My (Mostly) Fake Wedding

by Bloom, Penelope

  Belle’s brother’s hand had been extended toward mine, but he hesitated. With a grimace, he shook my hand. “I’m sure it would be a pleasure to meet you under different circumstances.”

  “Circumcised? Uh, yeah, I am. Why?”

  Belle did a full facepalm behind him. It looked like she briefly considered leaving the room but forced herself to stay put.

  Some distant part of my brain could sense that I was making a mess of things, but my thoughts were coming to me sluggishly. I also felt way too amused by everything, including the little fort of pillows shielding my erection while a nearly full room of people watched me.

  I tried to lift my right arm and noticed for the first time that it was oddly stiff. I looked down and saw all the bandages. “Oh,” I said. “What’s going on here?”

  Then it came back to me in little flashes of memory. I got obliterated on a blitz. I’d been carted off the field, then promptly drugged up.

  One of the doctor’s stepped forward. She took a moment to look disapprovingly at the little boner fortress Belle had built for me. “You’re going to be out for at least two weeks while your shoulder heals. You… blah, blah, blah.”

  I blinked, trying to figure out if I was really hearing the woman say “blah blah blah” or if the drugs were playing tricks on me. Nope. She was definitely talking, and I was tuning her out. Then, completely out of nowhere, I felt myself dozing off.

  The last thing I saw was Belle watching me with mingled embarrassment and amusement.

  I gave her a crooked smile. That was my wifey. Or was she my pretend wifey? Or… shit. I really couldn’t remember.

  31

  Belle

  I had dinner with my brother after visiting Chris in the hospital. According to the doctors, the injury wasn’t really that serious. They claimed they hadn’t even given him that high a dose of the sedatives and painkillers, but Chris had seemed drugged out of his mind as far as I could tell. Then again, I had to admit the difference between sober Chris and drugged Chris might not be the sharpest line in the sand to draw.

  Asher took a bite of his sandwich, then dusted his hands off on his napkin. The restaurant was quiet, with only a handful of occupied tables and what looked like one waitress taking care of all of them. It was too late for normal people to have dinner and too early for the night owls, I guessed.

  “I didn’t like him,” Asher said.

  “It was hardly a fair time to get a first impression.”

  “You said this was supposed to be a fake engagement, right? Why did it seem like he thinks you two are a real item?”

  I worked my mouth to the side, trying to decide how to answer. I’d breached my little contract by telling Asher the truth about my deal with Damon and Chris. But he was my brother, and I figured it was probably a given that I’d tell him. “Because maybe things have become less cut and dry than calling it all pretend.”

  Asher leaned back, furrowing his eyebrows. “Did you sleep with him?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, like he’d suspected as much. “What kind of man pitches a raging erection like that in a full room, anyway?”

  I couldn’t help snorting. Even Asher looked a little entertained by the memory. “That’s kind of what you get with Chris. There’s rarely a dull moment. And I don’t know, maybe that’s what I like about him?”

  “So he makes you happy?”

  I sipped my milkshake, thinking the question over. Oddly enough, it wasn’t something I’d never really stopped to consider. “Yeah. He does.”

  “Then what are you two going to do? Break off the marriage once your obligation is through and start over after? It’d be a story for your kids, wouldn’t it? The time mom and dad got married, divorced, started dating, and then got happily married in the end.”

  “Easy there. Nobody said anything about kids. Or re-marriage. I don’t know, Ash. This isn’t exactly covered in any kind of handbook I know of. But we leave for Blackshire House in two weeks.” I sat back, letting that sink in. “Two weeks and the biggest wedding I’ve ever planned is going to take place in front of thousands of people. No big deal.”

  “And which part has you more nervous? How the wedding is going to reflect on your business, or…”

  I laughed softly, picking at a chip of loose wood on the table’s edge. “Or. Definitely or.”

  32

  Chris

  I knocked on Coach Mackie’s office door, letting myself in. The old grouch was hunched over his desk with a loaded hotdog in his meaty little fist. He even had a dab of neon yellow mustard at the corner of his mouth.

  I did my best charming smile, then tapped the corner of my mouth with my index finger, trying to show him where he was wearing his meal.

  He wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing it across his cheek.

  I blew out a long breath, then sank into the chair across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

  “That’s not how I would phrase it, Rose. I asked you to come in here so I could say this to your face. You think you’re going to ditch practice this week so you can go nancy around with flowers in England and play Mr. Bride. Well, let me tell you this clear enough that it’ll get through your thick skull. You miss one practice, and you’re done. Off the team. No contract. Understood?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I thought I was going to do those things because my agent arranged it all with the front office in advance.”

  “Things change.”

  “I’m not even able to throw for another two weeks. You want me to stand on the sidelines at practice that badly?”

  “Nod your goddamn head, son. That’s all you need to do, then get your ass out of my office.”

  I got up from my chair, tossing my access card to the facility on his desk. “I’m going to England to be with my wife. And fuck you.”

