One Hot Fake: An Accidental Fake Marriage Romance

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “I’ll have a cold beer, please,” I say.

  “A cold one coming up,” he says.

  He places a coaster on the bar in front of me and seconds later places my beer and a glass on it. I don’t need the glass and drink straight from the bottle. I swing the barstool around to have a view of the whole bar, and that’s when I see Marian walking in.

  She’s changed from the black trousers she was wearing on the flight into a pinkish miniskirt and a sleeveless top. She’s also let her thick golden-brown mane loose, and it falls to her shoulders.

  My eyes are drawn to her long shapely legs, but I quickly avert my gaze when I realize that she’s headed my way.

  She comes to the bar and stares at me before bursting into laughter. “I can’t even accuse you of following me because I found you here,” she says. She has a beautiful laugh. One I would not mind hearing over and over again.

  “I don’t mind being stalked,” I say.

  She closes the distance between us and sits on the barstool next to mine. “Is this taken?”

  “It is now,” I say.

  The bartender introduces himself as Mike and proceeds to ask Marian what she wants to drink.

  “I don’t know,” Marian says. “This is my first time in Vegas. Make me a cocktail that screams Vegas.”

  Mike grins. “A Vegas special coming up, Ma’am.” He turns away to make Marian’s drink.

  “Is it your first time in Vegas too?” Marian says to me as she wriggles on the barstool to get comfortable.

  I wish I were that stool, and she’s wriggling her curvy ass over me. Heat whips through me. “No, I’m afraid it’s not.”

  She contemplates me. “Why do you say it like it’s a bad thing?”

  “Every time I’ve come to Vegas, it’s for someone else’s bachelor party or wedding,” I explain.

  She gives me a puzzled look.

  “Always the groomsman, never the groom,” I say.

  She laughs. “I didn’t know that applied to men as well.”

  Mike places a drink layered with bright colors on the counter in front of Marian.

  “That looks yummy,” she says.

  Mike grins from ear-to-ear as if he has just presented her with a gold nugget. I don’t blame him. Marian oozes friendliness and energy.

  She pulls her drink closer and brings it to her mouth. The bartender and I watch, entranced, as she closes her eyes and takes a long sip. We wait with bated breath for her judgment.

  When she opens her eyes, they’re gleaming, and a smile plays at the corner of her mouth. She looks at the bartender. “Mike, there is no doubt this is the best cocktail I’ve ever had.”

  Mike looks like he’s ready to fly from the compliment.

  “So, tell me, Declan. What is it that you do in Santa Monica?” she asks.

  “I sell pizza,” I say.

  “I can’t tell when you’re serious or when you’re teasing,” Marian says.

  “I’m dead serious,” I tell her.

  “OK,” she says. “I believe you.”

  “And what do you do yourself?” I say. Her emerald green eyes are like an open window. Wide and inviting.

  “Take a guess,” she says and sips her drink. She wraps her full lips around the straw and pulls. I imagine her wrapping her lips around my cock while looking up at me with her gorgeous eyes.

  I quickly take a swig of my beer to cool me down. “I think you are in PR or communications.”

  “I’m impressed,” she says. “You are pretty close. I’m a wedding planner. And before you ask me, no, I’m not married.”

  I pick up on the defensive note in her voice.

  The bartender comes over to our end of the counter. “Can I get you another round?”

  “Sure, why not?” Marian says. “Declan will have another beer as well.”

  “I believe you,” I say when Mike turns away.

  “What do you believe?” Marian.

  “That you are a wedding planner.”

  She laughs. Marian is easy to speak to and time flies as we drink and chat, our voices getting louder by the minute.

  Several hours later, Marian is clearly tipsy, and so am I. Letting loose is the main reason why people come to Vegas. Still, I try to pace myself. I want to make sure that I can take care of her. She brings out protective feelings in me that I’ve never felt with another woman.

  “Remember what you said about always a groomsman and never a groom?” Marian asks, her voice slurring.

