My (Mostly) Fake Wedding

by Bloom, Penelope

  I was getting fake married tomorrow to secure a contract with the team I’d just quit on. The team I’d quit on to make it to the wedding that was supposed to save my job.

  In other words, there was no more doubting it.

  I really wanted Belle. I wanted the ring I put on her finger tomorrow to stay there forever. I wanted all the cutesy, frilly, flowery shit that came along with our vows.

  I wanted a wife. And I wanted it to be the borderline midget who was currently crawling under the table to scoop up a bug that had infiltrated the room.

  She ran while flinching and making terrified noises as some kind of beetle tried to escape her hands. When she finally flung it out the door, an older woman came in screeching a second later with a giant beetle in her hair. Belle, of course, tried to swat it out of the woman’s hair and ended up missing.

  There was a deafening crack as Belle open palm slapped some poor grandmother in the forehead.

  I watched it all happen as I felt honey-sweet happiness spread through me. That little disaster was going to be my wife, and at least one of us wasn’t going to be pretending.

  35

  Belle

  When I finally sat down beside Chris for the start of the rehearsal dinner, I felt like I’d run a marathon. The huge table was full of happily chattering guests who were already snacking on appetizers and sipping drinks. I’d mostly put the beetle incident behind me, but when I looked at the poor old woman, I could still see a red outline of my hand on her forehead.

  Beside me, Chris had made an attempt at dressing for the occasion. Trying to fit himself into formal, classy attire seemed a little like listening to a violin playing rock music. There was a light flavor of fancy, but at the end of the day, rock was still rock, and Chris would always be Chris.

  He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, despite me asking him not to this morning, and the velvety maroon vest he wore over his shirt seemed to hug his muscular frame in an obscenely sexual way. I’d even personally witnessed him combing his wild dirty blond hair this morning, but it had already reverted to its natural state of messiness.

  It looked like I’d invited some dangerously charming sex pirate to my wedding rehearsal.

  Chris leaned over to whisper in my ear. “If I knew there was going to be grandma slapping, I would’ve been way more hyped for this thing.”

  “It was an accident. And she was very kind about the whole thing.”

  “You ready for this?” Chris got up without waiting for a response and tapped his fork against the side of his glass. “I believe it’s customary for these things to include a roast.”

  “Toast,” I hissed up at him. “Toast.”

  “Nope,” he said quietly to me. “I spent several seconds on a search engine to figure out what a wedding rehearsal was and clearly saw something about a roast.” He winked down at me. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

  Too late. I was worried.

  Chris started strolling around by his chair, looking more than comfortable—he looked practically delighted to be exactly where he was at exactly this moment. Of course he did. He was causing chaos and making my life hell. If there was one thing I’d learned about the man, it was that his happy place was somewhere between my legs and making me a nervous wreck.

  “My roast is going to start with my dear brother, Damon. Damon,” he said, gesturing benevolently toward his brother, who I imagined was already fuming. “You’re the gray sprinkle on the rainbow cupcake that is our lives. You’re the reason we all have a middle finger, and about as much fun as an unsalted pretzel. Oh, and Chelsea, if he’s holding you hostage, just blink two times for us. Yep. See? While we’re on the topic of my brother’s lovely wife…”

  I sat and endured Chris’ “roast” while I wished I could curl inside my own body like a human turtle. It was a slight relief that everybody was laughing along with Chris, who probably could’ve charmed his way out of jail.

  But my relief ended a few minutes later when Chris concluded his little roasting spree and nodded to me. “Now, please put your hands together for my wifey, Belle.”

  “Fiancée,” I corrected under my breath. I stood up, then remembered to tap my knife against my glass a few times. My mouth felt dry, especially when I took in the endless pairs of eyes watching and waiting for me to follow up Chris’ little impromptu comedy act. “So, um. I prepared a toast. My lovely fiancé doesn’t have the best listening skills. You could say he’s… Um.” I trailed off. I’d been hoping some hilarious blast of wit would come to me, but all I felt was dry wind and tumbleweeds floating around in my head.

