by Maggie Way
Zoey picked at her dessert, unable to enjoy the banana and Nutella crêpe. Her stomach was a tight ball of nerves.
Brooke sank into the chair beside Zoey, letting out a sigh. “What a night.”
Zoey forced her nerves away. “A pretty amazing night, Mrs. Ryder.”
“Not for another few hours.” But Brooke glowed with happiness. “I’ve been watching you and Mitch tonight.”
Zoey let out a groan. “Don’t go there.”
“What? I think you two could make a cute couple. That’s not what I want to talk about, though. Zoey, I know.”
Zoey’s heart thudded in her chest. Had Luke spilled the beans? Mitch, maybe? And now Brooke would try and talk her out of the fake wedding. “Brooke—”
She held up a hand. “No, let me talk. Zo, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve been thrilled for you. I am thrilled for you.”
Wait. Were they talking about the same thing? “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“You left your computer on the morning you left. I went into your room to turn it off, and your schedule was pulled up.”
Zoey let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait. You know about the makeup?”
“Yeah. What did you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing.” The wedding was still a secret, at least. Zoey’s shoulders slumped, and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. “I’ve wanted to tell you about that for so long.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I thought it would disappoint you.”
Brooke laughed, wrapping an arm around Zoey and pulling her close. “Disappointed? I’m insanely proud of you. At first I was mad you hadn’t told me, but I always knew you wouldn’t stay at Toujour forever. Makeup artistry is perfect for you.”
“You’re really okay with this?”
“Yes. That schedule was so full. I don’t know how I haven’t noticed sooner.”
“You’ve been distracted.”
“If you want to quit Toujour, Zo, that’s okay with me. I’ll miss you, but I understand.”
A weight lifted off her shoulders, and Zoey felt like she was floating. What had she been so afraid of? Brooke was supportive, just as she’d always been.
Brooke gave her another squeeze. “We’ll talk about it when I get back, okay?”
“Deal.”
Brooke wandered away to talk with one of the guests, and Zoey slumped back against her chair, hardly believing what had just happened. She was free.
Mitch slid into the chair Brooke had just vacated. “Alan’s outside,” he said, his voice low. “He tried to get up to this floor, but they told him it was a private party, and he didn’t press. He’s got a long-range lens and he’s been photographing the building.”
“Trying to get a shot of someone through the windows?” Zoey guessed.
“Probably, but there’s no way to prove it. The windows have a dark enough tint that he’ll be hard-pressed to get a clear shot, but I think it’s time.”
Zoey swallowed hard, her palms turning clammy. “Let’s do this, then.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’re so close to the finish line. I’m not about to let everything implode now.” She motioned to Brooke and Luke, laughing near the windows. “You see how happy they are. I’ll do anything to make sure they stay that way for another twenty-four hours. After they’re on their honeymoon, it won’t matter anymore.”
“If Alan finds out we faked the wedding, it’ll be all over the papers.”
Zoey smirked. “A good scandal will keep life from getting dull.” And she’d use the publicity to drum up clients for her makeup business. Toujour would soon be but a memory.
“Okay then.”
Slowly, tentatively, he reached out his hand. Zoey stared at it, emotions tumbling in her mind like clothes in a dryer. Everything depended on selling this show to Alan.
She reached out, wrapping her fingers around Mitch’s. Their hands linked together, her lightly tanned skin looking almost pale against his dark hand. Two complete opposites, but in the last two weeks, she’d realized they could complement each other. “Ready.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, the pressure like a mini hug, filling her with determination.
“Let’s do this thing,” Mitch said.
After a quick conversation with the security guard, they stepped into the elevator, hands still clasped. Zoey’s knees shook so badly she worried she’d fall off her six-inch heels. She didn’t know what scared her more—the possibility of not succeeding tonight and Alan ruining the wedding tomorrow, or the fact that she and Mitch were working together, and well.
“If we’re going to do this right, we’ve got to make it believable,” Mitch said.
Zoey nodded. “And Alan can’t know that we know he’s following us. If he thinks we’re letting him get the pictures, the gig is up.”
“Agreed. No eye contact and no glancing his way. One of Luke’s security team will follow us to make sure Alan is there when we have the wedding.”
Have the wedding—not get married. Because they wouldn’t be getting married. Not really. Would this whole faux wedding have any sort of emotional impact on Mitch?
Zoey took a deep breath. Just as the elevator doors opened, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Zoey stiffened.
“Act natural,” he said. “We’re about to get married. Sell it.”
Zoey laughed in answer, nuzzling closer to him. She placed a soft kiss at the hollow of his neck, her lips tingling with the contact. “I can sell ice to an Eskimo,” she said.
“Good. That’s exactly what we need to make this crazy plan work.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mitch brushed invisible lint off his tuxedo, then looked at himself in the mirror. After talking to Juliette and Luke’s head of security last night, they’d managed to secure one of the small alcoves in the gardens at Versailles for the ceremony.
