Two hours later, as I leave Dr. Frost’s office, I’m numb and exhausted, and I’m not sure I’ll return for another appointment. I drive to the Sace winery, where the garden wedding will be held. I’m glad for the twenty-minute drive as it gives me time to go back to my normal self.
It’s a beautiful venue, though a bit pricey, but totally worth it for couples that can afford it. As soon as I drive down the long, cobbled drive, I’m hit by the scent of ripe grapes that make me long for a glass of cold white wine.
I’m a little early, and I take the extra time to speak to the winery event coordinator. Her name is Jessica, and she’s as passionate about weddings as I am. The ceremony itself will be held in the gorgeous formal gardens followed by a reception in the ballroom.
There’s nothing wedding planners appreciate more than a wedding where the ceremony itself and the reception are held in one venue. It makes for an easy transition from one place to another, and the chances of lateness are next to nil.
Mark and Brenda arrive and join us in the gardens where the ceremony will be held. Warmth spreads through my body as I see how in love they are. They simply cannot keep their hands from each other.
Couples like Mark and Brenda remind me why I do this. They make me believe in love all over again. I think about Declan. When strangers see us, what do they see? I don’t know whether it’s love that I feel for him. If it is love, would I have contemplated leaving everything we have because of the lure of having a daughter? I swallow a lump of saliva and force my thoughts back to the present.
“I love the smell of roses,” Brenda says, looking up at Mark.
“They don’t rival your scent,” Mark says, and they are lost in their world.
Jessica and I exchange a look that tells me that we’re in the same boat. Neither of us has what the about to be newlyweds have. I swallow feelings of envy, which are stupid and unprofessional. I could add ten other adjectives.
When Mark and Brenda come back to earth, I take out my notes, and we discuss where the family will sit, where the musicians will set up, where the wedding party will stand, and other seemingly simple details, but which are crucial to the smooth running of the ceremony.
We finish up at seven-thirty, which is pretty late, but I’d already told Declan I’d be late. I drive home feeling a lot better than when I left Dr. Frost’s office.
I feel like a fraud when I get home and walk into Declan’s arms and he asks me how my day was. I tell him the highlights of everything that happened except that I saw a therapist.
“You look relaxed,” he says as we set the table for dinner. “The old you.”
“Thanks. I feel like old me,” I say, but I really feel as if I’m in a play, cast in a role that I’m not entirely comfortable in.
How do married people behave? I wish someone would tell me. Are they completely honest with their partners all of the time, or do they keep large parts of themselves hidden away?
I can’t wait for nighttime, which is my best time with Declan. When we make love, everything fades away. My secrets, my shame, everything disappears except the pleasure that he and I give each other.
“I feel bad,” I tell Declan when we sit down for dinner. “I rarely cook dinner. Tomorrow will be my turn.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says in his usual easy-going manner. “I like cooking, and I get home earlier than you.” He holds my gaze. “Besides, I love you. I’d do anything for you.”
Tears fill my eyes at the simple declaration. I feel like crap. I vow there and then to do anything I can for Declan. Anything to make our marriage work. The first thing I think of is his mom. Declan loves his mother. He hasn’t said it, but I feel it every time he talks about her.
I make a vow to do everything I can to get along with her. And the first thing I’ll do is to try to begin a relationship with her. I decided to call her and perhaps drive to Santa Monica for lunch.
“How did the venue walk-through go?” Declan asks.
I smile at how quickly he’s picking up the jargon in my industry. “It went well. Mark and Brenda are a delightful couple,” I say with a sigh.
“So are we,” Declan says.
I wonder if Mark and Brenda keep things from each other? I feel as if the secrets between Declan and I are growing by the day. Does he honestly believe that we are a delightful couple?
“Sure,” I say and plaster a smile.
Declan stares at me. “You’re perfect, Marian. How did I get so lucky?”