  “Right. So my toast. Thanks so much for everyone who came.” I had about six paragraphs more of my toast that I’d practiced in the mirror, written, re-written, taken notes on, and spent hours thinking about. Instead of finishing it, I practically fell back into my seat. “Thank you.”

  Chris tilted his head at me, smiling strangely.

  A pregnant pause followed from the room, then a scattering of unenthusiastic applause rose and fell as quickly as a belch.

  Luna, Chelsea’s daughter, had been thoroughly enjoying Chris’ roast and was watching me with rapt attention when I stood. She looked adorable in her big, poufy dress, and I could tell she was still waiting for something from me. All the awkwardness in the world hadn’t done it, but her cute, eager little eyes motivated me to stand back up.

  “Actually,” I said, clearing my throat. I reached down, picked up my glass, and tinged my knife against the side a few times, quieting down the low murmur that had resumed. “I did have one thing to say about Chris. It’s just that I can’t forget the first time we met… No matter how hard I try.”

  There was a delayed wave of laughter, a few grins, and an uncontrollable burst of laughter from Luna—who slapped her little knees and shot me two thumbs up of approval while she mimicked wiping a tear from her eye.

  Chris had folded his arms and was giving me a look of appraisal. I thought there might even be a touch of pride in his eyes.

  “And…” I said, plunging forward. I had a huge smile on my face now, feeling like I’d surprised myself with the wit of my little joke, and trusting that more would come if I just kept talking. “Chris has a way of looking at the world through… Rose colored glasses.” I paused, half smiling as I waited for everyone to burst out laughing at my blinding wit. Luna looked around, realized she was supposed to laugh, and then roared with more laughter, which only made things more awkward as it was the only sound.

  I put both my palms in the air and bowed my head. “Thank you for your time.”

  Chris nudged me once everyone had gone back to talking. “Roast number one was pretty good. Roast number two?” He pursed his lips and shook his head in commiseration. “We’re going to have forever together. I’ll eventually train you up.”

  “Last time I checked, forever didn’t have an expiration date.”

  “Expiration dates are a myth. I mean, you want to tell me pasta goes bad? Bullshit. I’ve eaten pasta older than your grandma and lived to tell the tale.”

  I watched him, trying to figure out what he was saying but getting no clues from his face. “Yeah, but our deal has an expiration date. It’s written into a contract. You get your extension with the team; we get a divorce. That was the plan, remember?”

  Chris looked uncharacteristically hesitant. “There’s something I haven’t exactly told you about the team yet.”

  “What do you mean? Did you already get the extension?” Why did that thought give me a fresh surge of dread? It should’ve been a relief if he got his deal already. It would mean things would be simpler. We could literally marry and divorce the next day, if we wanted. There wouldn’t be this awkward hangover period following the wedding where we didn’t know how long we’d need to keep pretending.

  Chelsea interrupted us before Chris could explain. “Hey,” she said with a little grimace. “I know this is probably the last thing you want with your perfectly planned rehearsal… so
I told Luna we’d need you to be okay with it. But she spotted the DJ equipment and started begging me to let her ‘play some jams’ for everyone. Do you think that would be okay?”

  I looked behind Belle, where Luna was hugging her leg and peeking out. She was biting her lip and watching me like a small dog might look at a piece of bacon hanging just out of reach.

  With a smile, I nodded. “Knock yourself out, Luna.”

  Luna clapped excitedly, then ran off toward the DJ booth.

  A few moments later, the room was bombarded with the sounds of princess music loaded with enough bass to make my fillings vibrate. Thankfully, everybody found it highly amusing, especially when Luna started using the microphone in the huge booth to encourage people to get up and dance.

  I somehow found myself swept up by Chris and pranced around the room, laughing even as I embarrassed myself with my nonexistent dance moves.