  I nod.

  “That’s me,” she says.

  “But there is no rush to get married,” I tell her.

  “But I do want to get married,” Marian says fiercely. “The only trouble is, I don’t think I’ll ever find the right person. There are two types of people in this world.” She holds up two fingers in the air.

  “Go on.” My tongue feels heavy. I’m drunker than I thought I was.

  “People who find love and people who don’t.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” I say. Even I can hear that my voice is slurring. “I think I’m in the second group,” I tell her.

  Her eyes widen, and then her face splits into a grin. “Me too. We’re kindred spirits.”

  “It’s not a bad group,” I say, but my voice carries a tinge of sadness, and she picks on it immediately.

  “You’re just saying that. You don’t mean it. Nobody wants to be in that group. I don’t. It’s just that I don’t have a choice,” Marian says.

  She’s right. I miss my brother Ace and best friend Park. It had been the three of us for the longest time, but now they are both married with families of their own. As Marian says, there are people who found love and people who didn’t. I’m firmly in the second group.

  She bangs the bar, jolting me back to the present. “I don’t like being in that group, and I know you don’t either. Why don’t we do something about it?” she says, her emerald green eyes gleaming. She looks at me expectantly, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. She rolls her eyes. “We are in Vegas, the easiest place in the world to get married.”

  I’m drunk, but a part of me realizes that her plan is a bit too dramatic.

  “Mike, give us another round, please. We’re celebrating something,” Marian says to the bartender.

  Laughter bubbles up in my throat. I can’t wait to tell Park and Ace about this. The day I almost got married to a stranger in Vegas.

  Chapter 3

  Marian

  A blinding light strikes my eyes, and I raise my hand to shield them. As I slowly awaken, I become aware of the pain in my throat. It feels like someone was in there all night, with a hard brush scrubbing the sides of my throat.

  I stiffen as something growls next to me. I open one eye and then the other and see the back of a man in my bed. I inch away and stifle a scream. The man rolls onto his back, and when I see his face, the events of the previous night come slamming into my brain.

  “Oh, God.”

  Declan. That’s his name. We met on the plane, made small talk, and said goodbye when we reached Vegas. Then we met in the lobby of the hotel and again at the bar. I remember us talking and drinking ourselves silly.

  But how the hell did I end up in his bed or he in mine?

  I lift the covers and look down at myself.

  I’m in a bra and panties, and I don’t remember removing my clothes. Heck, I don’t even remember coming up to the room. I raise my head and glance around the room. I can’t tell whether it’s my room or Declan’s.

  My mind is a whirl of confusion. I’ve never done anything so stupid. I’ve never gone home with a stranger, and I’ve never even had a one-night stand. I lie under the blankets trembling and trying to figure out my next move. I have no idea what time it is. All I know is that the wedding is starting at midday.

  Shame comes over me. Just one day in Vegas, and I have turned into a slut.

  I need to get out of here. But first, I need to find out whose room this is. If it’s my room, I’
m in even more trouble. The last thing I want is to face Declan. I steal another glance at him.

  He’s hot, there’s no doubt about that, but more than just having astonishing good looks, his masculinity is so potent, it sends an electric shock sizzling through me.

  I raise my eyes to his sensuous mouth, and I try to remember how it had felt to kiss him. My mind draws a blank. I must have been embarrassingly, sickeningly drunk. I reluctantly tear my gaze away. Slowly by slowly, I push away the covers and creep out of bed.

  I pad to the closet and slide it open. I exhale loudly when I see a strange suitcase stuffed inside there. Definitely not mine.

  Next on my to-do list is to hunt for my clothes. I drop to my knees and crawl under the bed. I can’t see my dress or anything on the floor, and panic swells in my chest. I scramble to my feet and glance around the semi-dark room. No dress. I tiptoe to the adjoining bathroom, and that’s where I find it, hanging neatly from a rack.