Guilt piles on and almost overwhelmed me. I’m the furthest person from perfect there is. Before Declan came into my life, I thought I had it all together. After we got married, his presence in my life has exposed holes in my heart I thought I had sealed.
Unable to meet his gaze, I busy myself carrying our used dishes to the sink to wash them.
Declan chuckles as I’m cleaning up. “Aren’t we the weird couple?”
“Why?” I ask.
“You have a dishwasher, and we always wash dishes ourselves. Why is that?”
I laugh as it dawns on me how right he is. “I love the feel of soap and warm water on my hands. It’s soothing.”
“I find it more satisfying when I see them stacked on the drying rack. I feel as if I’ve accomplished something, even if it’s just cleaning dishes,” Declan says.
After cleaning up, we snuggle on the couch to watch TV. It’s nice to lean against Declan’s massive chest and have him softly rub my arms. It’s so comfortable that I feel my eyelids growing heavy.
“Are you falling asleep?” Declan asks softly.
“No. Yes.”
He chuckles. “Come on, let’s go to bed. Mine or yours?”
“Let’s do yours today,” I say, my voice heavy with sleep.
We turn out the lights, and as Declan follows behind me as I go up the stairs, he pinches my butt. It soon becomes a game as he chases me up the stairs, and by the time we get to my room, my sleepiness is gone.
I pop into the bathroom to freshen up, and when I return to the bedroom, I’m in my nightshirt, and Declan is in bed staring at me. He opens the covers, and I slide in and he covers me up.
“Still sleepy?” he says, his voice husky.
“No,” I murmur, and I slide a hand between us to hold his cock. It’s thick and hard. “What did you have in mind?”
He inhales deeply when I roll the thick head of his cock through my fingers. “This,” Declan says. “This is what I had in mind.” Declan cups my face and kisses me deeply.
I keep the rhythm of my hand pumping his cock going. His hands drop to stroke my shoulders, then he lifts my nightshirt and exposes my breasts.
“You’re a breast man,” I say, more of a statement than a question.
He chuckles. “I’m a Marian man. I love every inch of your body.”
I let out a sigh as his lips close in on my nipple. His cock slips out of my grip as Declan slides lower on the bed. He teases my nipples using his tongue and fingers.
After several minutes during which he takes me to peaks that I’ve only ever experienced with him, he goes even lower and pushes me to my back. He gets between my legs and pushes my knees up.
I moan when featherlight flicks of his tongue connect with my most sensitive parts. His movements are so light that I could almost be imagining it.
“More,” I say.
“Be patient,” he growls.
His tongue teases my clit expertly, but just enough to keep me on the edge of wanting more. I raise my hips and push his head down with my hand. Without warning, he plunges his tongue deep into my pussy and fucks me with it.
I almost lose my mind.
“Oh God, Declan,” I cry over and over again.
In response, he splays his hands on my inner thighs and pushes my folded knees further apart. I swing my head from one side to the other like a woman possessed. My orgasm is fast and violent.
Seconds after it’s over, I’m still trembling from its effects.
When my breathi
ng returns to normal, I straddle Declan, who is sprawled on his back. I love the way he gives me time to recover. He’s easily the most selfless lover that I’ve ever known.
His hands reach out to push my nightshirt up so that he can get a view of my breasts. I make it easier for him and pull it over my head and throw it on the floor. My body tingles with heat and longing as I position myself over his rock-hard cock.
Juices of anticipation gush out of my pussy, coating the head of his cock. I place my palms flat on Declan’s ripped chest and slowly lower myself onto his cock. Deep groans escape my mouth as his cock stretches the walls of my pussy.
Declan moves his hands to my hips and pulls me down on his cock. Hard. I cry out as his cock rams into me until it’s buried to the hilt. Tears fill my eyes from too much sensation.
I stay still for a few seconds as my body adjusts to his cock filling me. Instead of rocking up and down on his cock, I move back and forth as though I’m on a horse.
“Do you like that?” I ask him.
“Oh yes,” Declan says. “I love it. I love you.”
