I felt Luna shuffle between us and shove something into Chris’ hands. “Gross,” she said, then scurried off. Chris slid a ring on my finger as we kissed.
“You may continue kissing the bride,” the officiant said a little hesitantly.
I finally made myself stop, pulling back to smile at Chris. I realized Lance had let himself out, feeling a pang of guilt. Lance was a thought for another time, though. I’d come into this moment thinking it was my sort of dream. My almost wedding. My mostly perfect day. Except I’d been wrong.
This was my dream wedding. My dream husband. And my dream moment.
“I now pronounce you, man and wife.” He hesitated. “You may kiss the bride. Again.”
Epilogue - Chris
* * *
Belle met me back at the altar the night of our ceremony. She’d changed out of her wedding dress and was wrapped up in a coat against the cold. We were both tired and a little buzzed from the reception, but I’d insisted that we come here first.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
“Because I want this all to be real. And I don’t think it’d feel real unless I properly proposed.”
“I’m already wearing the rings, how—”
I flicked Belle’s nose. She raised a hand to her face, laughing. With smooth, criminal fingers, I swiped the rings from her finger and got down on one knee.
Belle planted her fist on her hips, looking down at me. “Really?”
“Yes. And this is just the first of many times I’ll get on my knees for you. But this is the last time you’ll be fully clothed while I do it.”
She put her fingertips to her forehead, leaning on her other arm. “I can’t believe we did this.”
“Marry me, Belle Waters.”
“I already did,” she said, sticking her hand out.
I slid the rings on her finger, feeling immediately better. “Damn right you did.”
“Was this as romantic as you imagined it would be?”
I pulled her in close, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I don’t really do a lot of imagining. I just kind of do.”
“Is that right?” she asked, eyes getting heavy as she searched my face, her gaze lingering on my mouth.
“It is. And as a demonstration, now I’ll do you.”
“Here? There are like a million windows. Anybody could be watching.”
“Then we’ll do it in the gardens. I know how flowers get you going.”
She gave me a wry look. “Want to know a secret? It’s you. Against my better judgment, you are the thing that gets me going. In a boat. In a moat. In a plane or on a train.”
“Don’t quote Shakespeare to me. You’ll get me all hot and bothered.”
“Shakesp… Wait, are you serious?”
I scooped her up, carrying her toward the gardens. Some questions were better left unanswered.
One Month Later
* * *
I rubbed the back of my neck, which was still hot and a little sore from the sunburn Belle and I had picked up while we boated around the Pacific Rim. It had been a classy, sex-filled, possibly pregnancy inducing honeymoon for the ages.
It had also been the first time she’d really felt free to me. I hadn’t realized how much she’d been trying to restrain herself until she finally let go, and all it was doing was making me more crazy for her.
At the moment, we were sitting around the dinner table at my brother’s house. Chelsea had made my second favorite meal, a dish she lovingly called “tuna noodle.” A little detective work had shown me it was supposed to be some sort of casserole with a crunchy top of oven-toasted salty chips with a gooey mixture of sauce, tuna, and noodle beneath.
The monstrosity on my plate was vaguely reminiscent of a brain. It was pinkish, glistening, and seeping fluids.
Belle was an unfortunate virgin of Chelsea’s cooking, and was staring at her plate with mingling horror and dismay.
Luna sat opposite us between Damon and Chelsea, while Milly and Chelsea’s brother, Grant, were at either end of the table. Everybody except Damon was doing something to stop from having to be the first to take a bite.
Damon dutifully picked up his fork and gave a small look toward his wife that I thought only I caught. My best guess of its meaning was, you’re lucky I love you so much. Then he plunged his fork into the meal with a wet schlup and began eating.
While Damon attacked his task with a serious expression, the rest of us seemed more intent on moving it around our plates to hopefully create the illusion we’d actually eaten some.
There was a clatter and then a shattering sound. “Oops,” Luna said. She met my eyes, then gave me a vague shake of her head and a wink.
Chelsea looked down. “Luna! Oh, baby, it’s okay. There’s plenty more. I had an extra batch in the kitchen in case anyone wanted seconds.”
Luna hung her head in defeat as Chelsea cleaned up the mess, then replaced her plate with a steaming, even bigger portion than before. I briefly wondered if maybe Chelsea and my brother were a good match because the woman was secretly just as sadistic as he was. What if this whole horrible cook routine was just an act? What if she was watching us all right now knowing full well what was happening?
Hmm.
Belle leaned close. “What do we do? I can’t make myself bite this.”
“Just talk. When she leaves the table, we’ll throw it out the window.”
“Seriously?”
“No. I tried that once. Her lasagna punched through the roof of a parked car.” Okay, I was exaggerating. I also couldn’t figure out how to remove the screens from Damon’s windows. “We just don’t eat it, then say our appetites were off. I do it all the time.”
Belle nodded.
Eventually, conversation started up around the table. “So?” Damon asked. “How was the honeymoon.”
My dick is still sore. “Great,” I said.