  I grab it and slip it on while staring longingly at the toilet. My bladder is bursting but peeing will definitely wake him up. I grab my purse from the bedside table, stare at Declan’s gorgeous form one more time, and then make for the door.

  I stand outside the hallway and try to get my bearings. I take a right and hope it will lead to the elevators. It does.

  There’s an older couple in the elevator, and they smile at me. I smile back and notice that they keep staring at me. At my dress, to be precise. I glance down and almost die when the hems of my dress stare right back at me. My dress is inside out.

  I shift my glance to the elevator doors and keep them glued there. The elevator stops on my floor, and I dart out before the doors open completely. I cross my fingers that I’ll make it to my room before meeting anyone else.

  No such luck. This time I meet a youngish couple, and as we pass each other in the hallway, they giggle. I keep my head up. This may be my walk of shame, but I refuse to be ashamed. I’m in Vegas, after all.

  I fish for my key card from my purse and enter my room. The first thing I do is head to the bathroom and pee. Then I fill that huge tub with water that is hot enough to scald. I grab a bottle of bubble bath and pour a generous amount into the water. Soon, a sweet strawberry scent fills the air. As the water fills up, I strip off my dress and underclothes and move to the sink to brush my teeth. I peer at my face in the mirror.

  I look exactly how I feel. Battered. Sleepy. Rough.

  I turn off the water and sink into the bathtub. Bliss. I lie back and rest my head on the edge of the bathtub as bubbles dance on the surface of the water around me.

  I try to empty my mind, but the memory works itself to my consciousness. An image of me and Declan staggering to an all-night wedding chapel. I bolt up, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Water splashes from the tub to the floor.

  No, no, no. We couldn’t have. I glance down at my fingers. There is no ring.

  The image of Declan and I standing at the altar refuses to leave my mind. It feels so real. As if we really did get married. A sickening feeling comes over me as the previous evening plays out in my mind like a movie.

  An image of us walking from the bar out to the street in search of a wedding chapel that was open at night.

  Despite being in the water, sweat gathers under my arms.

  “Oh my God.” The tremble starts in my toes, rising until my whole body is shaking. Nausea rises in my throat. A wave of dizziness comes over me. Is it possible to faint in a bathtub?

  I grab the edges of the bathtub and haul myself up. I’ve done stupid things in my life, but this has to top the list. The past should have taught me that alcohol and I don’t get along very well. I grab a towel, wrap it around myself, and return to the bedroom.

  What in God’s name am I going to do?

  I pace the room, dripping water on the carpet. No solution comes to mind. In a moment of desperation, I grab my phone from my purse and dial Brooke’s number. She’s level-headed, and she’ll know what to do.

  She answers the phone on the second ring. “We were about to send for a search party,” she says by way of greeting.

  “Hi, Brooke.” My voice is a stark contrast to her cheerful greeting.

  “Are you okay?” Brooke says.

  “I just did something stupid,” I tell her.

  She chuckles from the other end of the phone. “Everybody does something stupid in Vegas. That’s why we all love it.”

  I inhale deeply. “Does everybody get married to a stranger after a drinking spree?”

  There is no response from the other end.

  “Brooke, Are you there?”

  “You got married? I thought you were talking about a one-night stand,” she says, her voice a screech.

  “I did that too.”

  “Oh my God, Marian. You really shouldn’t be let loose, should you?” Brooke says. “Are you sure that you actually got married?”

  “Pretty sure,” I say, misery coating my voice.

  “Like, you married a stranger off the street?”

  “No, we were on the same flight from LA, and when we got to Vegas, we found ourselves in the same hotel.”

  “And to your drunk self, you had enough in common for a happy marriage?”

  “What am I going to do?” I cover my face with my free hand.

  “Hang on a sec,” Brooke says and then whispers to somebody.

  I imagine her updating Jason on what has happened. The voice that comes back to the phone is not Brook’s, it’s Jason’s. “Marian are you OK? What happened?” Jason says, his voice filled with concern and worry.

