
“I mean, it’s all good, and whatever you want to do with your life, that’s your choice. But you’re about to marry a girl I haven’t even met once before.” He shrugged. “Am I not supposed to think that’s fucking weird?”
It wasn’t just this happening so fast that I hadn’t told Tim—or anyone, actually—about the real reason behind June and I marrying. It was that the will itself specifically forbade it. It was like another “fuck you” from my dad.
“She’s a good one, Tim, I promise.”
“She must be, if you’re going to marry her.” He lev
eled his eyes at me. “So how long you been banging her?”
I sighed, rolling my eyes as he grinned at me. Shit, I knew I had to tell him the truth, or at least some of it.
“Look, I’m going to tell you, you have to keep your mouth shut.”
He wagged his brows and I scowled. “I’m fucking serious, man.”
Tim’s grin faded, and he nodded. “Anything you need, Ti.”
I took a breath. “So, it’s like this. With my old man dying a few weeks ago, I have to get married to inherit—no, before you say fuck that, let me tell you why I’m about to marry a woman I know only because she has one glass of wine in my bar every day.”
Tim was looking at me like I was nuts. I couldn’t blame him.
“Layla needs that money, Tim.”
His face darkened. “Hang on, Tiago—”
“No, hold on. You know I hated my dad, and you know I wouldn’t take that money, but Layla needs it.”
I could see him want to say something else, but he went silent. I watched his entire body sag and felt terrible for him. Tim was an aspiring indie-rock singer, and he’d gotten married young to his high school sweetheart. They’d tried for a long time to have a baby, and when Layla came along, they’d been overjoyed. Then they’d found out about the heart defect, and they’d been fighting for her ever since. But they were almost out of money and Layla still needed treatment.
“Ti, I wish I could say don’t do this. Fuck your dad, that man was a piece of shit. But Layla…”
“You know it’s not even a question, man,” I said quietly. “It’s not. Not at all. And I’m happy to do anything I can for her. For any of you guys.”
Tim swallowed, looking down. “Fuck, I can’t say no man.”
“Good, then don’t. ’Cause I’m already doing this.”
He turned, looking at me with shiny eyes. “You’re a good guy, Tiago, I always said you were.”
“Well, I think when you caught me hitting on Ella the night we met you had a different opinion.”
Tim grinned, shaking his head.
I’d met him when I was nineteen and they were twenty. We’d started out with a fistfight at a local bar and ended up friends for life. Stranger things happened, I swear.
“I was too drunk to be fighting, and you apologized, even when I was beating your face in.” Tim grinned. The night we’d met, I’d been way too drunk and way out of line. I’d been a dick and hit on his wife, though, in fairness, I didn’t know she was married.
“Hey, you’re lucky to have her, man.” I meant it too.
“No shit. So long as you never put your lame ass moves on her again, we’re good.”
I laughed, clapping Tim on the shoulder.
“No, I know I am. This is going to blow her mind, though. You doing all of this for Layla.”
“I guess I’ll find out later. It’s time man.” I’d stared at the clock on the wall for an hour now and it was finally time.
I stood up, brushed down the tux I’d bought two days before, and looked over Tim. I’d bought his too, and we matched. Traditional black tuxedos, double-breasted, with a silver sash, just as June had requested. Apparently gray and silver were her favorite colors. I’d have to ask her about that at some point.
Most of our conversations had been done through text messages, not in person, and I hadn’t had the chance to talk to her about anything really. I brushed those thoughts aside and walked out of the office. It was time to face the music.
Amber, my blue-haired bar manager, and Ella had spent the night before decorating the patio behind the bar and it looked great with white flowers, silver bunting, and white chairs. A trellis stood at one end and the officiant was there already. There’d been no bachelor party, or bachelorette party from what I’d heard, and the only guests were friends of mine and a few regular bar patrons, but we were about to have a wedding.
I walked up, talked to the officiant that was going to perform the marriage, and waited for the photographer to finish with his pictures before I nodded to Amber to start the music.
The patio doors opened, and suddenly, there she was.
Holy shit.
Just like that, June appeared, all on her own, and she took my damn breath away.
She stood on the white carpet laid out as a path, her ivory dress not over the top, but still sensually beautiful. It was a simple dress of lace and silk, but it fit her form, a form I didn’t even realize she had. It was a sleeveless, A-line gown, with a beaded empire waist and V-neck that displayed cleavage I’d had no idea she had.
Pale flesh danced as she walked, and I have to say, my soon-to-be-wife was stunning. Her hair was in its usual bun, but in a more romantic style than she usually wore, and her face wasn’t hidden behind glasses. She even had a hint of makeup on. Without her normal cardigan that went down to her knees, and out from behind those glasses, I could see just how gorgeous she really was.