My clit pulses. His hands come away from my hips to play with my nipples. His thumbs flick my nipples, and the sensation goes straight to my pussy. I change my movements and move up and down.
Declan moves his hips up and down, and our movements grow more frantic as we near our peak.
“Marian,” Declan says.
“I love you, Declan,” I say before an orgasm spreads over my body. I can’t believe I said that. It’s just one of those things that people say in the throes of passion.
Chapter 35
Declan
Work is crazy for the next few days, and on Saturday evening, I go home and change after work. We’re now counting down the days until the new pizza shop is open, but we’ve pushed it back to give the delivery service in Santa Monica a priority.
The house is quiet without Marian. I take a quick shower, eager to join her at the wedding reception she’s working. I’d promised to go and keep her company when I was done for the day. I dress carefully in a dark suit and a white shirt and finish the look with a burgundy tie. It wouldn’t do to embarrass the wedding planner by appearing at the reception party looking like a homeless man. Rather than have two cars, I call for an Uber and use it to get to the reception, held at the Sace Winery. Twenty minutes later, the Uber driver pulls up at the entrance of the ballroom.
I pay the driver and march into the ballroom. Soft music surrounds me in the room lit up with disco lights. I enter as discreetly as I can, trying not to distract anyone from the first couple’s dance taking place on the dance floor. I spot the bar and make a beeline for it. It’s away from the action, which is good as it gives me a nice vantage point to observe everything and look out for my wife. What a good feeling to be able to say that. My wife.
I slide into a stool, order a beer and swirl around to get a view of the room. The newly married couple is dancing to one of the slow love songs I once considered cheesy. Now, the words make sense. I’ve discovered that it’s easy to scoff at stuff only because you don’t get it. When you do, everything falls into place.
I scan the room, and when I find Marian, everything in me goes still. My gaze rises to her face, and my heart stops when I find her eyes on me. She stands near the DJ Box, her face lit up by the stage lights. She has a gorgeous wide smile on her face, and my chest expands with pride. My gaze lowers to take in the turquoise lace shift dress hugging her curves in all the right places. My hands itch to rest on her hips.
The couple’s first dance is over. Marian whispers something to the DJ, and the ballad changes to a fast beat. The MC invites everyone to join the couple on the dance floor.
Marian makes the rounds, speaking to people and staff. Half an hour later, she strides across the room to join me at the bar. I’m on my second and last beer by then. She comes straight into my arms, coming to stand between my legs with the confidence of a woman who knows that I’m hers.
She kisses me on the mouth, and I circle her waist with my hands.
“You look stunning,” I tell her.
“You too,” she says. “You make me want to shout to everyone that you’re my husband.”
I chuckle. “I like that.”
“My work is done,” she says. “I could do with a drink. Will you drive?”
“Sure,” I tell her.
“There’s another bar away from the wedding party. Let’s go there,” Marian suggests.
I wrack my brain to see whether I’ve ever met a woman as confident of herself and her sexuality as Marian. Never. Nothing fazes her. Now, she strides across the floor, swaying her hips sexily, as if she owns the world and everything in it.
The other bar is three-quarters full but is quiet, other than the buzz of conversation.
“It’s nice to hear yourself talk,” I tell Marian when we settle at the bar.
Her dress rides up her thighs, and it’s all I can do not to bend over and lick her creamy skin. Marian orders a cabernet, and I ask for a bottle of water.
“This reminds me of the first time we met in Vegas at the bar,” Marian says.
“We didn’t meet at the bar. We met on the airplane,” I remind her.
“I know, but it was at the bar is where I really noticed you,” Marian says with a laugh.
It strokes my ego to know that Marian had liked what she’d seen that evening, and it hadn’t been all caused by alcohol.
“I noticed you when you entered the plane,” I tell her. “The first thing I noted was your scent and your voice. I imagined you whispering dirty things into my ear.”
Marian’s eyes widen. “You did not.”