  The whole thing was a pleasantly fun surprise, and there was no more mention of Chris’ mysterious surprise about the team. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he might have been relieved for the distraction. And I found myself not entirely disappointed to set the news aside, at least for now. Because just for one night, I let myself fall into the fantasy we’d woven.

  I looked at the strong, tall, breathtaking man laughing across from me as he spun me in wild circles around the room. I let myself believe he was mine. My husband. My soulmate. My love. All the things this man in this moment was supposed to be. I let myself imagine this was all my day, not the lie I’d spent the last few months meticulously crafting.

  Worse, I let myself imagine how it would feel to know this was just the first night in an endless arrangement of nights. Just one night of fun and happiness that would eventually become part of our history. It’d be our sweet, sappy story we’d tell with nostalgic smiles over dinner and glasses of wine. We’d make our kids fake gag as we alluded to the wedding night that was to follow—to the honeymoon and the way our love had blossomed.

  Chris had stopped spinning me and pulled me into a slow dance, I realized. I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t even noticed the music shifted to “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.”

  I smiled up at Chris a little ruefully. “The song every woman dreams of dancing to at her wedding rehearsal.”

  “Isn’t it?” he asked.

  Our chests were pressed together, and his deep voice rumbled into me. It felt comforting and strange.

  “Everyone is watching us,” I whispered. I’d leaned in to rest my cheek on his chest, partly because I was tired from dancing. But once I’d found myself there, I didn’t want to move.

  “We’re quite the sight, I imagine,” he said softly, still moving me in a slow, peaceful circle as the music trickled through the room. “Me, handsome and tight-assed. You, sexy as hell with that thick ass and—”

  I tilted my head up, shutting him up with a dry look. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “And you love it.”

  Yes, I kind of did. “Just shut up and let me have my moment.”

  For once, Chris went quiet, and I spent the rest of the night walking through the twilight hours of my fantasy. The fantasy I knew I’d be too scared to reach out and grab. The fantasy that was too good to be within reach, so I knew I’d watch it flitter by and spend the rest of my life wondering if I could’ve actually had it.

  But at least I’d have tonight.

  36

  Chris

  Belle wasn’t on the verge of passing out from being drunk as I shouldered the door to our room open and half-carried her inside. She was just that sleepy, and it was fucking adorable. She had yawned about twenty times in the last minute, and she took two faltering steps toward the bed before collapsing face first.

  I admired her ass and the outline of her thong through the silky purple dress she was wearing—because you didn’t just jog through the Louvre without at least paying your proper respects to the artwork on display. Then I went over to her and rolled her to face upright. I tugged off her shoes carefully and then repositioned her so she was on the pillow and under the blankets.

  “I’ll be happy to undress you if you want to sleep in the nude,” I whispered.

  “That’s okay, Big Boy,” she murmured, eyes already closed. “Mama’s tired.”

  I raised my eyebrows, then covered my laughter with my fist. Apparently, sleepy Belle had just as much of a tendency toward kinky and wild as drunken Belle. Was there a single surprise about the woman I didn’t like?

  I felt a little ridiculous doing it, but I kicked off my shoes and sprawled out on the couch across from the bed. Belle and I had slept together numerous times, but I felt strange tonight. Part of me felt like we’d had a real moment at the rehearsal, and I hoped that wasn’t just my brain seeking the truth it wanted. I could still feel the comfortable weight of her head against my chest as we danced. I could remember the smell of her shampoo like fruity strawberries drifting up to my nose.

  I’d realized regardless of our deal or any silly arrangement we’d made, this was her wedding. She was a woman, and like most women, she’d probably dreamed about this day for her whole life. And I was the bastard who’d cornered her into selling that moment to me and my Satan-spawn of a brother.

  Last night she let herself enjoy the moment, and that was when I knew what I needed to do. I was going to make sure she got the wedding of her dreams—the groom of her dreams. Okay, maybe that was over-promising. But I was at least going to make sure I didn’t fuck up tomorrow.