Mitch glanced around the visitor’s restroom that had been closed off for his and Zoey’s use tonight. At first he’d balked at the idea of changing for a wedding in a restroom—Zoey deserved better than that, even if this wedding was all for show—but Juliette had assured him that the accommodations would be more than adequate, and she’d been right. An ornate gold full-length mirror stood in one corner, with a crushed red velvet chair next to it. A bench along one wall with a hook to the side was perfect for hanging his garment bag. His everyday shoes, tracker still attached, were neatly lined up beside the chair.
He hoped Zoey’s accommodations were at least as nice. Was her stomach dropping like she’d just plummeted off a roller coaster the way his was?
Mitch artfully pinned a white rose boutonniere to his lapel, then tugged at the gray silk vest. He gave his shoulder one last flick, then took a deep breath.
“This isn’t real,” he said aloud, needing the reminder.
But he wanted it to be. He certainly felt like an eager groom. When had he stopped counting all of his and Zoey’s differences as roadblocks and started seeing them as strengths?
Mitch’s phone buzzed, and he flipped it open to see a text from Bryant, one of Luke’s security team.
Pap located. Hiding in bushes near garden. I’m in position nearby.
Mitch shut off the phone, his hand trembling. This was good. They needed Alan to watch.
A Versailles security guard waited for Mitch right outside the bathroom, and Mitch followed him down a gravel path. The garden at the end was closed to tourists, but Mitch knew both Bryant and Alan were nearby, even if he couldn’t see them. Gravel crunched underneath his polished shoes, making his nerves jump with each step.
Was Zoey as nervous as he was? Did she want this to be real?
The garden loomed ahead, its own private sanctuary enclosed by thick rosebushes. An archway covered in roses marked the entrance. Mitch’s palms started to sweat. There it was—the place he’d promise to love Zoey forever. But she would think
it was all for show.
He stepped through the archway, and the calls of excited tourists faded away. Happiness warred with fear inside him.
Perfect.
A small fountain gurgled in the center of the alcove, and the fragrant scent of roses wafted on the breeze. Another archway stood at the back of the garden, but this one had rosebushes behind it. A man and woman stood underneath the archway, both smiling warmly. The man was tall and thin, with a head full of graying hair and a Bible clasped in one hand. The woman beside him was short and squat, almost grandmotherly, and wore a floral print dress. This had to be the officiant and his wife, the official government witness. Mitch had considering himself lucky to find both of them.
Snap. Mitch looked around, and realized the photographer had arrived as well.
None of them had any idea this wedding was for show. Mitch was having a hard time believing it himself.
Play the part, he reminded himself. Alan was watching.
Mitch strode toward the officiant and offered his hand. “Mitchell Harris,” he said.
“Reverend Maxwell,” he said with a wonderfully familiar accent. He motioned to the woman in the floral dress. “This is my wife, Victoire.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mitch shook her hand as well, then turned his focus back to Reverend Maxwell. “You’re American.”
Victoire laughed. “He was born and raised in Nebraska, but I couldn’t stand to live so far away from my family.”
“We’ve lived here nearly forty years,” Reverend Maxwell said. “Never have managed to lose my accent, though.”
“I’m doubly happy to have you here, then,” Mitch said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Reverend Maxwell’s eyes sparkled, and he put an arm around his wife. “We couldn’t say no to you. Victoire and I eloped as well.”
“We’re so grateful.” Mitch walked over to the photographer, greeting her as well. Then he took his place beside Reverend Maxwell.
Any moment, and Zoey would be here. He suddenly found it hard to swallow. The gurgling fountain grew louder, as though it sensed the importance of this moment. The melodic sound of falling water was the perfect musical backdrop.
Mitch kept his eyes focused on the archway entry to the garden, waiting for a sign of Zoey. The sun was just setting, casting the gardens in golden light.
This wedding was absolutely perfect for him and Zoey. Eloping was just the sort of spontaneous thing Zoey loved, and this natural and elegant setting was so her. Mitch had no desire to go into debt for a huge wedding and reception, so eloping suited him, too.
How would she react if he told her he wanted it to be real?
All Mitch needed to have a perfect wedding was the perfect girl. Someone who was flawed but tried her hardest every day. Someone who pushed him to be a better man.
All he needed was Zoey.
The sun had just fallen behind the trees when Zoey appeared at the entrance to the garden. Mitch’s jaw unhinged, and he struggled to catch his breath. She wore a short wedding dress that barely brushed her knees, with a black, red, and white polka dot flower at the waist. A chin-length veil covered her face, and she held a simple bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in her hands. She gave him a shy smile, and he thought his heart would explode.
Breathtaking didn’t begin to cover it.
A lump lodged in his throat, and he ached to run and kiss her breathless. Her eyes reached across the small garden and grabbed him by the throat.
She took one slow, deliberate step, and entered the garden. He couldn’t believe this beautiful woman was walking toward him.
She made the trek down the gravel path look effortless, despite the red heels that made her legs go on for miles. Mitch forgot all about why they were here. He stopped worrying about whether Alan hid in the bushes, and whether they’d be able to fool him with this false ceremony.
