My (Mostly) Fake Wedding

by Bloom, Penelope

  “Wait,” Chris lifted up the blanket to see my sock-clad feet. Then he looked around for a second, head swiveling.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just trying to find… Ah!” He found my speaker, then hit play. “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” resumed blaring through the apartment.

  I tried not to be mortally embarrassed, but my cheeks were already burning.

  He hooked his thumb toward the speaker. “You were absolutely doing that thing from that old movie, weren’t you?”

  “Will you please leave?”

  Chris started bobbing his body and dancing his way out of my apartment, mouthing every word to the song as he went. He was in the middle of silently singing when the door closed behind him.

  I got up, turned off the music, and looked at the pickles in my hand with utter confusion. Chris Rose was turning my life and my brain into a scrambled, confusing mess.

  And then my phone buzzed. I glanced at the text that just came in and felt a jab of pure panic hit when I saw who it was from.

  Lance Carter.

  14

  Chris

  The tune of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” was still stuck in my head as I sat through a team meeting at the facility. Unfortunately, I did occasionally have to “work,” but unless coach went on one of his occasional rants, I’d still be out in time to crash Belle’s wedding planning session on her couch.

  And damn, I was looking forward to it.

  I sat in the back of the meeting room and took notes. One thing nobody ever seemed to get was that when I was at the facility or in a game, it got my entire focus.

  Okay, sometimes it might’ve been more like ninety, and today I might’ve been rocking more of an eighty or seventy. But I couldn’t help it. I’d gotten a glorious view of Belle’s white-panty clad ass when I broke into her apartment.

  Magnificent.

  I felt my cock stiffen at the memory, which led me to thinking of our encounter in the airplane bathroom for about the hundredth time since it happened.

  I was packing up my stuff to leave after the meeting when one of coach’s assistants stopped me. “Hey, Coach wants a word in his office.”

  Dammit. I had somewhere to be, but I knew I was on thin enough ice as it was. I grudgingly headed to his office.

  Coach Mackie was sitting behind his desk, completely decked out in the black and red team colors. He looked like a bulldog who snuck into a Golden Corral after hours that hadn’t been found for about a week.

  “Sit.” Coach Mackie pointed at the chair across from his desk.

  I obliged, slinging my bag to the ground beside me. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to make something crystal clear to you. I don’t like you. I don’t like the bullshit you get into. I don’t like looking at your stupid pretty boy face. And I’m only tolerating your ass on my team because of the numbers you put up.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Thank you?”

  “No. I’m telling you that if you don’t play out of your mind for the rest of the season, you’re done here. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure every other team in the league knows what a pain in my ass you were.”

  “Honest question. How long has it been since my last incident?”

  “Get out of my office.”

  I shrugged, then stood. “Coach. It was really sweet of you to call me pretty, though. That means a lot.”

  “Out!” Coach Mackie pounded his fists on the table.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  Oh, actually I guess he did. But I was more than willing to go, because Belle was probably waiting for me with those diamond-cutter nipples of hers all perked up and excited.

  It really was cute how much she liked me.

  15

  Belle

  I wasn’t sure if Chris was serious about coming to my apartment, but I also didn’t want to look like an idiot if he’d been joking. That meant I didn’t send him a text warning him I was heading out instead of staying to look up venues like I’d planned.

  Lance had flown to New York, and he wanted to meet me at a coffee shop near my place.

  I’d be lying if I said there weren’t massive flocks of butterflies in my stomach at the prospect. Except now I wasn’t sure how I actually felt. I’d always had a crush on Lance growing up. Planning his wedding had been devastating, too. But little by little, I’d let him go along the way. The irony was that I’d just about moved on when all hell broke loose and I got accused of trying to steal him and sabotage the wedding.

  Now I was dreaming about someone else every night. I had Chris Rose and his stupid pickle on my mind.

  I tortured myself trying to imagine how the conversation with Lance was going to go. Had he brought Shelby? Was she going to lay into me again? Were they going to drag me out back and mug me?

  I really had no idea, but I needed closure enough that I risked showing up.

  Lance was wearing a navy-blue sweater and with a checkered dress shirt under it. He had thick, dark hair that he kept pushed away from his forehead and glasses that always made me think he looked a little like Superman in disguise.

  Lance was that guy. The one who had everything going for him. I’d grown up in his shadow—the girl he always wanted around, but never really saw. I might as well have been a guy as far as he’d been concerned.

  He smiled when he saw me, which was a relief. I ruled out a few of my more violent theories about how this was going to go.

  I sat down at the little table in the corner with him. “Hi,” I said. “If you’re here to murder me, can you please just make it quick and painless?”

  “I’m here to apologize.”

  “Oh.” In all the endless things I’d imagined this could be, I hadn’t even considered that one.

  “I eventually got the truth out of Shelby. She felt threatened by you. She made everything up to chase you off.”

  “That’s… Yeah. I mean, you knew she was making up at least some of it. She told everyone at the reception that I’d been coming onto you for weeks. You just sat there and let everyone believe it.”