  “Spare me the crock of shit, Rose. Wife? You’re not even married yet, and anybody with half a brain knows how this is going to turn out. Just like all your other little girlfriends. Like a flaming sack of shit left on the side of the road.”

  “Not this one. She’s different.”

  Coach Mackie rocked back in his chair, sniffing dismissively. “You may think so. But you’re not. You’re still a dumbass who can’t do anything right but throw a football. You stick to what you’re good at, and you’ll make a lot of money. Start playing at being a functioning adult? You’ll fail.”

  I leaned in close, then snatched the hotdog from his hands. “Let me put this in a way you’ll understand. This is your football team. This is how much I care about it.” I slam dunked the hotdog in the trash can. “And there’s mustard. All over your face.” I gestured vaguely, then gave a sarcastic salute before leaving his office.

  33

  Belle

  Blackshire House was a massive, manicured slice of the English countryside. A huge Victorian style manor towered in the center of the property while countless smaller buildings dotted the rolling green hills around it. In all, twelve-hundred guests would be attending the ceremony. Just over one hundred of the close friends, family, and more important business associates of Chris and his family had been invited to stay on the grounds for the four days leading up to the wedding.

  It was Sunday, and we still had a rehearsal dinner along with about a thousand last-minute preparations to get through before the ceremony.

  It still hadn’t settled in that technically; I was scrambling to make sure my own wedding was a success.

  My own wedding.

  I was sitting beneath a lone tree that gently shed some of its leaves with each chilly breeze. I had an earbud in one ear while I listened to classical music—not because I was sophisticated or cultured, but because I was doing anything I could to calm myself down.

  As if the universe sensed that I was getting too relaxed, Chris came happily jogging toward me. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, sweatpants, and sandals. He looked hilariously out of place in the context of all the uppity scenery, but as alwa
ys, I found it charming rather than irritating.

  He plopped himself down right next to me, then winced, gripping his shoulder, which was in a black half-fabric, half-metal brace that went down to his elbow.

  “Is someone being moody out here? What are you listening to, death metal? Sad country songs? Punk rock from the 90s?” He picked up an earbud and stuffed it into his ear before I could pause my music.

  “Ohhh,” Chris burst out laughing. “We’re being sophisticated. What’s the occasion?”

  I tugged the earbuds from him by the cord and stuffed my phone in my bag. “I was just trying to relax a little. I’ve got a lot of stressful things in my near future, so I was trying anything I could think of.”

  “Speak your problems and I will fix them, wifey. All you have to do is ask.”

  I gave him the look I’d grown used to giving him when he called me “wifey.” I especially hated that I’d grown to like the way it sounded from him, so I felt like I had to look extra annoyed to compensate. “Asking you to help with my problems would be like making a wish on the monkey’s paw.”

  “Harsh, but probably accurate.” Chris propped his knees up, resting his forearms on them. “It is pretty out here. You did a good job picking this place.”

  “It’s a miracle I managed it with you following me around the whole time. Jumping around. Making inappropriate jokes. Basically, showing a complete disregard for the seriousness of what I was trying to do in every imaginable way.”

  “But look how it turned out.” He swept his arm out across the view, as if he was somehow responsible for the gift of its beauty.

  I shook my head, then leaned it back to rest on the tree. If I closed my eyes, all I could hear was the rustle of leaves and the swish of wind past my ears. It was beautiful. It was going to be an amazing wedding. I’d done a good job, and my life would go on after this.

  “Oh,” Chris said. He lifted his ass to reach in his back pocket, then plucked something out. “I wrote some wedding vows for the ceremony.” He was smiling, then he frowned a little and shoved the list back in his pocket. “You know, to make it all look more genuine. I just thought you should know so I don’t show you up on the big day.”

  “Can I read yours before I write mine?”

  “Not a chance.” He hopped up and brushed the grass off his pants. “By the way, I heard you tried to secure separate rooms for us. I may have leaked to a few people where we were staying. Make sure you show up to the right room tonight, unless you want people to start getting the wrong idea.”

  I glared, but all he did was bend down to plant a kiss on my head. “Can’t have my wifey avoiding me.” With a shrug, Chris headed off to God only knew where—probably to part of the property where he could jump up and see how high he could reach all afternoon.

  Child.

  A man-child I was going to marry in four days.

  Sizzling hot dread snaked through my veins at the thought. I was going to get married in four days. Fake or not, a wedding was a wedding. Over a thousand people would be watching. My career would be made or broken. And then Chris and I would be shoved head-first into the messy business of deciding the biggest question.

  I knew how it was supposed to go if love came first. Then you had marriage, then the baby carriage. But what came next when marriage was first?

  A divorce, stupid.

  A divorce comes next, and I needed to stop kidding myself. That’s how this ended. Chris got his contract, I got a divorce, my career was revived. End of story. Happily ever after as long as they’re apart.

  34

  Chris

  Damon and I sat together near the edge of a dining hall that looked straight out of Beowulf. There was a long ass table, stone everything, and even a raised terrace where I figured the throne was probably supposed to sit. Except it was currently decked out in purple and cream everything, from tablecloths to little glass vases filled with colored rocks and banners overhead.