Epilogue - Belle
* * *
Chris was dressed in a suit, and even though we’d had a brief struggle over it in the car, I’d managed to stop him from undoing his tie and half-undressing himself as he had a tendency to do. I wanted him to look professional and sharp, not like he was dripping with sex appeal and only had one foot out of the bedroom.
Okay, that might’ve been a bit of a lost cause, but still. The important thing was that I’d won, and as a one month veteran of the whole marriage thing, I’d say that was enough.
After Chris left his team, they’d gone on to lose four games straight. And they hadn’t just lost by a little. They’d been blowouts. Fans of the team were calling for Coach Mackie’s head for mismanaging Chris’ situation, and now he seemed to realize the only way to save his job was to beg for Chris to come back.
I tugged on his lapels, straightening him out a little. I even tried licking my finger and attacking his hair, but it popped right back out of place as soon as I’d pushed it down.
Chris shrugged, then gestured for me to enter when he opened Coach Mackie’s door.
Mackie was slumped at his desk, looking deflated and pissed to see us at the same time. Good.
“Why is she here?” he asked Chris.
“She is my negotiator. She’s here to make sure you get this apology right.”
“Apology? Don’t hold your breath, Rose. I’m simply going to make you an offer and you’ll do the smart thing and take it. I’m not going to kiss your ass.”
“Then we’re done here,” I said. I got up and started toward the door. Chris followed me, and we only stopped when Mackie said “wait” in a hilariously hoarse voice.
“Wait,” he said again, his head hanging even more now. “Sit the fuck down.”
“Someone is forgetting the magic word,” I said, not taking my hand from the doorknob.
I thought his eyes were about to pop out of his head. His face had gone a purply shade of red, but he finally moved his fleshy lips. “Please. Sit back down.”
Chris and I took our seats again.
“Yo
u can present your offer now.” I’d been coached up by Damon when the three of us hatched this plan. I knew what rough range to expect, and I knew what was too low to accept. Frankly, I didn’t particularly care if he gave us the best offer any QB in history had gotten. I wanted the man to squirm before he got his relief.
He slid a napkin across the table with a number on it. “Thirty million per year, four years guaranteed,” he said.
“Why’d you write it on the napkin if you were going to just say it?” Chris asked.
I had to stifle a laugh, but Mackie’s face got even more red. “Do you take it or not?”
I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, then lifted my palm up. My eyes never left Mackie’s. It was hard not to burst out laughing, especially when I saw Chris trying not to crack up beside me. He’d told me many times how hot it was watching me squeeze more money out of Damon in his office when they’d tried to convince me to play the role of fake wife. It was why both of them insisted I do this with Chris today, and I had to admit it was fun.
Mackie’s eyes were bulging. “Thirty one.”
I got up again, shortly followed by Chris. “We’re done here,” I said.
“Sit back down!” Mackie called out.
This time we got the door halfway open before he croaked “Please”.
I shared a small smile with Chris, then we both went back down to sit. “Look,” I said, threading my fingers on his desk and leaning forward. “I’m going to level with you. Thirty two million would be enough. But you’re going to need to get on your knees and kiss Chris’ ring. Then you’ll tell him you missed him and you’ll never do him dirty like that again.”
Chris’ face was on the verge of breaking. He put his hand over his mouth, lowered his eyes, and shook a little with quiet laughter.
Mackie just slid his bulging eyes between the two of us. “No. It’s not happening. You can have thirty two, but I’m not—”
After five more minutes of Chris and I getting up, threatening to leave, and drawing more concessions from Coach Mackie, we finally reached a deal.
Chris stood in the center of the room while his coach grudgingly got up from his chair like he was walking to his own execution. He shuffled toward Chris, paused several long seconds, then got on one knee.
“I do,” Chris whispered. “I do, you beautiful little bastard.”
“Chris,” I said. “Don’t distract him.”
Coach Mackie stared at Chris’ extended hand with absolute disgust. He finally puckered his lips and kissed Chris’ ring. “I missed you.”
“Baby,” I mouthed.
He glared at me. “I missed you, baby. And I won’t do you like that again.”
Chris bent down and scooped the small man up, spinning him in a circle before letting him down. “You had me at sit the fuck down, you grumpy little bastard.”
I smiled at the two of them, wondering how long Chris’ coach was going to survive of the four year contract before some sort of Chris induced heart attack took him out.
Six Months Later
* * *
Contrary to magazine headlines, celebrity talk shows, and even a viral meme campaign that caught a picture of Chris looking past me to a hotdog someone was carrying like he’d fallen in love—contrary to it all, we were still together.
Still married. Still in love. Still everything.
I’d also broken a promise I made to Damon before our honeymoon. He’d practically begged me not to reproduce with Chris. He said something about owing it to future generations not to let his brother pass his DNA on.
Oops.
Damon and Chelsea had been extremely busy the past few months launching a training academy that Chelsea and Milly were partnering on. Apparently, the idea was to have some sort of partnership with Damon’s agency and blah blah “synergy” and other business buzzwords. All I really got out of it was that Chelsea and Milly were both thrilled to be getting back to their roots with tennis and loving every minute of it.