  Lance hung his head, nodding. “I know. I’m not going to make excuses for myself. That was beyond shitty. And I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

  I gave him a small little smile. Oddly enough, hearing him apologize only made me feel mad on my own behalf for the first time. Until now, I’d just been hurt. It was like the friend I knew was dead before. Because the Lance I knew wouldn’t have let someone make up those things about me. He would’ve stood up for me. Now I was seeing the Lance I knew, and I just felt pissed about what he’d done.

  “And I was thinking about everything Shelby said. About how she always knew you had feelings for me. Belle… I’ve had feelings too. I just worried it would screw up our friendship to admit it. But now I’ve already screwed things so badly that I might as well come clean, right?”

  “You’re married,” I said. My heart was pounding, but not for the reasons I would’ve thought. All I could think was, No, no, Lance. You idiot. Why now? Why did you have to do this now?

  “No. I got a lawyer and filed for divorce the day she told me.” He held up his phone screen and showed me about twenty missed calls from Shelby, several voicemails, and a pile of unread texts. “She is a little upset about it. But I don’t care anymore. We can finally try this thing. The right way.”

  He reached for my hand, then hesitated when he saw the big, fat engagement ring Chris had given me.

  He stared at it like my hand had just grown a ball sack. “What is that?”

  “Lance…” I scooted my chair back. “I’m sorry for whatever part I played in this. But,” I shook my head. “It’s too late. I moved on. We could work on being friends again, but I’m not going to lie. It’s going to take some time.”

  Lance’s calm, nice guy vibe cracked. “Moved on? No shit. What has it been, two weeks? And you’re engaged? What the fuck, Belle?”

  I got up, shouldering my bag and taking a step from
the table. “I should really go.”

  Lance got up and followed me as I tried to leave. He put his hand on my arm, stopping me. “Belle,” he said quietly. “Sorry. I didn’t expect the ring. But if this is about me somehow, let’s talk before you do something crazy. Give me a chance.”

  I tried to pull back, but he leaned closer. Just before he could actually kiss me, I saw something from the corner of my eye. A man outside the shop with a professional camera was snapping pictures. Ever since Chris’ little stunt in the restaurant, I’d noticed people snapping pictures of me when I went out. I guess they all wanted the shot of me looking half-dead with no makeup as I left a coffee shop in the morning.

  I let out a groan, then pushed Lance away. “I need to go.”

  I left him standing there and rushed out of the shop. The man with the camera kept snapping pictures. “Make sure you get this one,” I said, holding up both my middle fingers in front of his camera.”

  I had a feeling Lance and his horrible timing had just caused Chris and I a pile of trouble.

  16

  Chris

  I waited on Belle’s couch. Part of me wondered if it was wrong to pick the lock on her door and let myself in again when she wasn’t home. Then I decided she hadn’t explicitly told me not to wait on the couch for her.

  I mean, she knew I could pick her lock. If she didn’t want me to let myself in, all she would’ve had to do was say so. Besides, it was my duty as her soon-to-be fake husband to check the house and make sure she was okay.

  I’d also done a quick count of her pickles before I settled on the couch. As I suspected, one was missing. Curious. Either she got hungry. Or she got hungry. I made a note to ask her about it whenever she showed up.

  I’d been waiting about a half an hour when I heard someone try the doorknob. There was a jiggle, then a curse. It sounded like Belle, and when I got up, I noticed a set of keys sitting by the door.

  Oh, this was too perfect. She locked herself out.

  I went to the door, checking the peep hole. There she was, tiny and warped so the top of her head was bulging up toward me. “What do you want?” I growled against the door.

  Belle jumped back, dropping her bag. She squinted at the door. “Chris?”

  “Wait there,” I said.

  I jogged to her speaker and turned on her eighties playlist. “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” picked up right where it had left off from earlier that evening. I danced my way to the door, then unlocked it.

  Belle let herself in with slumped shoulders and a defeated look on her face.

  I frowned after her, still shimmying to the beat. “The song is about girls having fun. Not girls pouting.”

  She pressed a button on the speaker, then went to her couch and sank into it. “Do I even want to ask why you were in my apartment with the door locked?”

  “We agreed to meet.”

  “I thought you were joking.”

  “Why do you look like someone just poured mud in your coffee?” I sat next to her, turning to face her on the couch.

  She was staring at the ground, shaking her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  I dug in the bag I’d brought, then pulled out a big bottle of the fanciest wine I could get my hands on. “The sommelier said someone got murdered over this particular vintage once. Tried to swap it for a cheaper one at his colleague’s house and the guy axed him when he found out.”

  Belle scrunched up her face. “Seriously?”

  “That’s what the guy said. But if all else fails, it was expensive. So that means it’s good.”

  “Did you bring glasses?”

  “The only way to drink expensive wine is straight from the bottle.”

  Belle looked like she didn’t want to, but she grinned a little. “I’m almost positive that’s not true.”

  I’d already sampled the wine, so I was able to easily tug the cork free. It came loose with a satisfying little pop. I held the bottle toward Belle. “Give it a try. You look like you could use it.”

  Belle was giving the bottle a doubtful look, but she eventually reached for it and took a swig. “I’m not sure it justifies murder, but that is pretty good.”

  I studied her as she took another drink. “What do you do for fun?”