I laugh. “I swear I did. Welcome to the brains of men. Every man loves a gorgeous woman.”
The bartender places our drinks in front of us.
“Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me,” I say and lift my bottle of water for a toast. She takes her wine glass, and we clink glasses. “To a happy and long marriage.”
I see what I think is a shadow of sadness in Marian’s eyes. Before I can comment on it, it’s gone, and she’s grinning. Sometimes, I feel as if I don’t know her.
“How are the plans for the opening coming along?” Marian says after a swig of her wine.
I’m animated as I update her on how far along we are. As always, Marian has a few ideas of her own, which I love to hear. I find it sexy as hell and a turn on that she is interested in talking business.
Marian asks for another glass of wine and then another. Four glasses later, and her eyes are gleaming, and her laughs come more easily.
“Let me ask you something,” she says. “Would you marry me again if we suddenly found ourselves single?”
“Without a second thought,” I tell her. “You’re perfect for me.”
Tears spring to her eyes. She reaches out to cup my face and plant a noisy kiss on my mouth. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She’s a little unsteady on her feet, but four glasses of wine are a lot, especially if you’re tired and you haven’t had a proper meal.
I chuckle softly. Marian is funny when she’s tipsy. She returns moments later, and I help her onto the stool.
“Ready to go home?” I ask her.
“Sure, after one more glass of wine. We haven’t been out in a long time,” she says, slurring her words and adopting a serious face as if we’re discussing matters of national importance.
“No, we haven’t. We’ll have to remedy that,” I tell her, though I do love being home with her. After spending my days at the shop, relaxing at home is nice, but I’m good with whatever Marian wants.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I like being at home.” She leans forward to whisper, but her voice is louder when she speaks. Her volume control buttons are messed up. “I especially like what we do when we’re at home.”
The bartender turns away with a discreet laugh.
“Keep your voice down unless you want the whole bar to know how hot you make
me.”
She places her hand on my thigh. “That’s given me an idea. Let’s go home, my love.”
That’s the second time that Marian has used the word ‘love.’ I hope she means it. She teeters on her feet, and I slip an arm around her waist to steady her.
“Tell me what you’ll do to me when we get home,” Marian says as we walk to the parking lot.
“I’ll undress you,” I say. “One item after another.”
“Oh, I like,” she says.
“And help you to bed. You’re not in any state to do anything, my Marian.”
“Don’t be a party pooper,” she pouts. “Tonight is a night for having fun.”
“Sure.” I take her handbag and fish out the keys.
When we’re inside, Marian says to me “Tell me something, have you ever been to see a shrink?”
“No. Have you?”
She nods. “Yes.”
She doesn’t offer any more information, and I don’t ask. I know that people go to see therapists for a variety of reasons. Take my brother, Ace. He saw a therapist for the longest time because of his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He saw an awesome therapist who helped him, and now he rarely gets flashbacks and nightmares.
As I’d suspected, Marian falls asleep five minutes into the drive home. She looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping. I hope that everything’s okay with her. The last couple of days, she looked wound up with tension.
I didn’t want to intrude by asking her what the matter was. I figured that if she wants to tell me, she will. That’s how I operated with my previous girlfriends. I give people space to work out their issues.
Of course, I wish she would confide in me, and I hope that she feels comfortable enough one day. When we get home, I carry her easily from the car to the house.
I keep my promise and undress her one item after another, except that she’s completely out of it to see.
Chapter 36
Marian
Though it’s been a good week, I’m glad that it’s Friday. No, let me rephrase that, I’m glad it’s Friday, but I’ll be happy when the day is over. I worked up the courage to call Mrs. Carter yesterday, and lo and behold, she agreed to meet me for lunch. Better yet, she’s going to be in LA today, so I don’t have to drive to Santa Monica. Not that I would have minded terribly. It’s grown on me, and it would have been a chance to pop in and see Declan as he went there this morning.
One Hot Fake: An Accidental Fake Marriage Romance Page 21
