Nevertheless, Mazzy texted me that she’d made arrangements for a minister to come to my home next Friday afternoon to perform the ceremony, so time is of the essence.
“Cheers,” Ollie and I say in unison, clink our drafts, and take a sip.
We’re at our favorite pub. In actuality, I can drink anywhere the beer is cold, but this is where Ollie first got back with his fiancée, so I think it holds special meaning to him or some bullshit like that.
Ollie catches me up on some of his and Jemma’s wedding plans, and we shoot the shit about how Boston’s baseball team is doing. Once there’s a lull in the conversation, I figure it’s go time.
“So I need a favor.”
“Sure, what’s up?” Ollie’s always so agreeable. Wait until he hears what he’s agreed to.
“Schwartz is still on my ass about the video. I guess a few more news outlets have picked it up.”
“Does the world have nothing better to do than worry about who’s sleeping with who?” He shakes his head then takes a sip of his beer.
“Apparently not. But an interesting scenario presented itself and I’m going to use it to my advantage to make my problem go away.”
“That’s great.”
“I’m going to marry Mazzy Pembrooke next Friday afternoon, and I need you and Jemma to stand up as witnesses for us.”
Beer spurts out of his mouth, all over the table and his T-shirt. “Shit, sorry.” He grabs a paper napkin from the table and wipes up his mess while I do the same with my napkin and T-shirt. “I thought I just heard you say you were marrying Mazzy next week.”
I nod. “I am.”
His mouth drops open and the napkin drops from his hand back onto the table. “What the fuck, man?”
“You can’t repeat this to anyone.”
He nods vigorously and motions for me to get on with how this developed.
“Her grandfather passed away a few months ago, and rather than leaving everything to her father as expected, he left everything to her. The only catch is that she has to be married for six months before she can collect.”
“What kind of rich people crazy shit is that?”
“Exactly. Par for the course in their circles though. They use money to manipulate situations to how they want them.”
“And you’re just going to go along with this?”
I swallow a mouthful of beer. “Why wouldn’t I? Mazzy’s a big deal in Boston and being paired with her would only paint me in a better light. How could the hospital not be pleased that I’m married to one of Boston’s biggest socialites and do-gooders? Perception is what matters here.”
He pushes a hand through his sandy-colored hair and blows out a long breath. “I guess you have a point. But what happens after the six months are up?”
I shrug. “We get divorced. Mission accomplished.”
He gives me a grave look. “What if you don’t want to get divorced?”
My eyes narrow. “Of course I’ll want to get divorced. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t kill her before then. I hate the woman.”
He gives me an incredulous look. “Maybe. But you didn’t always.”
“Yeah well, I liked ketchup on my pizza when I was six, but I don’t now. Things change.”
He puts up his hands. “Fair enough, but I remember how torn up you were after everything went down. What if you catch feelings for her again?”
“Catch feelings? What, are you picking lingo up from your twenty-something fiancée now?” I take a sip from my beer. “I’ve already been burnt once by her. I won’t let it happen again. I’m into some kinky shit, but I’m not a masochist.” I wink, playing it off.
He frowns. “I’m serious, Nick. This whole plan has the potential to be a complete shit show.”
I point at him. “There’s the negative Nancy I know and love. It also has the potential to solve all my problems so I can keep my job and continue to work at the hospital. I agree, being married to Mazzy will be hellish, but the real nightmare scenario would be getting blacklisted at every hospital on the eastern seaboard and having to use my family connections to get a job.”
He’s quiet because knows it’s true.
“Look, I need your support in this. Yeah, it’s not ideal, but it’ll get the job done.” I sip my beer while I wait for him to roll it over in his mind, understanding—from years of being his friend—that that’s what he needs to do.
“Yeah, okay. Let me know when and where and I’ll make sure we’re there.” He runs a palm over his face. “I can’t wait to explain this to Jemma.”
“You can’t tell her this is fake. You realize that, right?”
“I’m not gonna lie to my fiancée.”
“You have to. I kept your little secret, if you recall, when you were dating Jemma.”
His grip on his beer mug tightens.
“Besides, it’s not like they’re friends or anything. It doesn’t affect Jemma’s life.”