  “I’m fine, except for a tiny problem.” I’m a second away from breaking into tears.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jason says. “Go to the wedding, and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do.”

  Relief floods me, and I grip the phone as if it’s a lifeline. “Thank you, Jase, and I’m sorry for ruining your Saturday.”

  “It’s fine,” Jason says. His confident tone works its magic, and the knot of fear in my stomach melts away. “Try and have some fun. Everything will be fine.”

  We say goodbye and disconnect the call.

  I feel as if a weight has been taken off my shoulders. I know Jason and Brooke will figure out a way to get me out of this mess.

  I get ready for the ceremony, and by the time I leave my room, it’s already noon when the ceremony was supposed to begin. Luckily, everything is within walking distance and in the hotel. I find my way to the chapel, which is on the ground floor.

  I slip in and take a seat in the back pew. The ceremony has already started, and Connor and Jen are at the front with the man officiating the ceremony. I wave at a few people, most of whom are firemen at the fire station where Jason works.

  I notice that most men do not have their wives or partners with them, but that doesn’t surprise me. A lot of the guys are married with children, and I suppose one partner had to stay behind to mind the kids.

  At the thought of kids, my heart lurches. Lilly would have been almost six years old now.

  Leonard had not wanted to name her, but I secretly called her Lilly. He said that she wasn’t a real baby, but she was. She had become real to me in the five months that she had resided in my stomach.

  I push away thoughts of my past and try to concentrate on the ceremony unfolding. In the periphery of my vision, I see another latecomer skulk in and slide next to me in the pew. I smile as I turn to him. The smile freezes on my lips. What is it with Declan? He has become like a fly that shows up everywhere I go. I turn away and pretend not to have seen or heard him sit down next to me.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he says.

  Maybe if I pretend that he’s not there, he’ll disappear. His scent, though, is not so easy to ignore. It’s woodsy and masculine and oh so sexy.

  When I don’t respond, Declan leans to me again to speak. “That’s what good wives do.”

  I want to throw up. It really happened. I’d clung to the hope that maybe
, just maybe, I had made a mistake and we didn’t get married. His words confirm my worst fears. We are married.

  He chuckles, and I turn to him in disbelief. “You think it’s funny?”

  He stops laughing. “You thought it was funny last night.”

  “I was drunk,” I hiss.

  “Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but being pissed off about it right now won’t change anything. Besides, I’ve thought about it, and I figure we can work something out.”

  “Work something out?” A few people in the front pews turn to look at us, and I realize that my voice is too loud. I smile at them apologetically.

  “And now the bride will kiss the groom,” the official’s voice booms in the small chapel.

  Moments later, we get to our feet and cheer as the new Mr. and Mrs. Price walk down the aisle. Normally, I love weddings. I’m a wedding planner, after all, but I can’t get into Connor and Jen’s wedding. So many things do not make sense at the moment.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming for Connor and Jen’s wedding?” I say to Declan.

  “You never told me either,” he says.

  “How do you know them?” I ask him.

  “My brother works at the same fire station as Connor,” Declan says. “What about you?”

  I ignore his question. “Who is your brother? I know a lot of guys who work at Fire Department Station 255.”

  “His name is Ace Carter,” Declan says.

  “Shit.” My voice is loud, but luckily, it’s drowned out by the noise of people chattering and leaving the chapel.

  I know Ace Carter and his wife, Lexi. I glance at Declan. Yeah, the resemblance is not only there, but it’s quite striking. Why didn’t I see it before I stupidly suggested we get married?

  The fog has cleared, and every sharp stupid detail of last night is etched in my mind. I even recall going to another bar in the hotel after the ceremony to celebrate. Then we’d staggered to Declan’s room and crashed there.

  I’m pretty sure that we did not have sex. We were both so out of it that we couldn’t have managed even if we’d have wanted to.