  It was the night of the dreaded rehearsal dinner, and I’d been informed that Belle and I were supposed to make some toasts to our family and friends, who were arriving now and gathering around the room to talk and snack on appetizers.

  Damon’s arms were folded, and he looked like he was either experiencing some gastrointestinal distress, or maybe just contemplating what an asshole he was.

  “You going to get misty eyed on me during the ceremony?” I asked.

  “Hardly. But I may shed a tear when I see all the zeroes on your next contract after this is all through.”

  I cringed a little. “There’s actually a little story I should probably tell you.”

  Damon had been calm and passive, but he knew me well enough to be scared. He sat up straighter, fixing me with hard eyes. “What did you do?”

  I recounted the story from Coach Mackie’s office, watching Damon deflate more with every word.

  “You realize what you’ve done,” he said slowly when I’d finished. “You at least realize that, right?”

  “I threw a hungry little man’s hotdog in the trash can.”

  “I mean all of this.” Damon gestured around the room. “Every last preparation and expense was to get you that contract. And you threw it in the trash can next to a jumbo hotdog. You threw it all away for nothing.”

  “No,” I said. “At the risk of sounding corny. It wasn’t for nothing.” I pointed to Belle. “I’m going to wife that woman so hard her knees will give out.”

  Realization slowly dawned on Damon, who looked like he was thinking about vomiting. “You’re serious?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  Ignoring me, Damon ran his palm across his mouth, eyes scanning the ceiling. “Wait. So assuming you’re not fucking with me, you actually want this marriage to be legitimate. But what about her? You realize it takes two to make a marriage work, right?”

  “She’s coming around.”

  “Your wedding is tomorrow, Chris.”

  “I do my best work under pressure.”

  Damon prodded my still-sore shoulder. “Yeah. Clearly. That’s why you nearly got tore in half against the blitz.”

  “Just look at her,” I said, pointing to Belle. She was endlessly adjusting a vase in the center of the table. She’d scoot it an inch, step back, survey it, then rush forward to move it in the opposite direction. Just when it looked like she was satisfied, she’d lurch forward and move it again. “She’s perfect.”

  “Perfectly neurotic, maybe.”

  “Hey,” I said. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

  Damon let out a low, pained sound from the depths of his chest. “You really are serious about all of this, aren’t you? God, help us.”

  “Well, I’ve got some love to make. Figurative love—by the way. We’ve already done the horizontal mambo dozens of times.”

  Damon shook his head. “Then maybe her judgment really is poor enough to go along with this idiotic plan of yours.”

  “See? That’s the optimistic brother I know and love.”

  Belle had moved on to trying to jump and tug a stray fiber loose from one of the overhanging banners when I found her. “Oh, thank God. Can you please reach that? It’s driving me crazy,” she said.

  I considered jumping and grabbing it, but that wouldn’t mean getting my hands on her. So I instead put my hands on either side of her chest and thrust her up in the air over my head. My shoulder wasn’t particularly happy about the maneuver, but as long as I didn’t try to cock Belle back and toss her in a perfect spiral downfield, I figured it’d survive. She gave me a few low effort swats but got over her annoyance for long enough to tug the stray fiber loose.

  I set her back down, dusting my hands. “Are you excited for the toasts?”

  “No, not really,” Belle said. “I like watching weddings, but I’m starting to realize being the co-star of one is absolutely terrifying.”

  “You’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got a plan for the toasts that should lighten the mood.”

  “C
hris. Please don’t go rogue and start trying to help. I really want tonight and everything else to go as smoothly as possible.”

  “Oh, smooth is practically my mantra. Don’t even worry.”

  “I’m worried.”

  I patted her cheek. Adorably, she leaned into my palm like a puppy looking for ear scratches. I gave her earlobe a playful little tug, then laughed as she scrunched up her face and tried to swat at me. “You’re so aggressive. Just relax.”

  “You’d be aggressive too if the biggest day of your life hung on the balance and an overly energetic man-child had to be trusted not to do something crazy.”

  “Aww,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “I had no idea this was so important to you, but it’s important to me, too. Matrimony. Sanctity of marriage. Consecration. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Well, mostly the last part, but still.”

  “Chris. Please just go sit back down and let me do my job. I’ve got a few things to do before the rehearsal starts, and I need to focus.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll go back to watching that tight little ass of yours while you fast-walk around. Loving the dress, by the way.”

  Belle’s cheeks went red, and she gave me a look of half-warning before she walked off to fiddle with the chairs, which she must’ve thought weren’t pushed in evenly.

  I just stood there with my arms crossed as I watched her for a few moments. I had a habit of living life downhill. I tended to lean into whatever momentum it threw my way and not spend half a thought for where it was taking me. The ride was what I lived for, and I rode it wherever it took me.

  So it came as something of a shock when I realized where I was. Really, realized. All those things I’d said to Damon? All the half-formed thoughts I’d let bounce around and guide me to this point? They were real. They weren’t just me fucking around.