But it had meant Chris and I were able to mostly hide my pregnancy between taking a post-season vacation that kept us out of their sight and my creative use of baggy clothing. But there was no hiding it anymore.
I was ripe, and I’d passed beyond that “should I ask her if she’s pregnant or suggest some weight loss tips” stage. I was definitely pregnant, and Chris and I were meeting Damon at Rose athletic to officially break the news to him.
Chris had taken to kneeling down and telling “secrets” to my belly on occasion. It was, of course, adorable, especially since I could usually hear him.
He got down on his knees while we rode the elevator up to Damon’s floor and faced my belly. “Listen, little alien baby.”
“I told you to stop calling him that.”
Chris gave me a level look. “He’ll be cute when he’s done cooking. But I’ve seen pictures of what he looks like right now. Anyway,” he said, lowering his voice. “Alien baby, this man we’re about to meet is kind of scary. But he’s your uncle, so you’re obligated to love him anyway. Think of it like being a fan of a horrible football team. That’s what loving family like Damon is like. You show up to the game even though you know it’s going to be a bloodbath. You cheer when there’s any sign of something good. And like every other game, it ends in defeat. But you know you’re going to show up next week anyway, because it’s still your team.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” I said.
“This is an ‘A’ and ‘B’ conversation, Belle. So please ‘C’ your way out of it.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“So when you meet Damon, resist the urge to run. You’re not ready to come busting out of there yet, anyway. And he’s not as bad as he seems. Once you get used to him. I mean… Okay, he’s probably as bad as he seems in most areas. But he’s got a soft spot for kids. I think.”
We found Damon in his office with even more of a look of consternation on his face than usual. I’d expected an immediate reaction when he saw my stomach, which I wasn’t trying to hide. But he barely looked up as we came in and sat down.
Chris squinted, then tapped his knuckles on the desk, trying to get Damon’s attention. “Are we supposed to ask why you look constipated?”
“Because I’ve got an important client who is making it sound like he’s about to ditch his baseball career to take care of his kid.”
“Good for him?” I said.
“No. Bad for me. He’s coming up on a huge contract, and I’ll have to spend months patching things up with sponsors if he walks away from it.”
“The mom isn’t in the picture?” I asked.
“Not anymore. So he thinks he’s doing the noble thing by throwing away his career for the kid.”
“Then find him a nanny,” Chris suggested. He had picked up an apple from Damon’s desk and taken an exploratory bite in it.
“A nanny,” Damon repeated dryly.
“Yeah. A woman who takes care of his kid till things settle down.”
Damon looked like he was about to tell Chris what a horrible idea that was when his eyes found my stomach. “Is that…”
I wiggled my eyebrows.
Damon covered his face with his palms. “Oh, no. You let him put a baby in you?”
“Against my better judgment,” I said.
“I mean, statistically speaking, the way we’ve been since… well, since before the wedding honestly. It was bound to happen. Condom’s aren’t perfect. Birth control isn’t perfect. And as it turns out, when you use neither, the statistical chance really sky rockets.”
Damon shook his head. “Please just tell me this isn’t going to make you quit football.”
“Oh, no. Belle seems kind of excited about taking care of the little thing.”
I nodded. “I’m still going to keep up with my business, but,” I gave a cocky little shrug. “After the way things picked up from our wedding, people are willing to work around my schedule now.”
Damon nodded. He looked to be calming
down and taking things in quickly, as he usually did. Damon was prone to grumpiness and bursts of irritation with his brother, but the man had a remarkable ability to calm himself down and look at things rationally. “What ever happened with that clown in the turtleneck? The one who interrupted the ceremony.”
“Lance,” I said. “And he apologized. Profusely. He even went through considerable effort to patch things up with Chris.”
“I’ve magnanimously decided to forgive turtleneck,” Chris said in a ridiculously sanctimonious tone. “I’ve even allowed him to try to fix his friendship with my wifey.”
I grinned. “We’re not friends like we used to be, but we’re civil now. And he has agreed to stop trying to convince me we’re soul mates. So I’d say he’s doing much better.”
“What about the woman who tried to burn your career to the ground?” Damon asked.
“Oh, she’s not doing as well. She got rebound married to spite Lance. But it turned out the guy she married was just after her trust fund, and he got half of it in the divorce.”
“Two divorces in less than a year? That’s almost impressive,” Damon said.
I laughed. “Karma has a way of coming around, I guess.”
“Speaking of karma,” Chris said. He balled up a napkin and expertly tossed it straight between Damon’s eyes. It quietly ricocheted and landed on the desk.
Damon blinked. “What the hell was that for?”
“I don’t know. Something shitty you most likely did in the past twenty-four hours. So, anyway, about this whole nanny thing. I’ve got a brilliant idea.”
“The last time you had a brilliant idea, it turned into a fake marriage that wound up getting a poor, innocent girl pregnant.”
“Wait, was that whole thing my idea?”
“Honestly,” Damon said. “I don’t even remember anymore. I just know that when you get involved, innocent women tend to get knocked up, locked down, or otherwise led into relationships with bad men.”
My (Mostly) Fake Wedding Page 16