He groans. “I don’t like keeping things from her.”
“I don’t care. You owe me one.” I tip my beer to my lips then hold it out toward him.
With a sigh, he clinks his mug against mine and it’s as good as if we were ten-year-old girls making a pinkie promise—it’s a deal.
“I just hope this doesn’t get messy,” he says.
Always the pessimist. But all I see are blue skies ahead.
Twelve
Mazzy
Nick and I have plans to meet at city hall mid-afternoon today after he wakes up from his shift at the ER. I would’ve driven myself again, but I felt a little off balance. Fearing what that could mean, I opted to have Darius drive me.
He doesn’t know what for and he hasn’t asked because that’s not part of his job, but I’m sure he’s curious why I keep coming out here. No one knows I’m going to city hall. Not even my father. I’d rather deal with the fallout from everyone in my life after it’s done. Which is why when my cell phone buzzes in my purse and I see that it’s Ava, I send her to voicemail. She knows me too well and she’ll sniff out that something is going on.
“You want me to park right out front?” Darius asks.
“That’d be great, thanks.”
He pulls the SUV up in front of the large brick building with tall white columns. A walkway lined with low, neatly trimmed hedges lining each side leads up to the main entrance where Nick’s leaning against a column, looking like the easygoing, laid-back guy I remember. Not like the angry man spitting vitriol at me before we ended our relationship. I wish more than anything that I could go back to knowing that man, but after what I did, I doubt we’ll rekindle our friendship during this deal.
“Thanks, Darius. I shouldn’t be too long.”
“All right. I’ll go park in the parking lot. Text me when you’re on your way out and I’ll pull up here to get you.”
I nod and smile, opening the door and stepping out of the vehicle. I feel Darius’s eyes on me until I hear the vehicle pull away. Then I’m more focused on Nick’s gaze taking me in as I make my way up the path.
He straightens up off the column, not nearly as relaxed now that he’s spotted me. His large shoulders are rigid, and his hands are out of his pockets and fisted at his sides.
A wave of dizziness hits me and I stumble, but it passes and I manage to right myself before I nosedive onto the cement.
He arches an eyebrow. “Did you have a third martini at lunch?”
“I didn’t have any alcohol at lunch. I didn’t want to forget this memorable moment.” I give him a saccharine smile. Seems easiest to give him what he wants, which is for me to be a bitch, when all I want to do is beg for his forgiveness.
“Funny, I’m hoping to forget this whole thing ever happened.” He stalks over to the door, not waiting for me. I suppose even Nick’s ingrained chivalry from his youth is hard to slough off because I’m sure he’d like nothing more than to let the door hit me in the face.
As I walk through the door he’s holding open for me, I say, “Th
ank you.”
Once inside, we check the directory to figure out where we need to go, then make our way through the building until we find the right office. He barely looks at me as we hand over our IDs and recite our social security numbers to the clerk. She asks for my divorce decree and I slide it over the counter. It feels like a dark omen in this office where happy couples are in premarital bliss. I’m proof ever-afters don’t always stick. Once I’m done filling in and signing the form, I glance up and see Nick watching me with a rigid set to his mouth.
Before I know it, the clerk has us lifting our hands to swear there’s an absence of legal impediment, then she passes an envelope over the counter to me. “Here you go. Congratulations to you both. I hope you have a long and happy marriage.”
Nick scoffs.
I glare at him before looking back at the clerk with a smile. “He’s just nervous. Thanks so much for your help.”
I walk away with the envelope, not waiting for my fiancé. I can hear his footsteps behind me and feel his glare on my back.
When I thought of this idea, I knew it wouldn’t be easy, knew that Nick likely was still pissed at me for everything that went down. But he’s not exactly Mister Innocent here either. He played a role in our demise too.
I yank my phone from my purse and text Darius to tell him I’m ready to be picked up, then when I can’t take it anymore, I whip around to give Nick a piece of my mind. “If we’re going to survive this next six months together, you’re going to have to learn to be around me and not look like you hate my very existence.”
“I’m aware.” He stops and crosses his arms. If I weren’t so pissed, I’d probably note the way his biceps bulge.