  Belle set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What is this, an interview?”

  “We’re supposed to be engaged. I should probably know at least a little about you in case someone asks.”

  “Well… I do like to make decorations. I have this machine that prints letters onto things, and I’ll make wreaths or wood signs or shirts. That kind of thing.”

  I couldn’t say why, but I liked her answer. I guess it was refreshing to hear a woman say she enjoyed doing something other than club hopping or “partying.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Any other hobbies?”

  “I got really into golf for a little bit, but my father kind of spoiled that.”

  “Wait. Your ‘father?’ Only rich people or people who hate their dads call them ‘father.’ Which one are you?”

  Belle made a sour face. “That’s so not true. I’m sure plenty of people who love their parents call their dad father.”

  “Well?” I asked. “Are your parents rich?”

  She let out a breath. “Kind of.”

  “And do you like them?”

  “No.”

  I laughed. “It’s not easy being so right about everything all the time.”

  She grabbed the wine and took a long drink. “I’m going to need more of this if you’re planning to keep talking.”

  “What does your dad do?”

  Little by little, Belle’s frosty stance toward me thawed. I couldn’t say if it was the wine or the barrage of questions I threw her way, but I found myself laughing and enjoying myself. She even agreed to let me order pizza, which we ate off her coffee table while we watched a family friendly, dubbed version of Snakes on a Plane.

  Belle kept offering me some of the wine, but I had a game tomorrow, and I never drank the night before a game. Okay, almost never. Besides, I didn’t need to be buzzed to laugh at the dubbers attempt to cover the movie’s twentieth F-bomb in the first few minutes with, “Enough is enough! I have had it with these monkey-fighting snakes on this Monday to Friday plane!”

  When the movie wrapped up, I realized it was already evening. Belle was tipsy, as far as I could tell, but not drunk. I felt a little guilty pressing her while she wasn’t totally sober, but curiosity got the better of me.

  She was sprawled out on the couch with a blanket over herself and her legs were on my thighs. Like a proper gentleman, I’d restrained from trying to make a move on her.

  “You never did tell me,” I said. “Why were you so upset when you came in?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “If my endless questions haven’t clued you in, I’m interested in your story. Long or short.”

  She wore a strange expression for a moment, then smiled to herself. “Okay. Fine. But you’re only getting the condensed version. The guy from the disaster wedding in Texas showed up to basically profess his feelings for me. He and his wife are getting divorced already, and he tried to say we should give things between us a chance.”

  My heart thudded against my ribs. The guy all her nasty reviews claimed she’d had a crush on forever? Probably. And shit. I didn’t usually want to murder strangers, but I found myself wanting to pack him in a bag and toss him in the ocean as soon as possible. “What’d you say?” I asked carefully.

  “I told him I had feelings for someone else.”

  Damn it. Now I needed to kill two people? “Who is the other guy?”

  She leaned her head back, looking a little loopy. I realized she was probably more drunk than I’d realized, but I’d already opened the floodgates by asking.

  “Well, he’s strange, silly, and gorgeous. I never know if he’s telling the truth or just trying to make me laugh. And he’s really good at picking locks. A
nd making me feel good about myself. And making me laugh. I’ve also had his pickle on my mind all day.” She blinked heavily a few times, then her eyes didn’t open.

  I thought she’d fallen asleep, but she sat back up. She looked at me in a way that left no doubt. She was talking about me.

  Belle threaded her hands around my neck, half falling toward me on the couch. She tried to climb on me. “So what do you say, big boy. You gonna give me another ride, or do I need to beg?”

  “Okaaay,” I said, lifting her by her waist and setting her beside me. “As much as this big boy would love to give you the ride of your life, you’ve got too much expensive wine swishing around in your system right now.”

  She made a pouty face, then slapped me across the cheek.

  I couldn’t help laughing in disbelief. “Uhh,” I said.

  “C’mon, Hubby. Give it to me.”

  I snorted, then stood up to stop her from reaching for me. “I really wish I was recording this right now. Sober you is never going to believe this.”

  “I am sober.”

  “Okay. Then let’s lay sober you down with a blanket for a minute and see if you still feel the same way in an hour. Sound like a deal?”

  Belle let me lay her back on the couch and cover her with a blanket. She did make a claw and growl gesture at me before I could move to the loveseat a little farther away.

  “One hour,” I said. “Then we’ll talk again.”

  Belle suggestively licked her lips, then smiled as her eyes closed. It couldn’t have been ten more seconds before she was snoring. Loudly.

  I pulled out my phone and saw I had a few missed calls and a text from Damon. His text had a picture attached of an article online. The header image was Belle in some coffee shop with a guy inches away from kissing her.

  Oh. I guessed that was Lance. But her version of the story hadn’t included the part where they slapped tongues.

  A very real, very hard to ignore wave of rage surged through me. I took deep breaths and focused on Belle’s sleeping form. It always pissed me off when people made assumptions. It was why I never bought the stories flooding onto Belle’s website about what she'd supposedly done to sabotage the wedding. Maybe I got tired of the stories people slung out there about me, most of which were gobbled up by the general public without an ounce of doubt.