Elegant, curvy in all the right places, and just fucking jaw-dropping in that dress. I shifted in place as she came to stand next to me, faced her, and stared.
…Now, who the hell was this, and what had she done with shy, mousy June?
“Tiago Morrison and June Smith would like to thank you all for being here with them at this special moment in their lives. If there are no objections, shall we begin?” The officiant waited for a moment and then he began.
It all went by in a blur for me. I know I said “ I do” at some point, and I know she said it back. But all I could remember was how beautiful June was. She stood there with a lace veil to hide her hair, a pink glow to her cheeks, and stole my attention from everything else.
June said some words in her quiet voice and kept her gaze on the flowers she was about to crush to death in her hands. She was nervous, but she’d shown up. I expect that had more to do with Layla than me, but I didn’t care. Actually, I did, that meant she had a heart and human kindness in her. I’d never be able to thank her enough.
What I’d asked of her was enormous, probably far too much, but there she was. The officiant did the “I now pronounce you part…” and then I looked down at my new wife. Her green eyes were right there, full of nervousness, but she didn’t look away. She would face the music with me, those eyes told me.
I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers softly. I didn’t want to embarrass her or make her uncomfortable, but it was expected. I heard the photographer’s camera whir as he took picture after picture, and the whoops and cheers of our guests, but all I knew was the softness of her lips and how electricity shot through me the moment my lips found hers.
Her hand came up to my face, cupped my jaw as her head tilted back, and everything disappeared. Our first kiss, and it was our damn wedding day. Old fashioned? Yeah, maybe. But damn was it worth it. Her lips were soft, full, and perfect. I felt my heart race as the kiss went on and I had the oddest thought. She felt like home.
I pulled away when she inhaled sharply through her nose and looked down to see a look of surprise on her face. Yeah, me too, sweetheart, I thought. I didn’t say it though.
“Thank you,” I murmured, my eyes locking with hers as we walked down the aisle to cheers of the guests. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” I added, loudly, for my father’s attorney who was also present.
“Uh, glad to help?” June gave an uncertain answer, but she did smile, and that made it alright.
“So, we’ll chat with our guests and then take off? The plane leaves in a few hours, and we’ll have to be there a little early. This won’t last long, I promise.” I had tried to time everything, so she wouldn’t have to stand with a fake smile for hours, but we had to have some kind of reception for the photographer to take pictures of.
“Whatever we need to do, that’s fine. I have arranged everything at the office, so I have the week free. I’ll have to keep in contact with them all, but it’s sorted.”
“Thanks for doing that. I know none of this has been easy.” It must have been hard, I knew she ran
her own nonprofit and that she had a lot of responsibility. And I respected her commitment to that.
I mean, a bar was a lot of work too, but my temporary replacement was way easier to find. And I knew Amber would be fine running the place while I was gone since it basically ran itself. I mean, serve drinks, collect money, try not lose money, try not to piss off any drinkers. That was pretty much my business model.
But June’s nonprofit was way more complex than that, and I knew making sure the wheels still turned while she was gone had been a big to-do.
“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “It’ll all work out in the end, right? And hey, we might not be marrying for love, but it’s love for that little girl that pushed you.” June’s eyes were on Layla, in her mother’s lap, and mine followed. I’d even made sure Ella and her daughter had new matching sundresses for the occasion.
I took June’s smaller hand in mine, swamped it really, and drew her back down the aisle. We weren’t going far, just to the end of the carpet to help move chairs out of the way, in between slaps on the back and congratulations.
We sat at a table, had some champagne, shared some cake with our few guests, and chatted with everybody. We dodged the tough questions, such as how long we’d been together, when did we know we were meant for each other, and kept the conversation going with talk about the honeymoon. Ella kept up a steady stream of grateful glances and whispered thank yous, until I turned to her and kissed her cheek.
“Layla deserves it, so do you and Tim. Look, you two have always been here for me. This is my way to pay that back. Now, have a drink or else!” I winked at her and she walked away, to her husband for a hug. I could feel the relief come off them in waves, and it was almost more than I could stand.
Not in a bad way, just in that way where you don’t know whether to be embarrassed, touched, or both. I just didn’t know, but I knew little Layla deserved everything I could give her.
Eventually, we left the party and headed for the airport. So far, I’d met my father’s conditions. The announcement in the paper, one of his requirements, would go out the next day and the photographer would send me and the legal team copies of the prints from the wedding. The license was signed by both of us, June had signed the prenup, and we were off for our honeymoon.