  I had no idea if Belle was remotely on the same page as me. I’d gone from wondering if maybe I wanted this thing to last to feeling existential dread at the idea of it ending. I’d say I had gone head over heels for her, except I never understood that phrase. I mean, wasn’t my head typically over my heels? Wouldn’t it be heels over head if I was supposed to be falling for her?

  Questions like that were above my paygrade, but I knew one thing.

  Tomorrow, I was marrying the woman I loved.

  I just didn’t know how long I’d get to keep her.

  37

  Damon

  There were a few things I knew for certain in my life. My brother, Chris, was an idiot. I loved my wife, Chelsea. I loved Luna. I hated when people walked and didn’t bother to pick their damn feet up.

  But I also knew when my brother was happy. Actually happy. Last night I’d watched him dance with Belle at the rehearsal dinner, and some isolated, ill-advised corner of my heart broke a for him. That was my little brother, after all. He was clearly in deep for the wedding planner, but as far as I could tell, she was firmly on the fence about him.

  It made me wish there was something I could do, and against my better judgment, I decided to go seek him out the morning of the ceremony. I knocked on the door of his room. “You alone?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Chris grunted. “Just—” he groaned with relief. “Just a second.”

  I screwed up my face at the door, trying very hard not to imagine what my idiot brother was doing in there. I’d once walked in on him doing naked yoga, and I suspected I still needed to see an optometrist about updating my prescription after having my retinas burned like that.

  “Okay,” he said, still sounding like he was breathing heavy.

  “You’re sure you’re alone?” I asked, hesitating with my hand on the door.

  “Yeah.”

  I pushed it open to see Chris with his back to me. He was hunched over at the shoulders slightly and his arm was pumping up and down, shaking his whole body.

  “Jesus Christ,” I said, shielding my eyes. “I need you to stop masturbating. Immediately.”

  Without stopping his arm, Chris turned around with a shit-eating grin on his face. That was when I saw the protein drink he was shaking in his hand. Between belly laughs, my brother put it right over his crotch and groaned like he was enjoying himself as he shook it a few more times, then laughed harder.

  I shook my head, searching the depths of my soul for the will not
to laugh—not to encourage him. Unfortunately, I smiled a little, which gave Chris all the ammunition he needed to cook up yet another dumb stunt in the endless procession of dumb stunts that was his life. “Are you finished?”

  Something lit up in his eyes, and I knew I’d asked the wrong question. He stuck the shaker cup out to me, raising a suggestive eyebrow. “Why, stepbro. Are you offering to help if I’m not?”

  “I’m not your stepbrother, idiot. And no.”

  “So,” he asked, sinking into his chair and taking a swig of his drink. “What brings he-who-must-not-be-named to my abode?”

  “I felt obligated to give my little brother some advice before he gets hitched.”

  Chris watched me with suspicious eyes. “Pretend hitched,” he said.

  “Is that what it is to you, though?”

  I shrugged. “What else would it be?”

  “It might be my brother’s foolish hoping something fake could turn into something real. Have you talked to her about any of this?”

  Chris grunted. “I’m not sure what we are talking about. So, probably not.”

  “For once, act like you have a pair of brain cells to rub together. Stay with me here. You love the wedding planner. You’re wishing this marriage was real. You don’t know if she feels the same way, and you’re just hoping it’ll somehow work out for the best. Am I making sense?”

  “Assuming you were right, which I’m not saying you are—by the way. How would you suggest a man in that position should broach the topic? Hey, want to pretend this fake marriage is a real one? We can ride off into the sunset—you on top, me on the bottom.”

  Speaking to my brother required an ability to tune out portions of what came from his mouth. He couldn’t help himself, I’d learned, and it was like speaking another language. I’d learned to cut through his sarcasm and jokes to pluck the true meaning. “A man would find the wedding planner and tell her how he felt. A scared little boy would pretend to masturbate with his protein shake and hide in his room all morning.”