All that mattered was Zoey. It wasn’t just her physical beauty, although that certainly didn’t hurt. It was everything about her. The way she dived into life headfirst. Her tireless efforts to help her best friend. The way she could make him laugh. The way she didn’t blame him for his shortcomings. He liked the person he was around Zoey.
She stopped right beside him, her eyes glistening. Was she about to cry, and were they happy tears or sad? Her smile widened when she caught him staring. Definitely happy tears.
I want her. Always and forever. I’m ready for this to be real.
“Welcome,” the reverend said, giving Zoey and Mitch both a warm smile. “You make a stunning bride, Zoey.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she gave him a shy smile. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. All of you.” She shifted her bouquet into one hand and reached for Mitch’s with the other, then gave it a squeeze. “We couldn’t wait any longer.”
“Well then. Shall we begin?” Reverend Maxwell said.
Mitch nodded, his mouth drier than a desert.
“We’re gathered here today to join Mitchell Harris and Zoey Carlson together in matrimony,” Reverend Maxwell said. He opened the Bible and read, but Mitch was too lost in Zoey’s gaze to pay attention. He tightened his grip on her hand, never wanting to let go.
“Do you have vows you’d like to exchange?” the reverend asked.
Vows. Mitch’s stomach dropped to his toes. How could he have forgotten such an integral part of making this ceremony believable? His palm turned damp in Zoey’s hand. Should they say they didn’t have any? What would Alan think?
“I do,” Zoey said quietly.
Surprise coursed through him. Was she making this up on the fly, or had she thought it out?
The reverend nodded, and Zoey met Mitch’s eyes. “Sometimes you drive me insane. Sometimes I want to wrap my hands around your neck and throttle you.”
Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected. The reverend chuckled, and Victoire laughed, and Mitch raised an eyebrow at Zoey.
“You question everything I do, and we pretty much have nothing in common,” Zoey continued.
Mitch swallowed hard, his mirth disappearing. Is that really how she saw their relationship?
Zoey blinked quickly, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick. “But you also make me want to be a better person. I don’t feel whole when we’re apart. Sometimes, my feelings for you scare me. I don’t know what to do with them, and it freaks me out that they’re so strong. But it’s a good kind of scared. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t make consistency seem unbearably dreary. Because I would do the exact same thing every day for the rest of my life if I could do it with you.” She swallowed hard, then laughed. “Now it’s your turn.”
Mitch’s mind whirled. Was she saying this for the benefit of Alan—who probably couldn’t hear their words over the gurgle of the fountain—or did she really mean them?
He was scared too. Scared she would reject him. Scared she couldn’t overcome her fears and commit.
But he was more scared of doing nothing.
“You’re the only person who’s made me want to take a risk,” he said. “You make me want to try new things. No one has ever scared me as much as you do, Zoey. No one has ever tested my limits or forced me out of my comfort zone as much. But you’re worth the scary, and I will spend every day of my life fighting for the right to go through life with you.”
Reverend Maxwell wiped under his eye. “That was beautiful,” he said. Then he laughed. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Zoey stared at Mitch, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty. But Mitch didn’t hesitate. He tugged on Zoey’s hand, urging her forward.
Her body molded into his, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, the bouquet still in one hand. Mitch lowered his head, his lips covering hers with the lightest touch. She pressed herself closer, her lips parted. A hand slid up his back, cupping his neck.
And he was undone. He deepened the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest. He kissed her over and over a
gain, heedless of the minister and Victoire looking on, not caring that the photographer they hired was busily clicking away on her camera. His lips devoured Zoey’s as she clung to him.
He was never letting her go.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zoey pulled away, staring at Mitch. What had just happened? She shook her head, trying to clear it.
This was for Alan’s benefit. It wasn’t real.
Was it?
“That was quite the kiss,” the minister said with a chuckle, and Victoire playfully slapped his arm.
Zoey blushed, avoiding Mitch’s gaze. “Sorry,” she said.
The minister shut the Bible, tucking it under one arm. “Don’t apologize. I can tell you two love each other very much, and we’re honored to be a part of your wedding.”
Victoire handed them the marriage certificate. “Signed and witnessed,” she said. “Make sure you sign it yourselves and file it with the courthouse within seventy-two hours so it can be recorded.”
Zoey stared at the paper, her heart hammering in her chest. The line between pretend and real was so, so thin.
Mitch took the certificate, carefully placing it in a binder propped against the archway. “Thank you,” he said.
Reverend Maxwell held out a hand, shaking first hers, then Mitch’s. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”
A lifetime of happiness. Right now, Zoey felt like all she had was a pocket full of lies she desperately wanted to be real.
The minister took his wife’s hand, and they walked away, disappearing around the rosebush wall of the garden.
The photographer motioned to the sky. “We should hurry so we don’t lose the light.”
Right. Photos to memorialize the wedding that was all for show. Zoey felt like she was in some all-too-real version of a child’s playacting.
While Mitch and Zoey posed for photos, the caterers arrived and set up a small candlelit table in a corner of the garden—all part of the charade to fool Alan.
“One more,” the photographer said. “Why don’t you stand under the archway and dip her back in a kiss, Mitch?”