“Then what was that up there?” I gesture toward the stairs we just came down. “When someone offers you their congratulations, you don’t scoff. You say thank you. Maybe even try smiling.”
He gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.
I roll my eyes and stomp away. “We’re getting married in a few days. You should probably practice in the mirror before then.”
The chuckle behind me only irritates me further. I push past the heavy doors of the front of the building without holding them for Nick, but I can still hear him hot on my heels. The SUV is waiting for me at the end of the path, but when I’ve made it about halfway down, the world tilts on its axis and gravity pulls me to the ground.
Thirteen
Nick
I’m pretty pleased with myself. Watching Mazzy stomp away in anger feels like a win, and I can’t keep the shit-eating grin from my face as I keep pace behind her. Not because I plan on apologizing but because it will annoy her further.
All right, yeah. I’m like the eight-year-old kid on the playground right now, but I really don’t care. She’s done worse.
But my self-satisfaction disappears when Mazzy pitches violently to the left and falls. She cries out and I rush forward, stopping her at the last second from slamming her head on the cement. My medical training kicks in and I lay her gently on the cold cement, careful with her head. She’s groaning, eyes squeezed shut.
“Mazzy, what happened?” I take her pulse and count it out on my watch. It’s a little elevated but not terrible. She’s not having a heart attack. “Mazzy, talk to me. Open your eyes.”
She does for just a second but it’s enough that I’m able to see she’s not stroking out on me. “I’m fine. Just help me to my car.”
As she says that, a big black man kneels on the other side of her. “What happened?”
I say, “She just pitched to the side and fell.”
“Darius.” Mazzy reaches toward the man, and I can’t help the way my eyes narrow. Who is this man to Mazzy? “Help me to the car.”
“Who the hell are you?” I ask the man.
His eyes narrow on me. “I could ask you the same.”
He’s clearly not impressed with me, but I don’t give a fuck right now. Mazzy’s not going anywhere with this guy until I know who he is. “I’m her fiancé. And you are?”
Darius’s eyes bug out of his head and he glances at Mazzy. “Her, her… what the hell did you say?”
“Darius is my driver. Now let’s leave the dick measuring between you two for another time. Help me to the vehicle.” Her voice is weak and pained, and unlike when I deal with patients at work, it affects me.
“I’m taking you to the ER.” I push my hand under her shoulders to try to help her sit up.
She groans and limps to the side, her iron grip on my chest to steady herself. “I don’t need the ER. I need to go home. I’ll be fine.”
“Let’s go, Maz,” Darius says, trying to help her. I don’t like how he calls her by her nickname.
“She’s not going anywhere but the ER.” These two can try to fight me, but the only place Mazzy is going is to the hospital so we can figure out what’s going on with her.
“I have Meniere’s disease,” Mazzy blurts.
“Oh, shit.” Now what I saw makes sense. Meniere’s affects the inner ear and can cause vertigo out of the blue. “You must have a prescription.”
“I do, but I changed purses. I thought I would be okay to come here and get home before it grew worse”
I frown but know what I have to do. “Then you’re coming home with me.”
“The hell she is. I don’t even know who you are,” Darius says.
“I told you, I’m her fiancé.” The words sound strange. I didn’t think I’d ever be anyone’s fiancé, let alone Mazzy’s.
“She doesn’t have a fiancé.” Distrust glimmers in his dark eyes.
“It’s okay, Darius. He’s a doctor. He can help,” Mazzy says, patting his hand with her eyes closed.
“It’s settled then. Help me get her up.”
Darius does as I ask and Mazzy once again almost falls over once we have her upright.
“Think you can drive us to my place?” I ask Darius.
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
Getting her to the SUV is a slow process, and once she’s tucked inside, I hurry around to the other side to get in the back with her. I wouldn’t have been shocked if Darius had taken off before I could get in, but surprisingly, he waits for me. I give him my address, and in under ten minutes, he’s pulling in my driveway.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say to Darius once the SUV is in park.
“You sure you want me to leave you with this chump?” he asks Mazzy, ignoring me.
I roll my eyes and get out of the vehicle. She must tell him it’s fine because when I open up her door, she lets me help her step down onto my driveway. We shuffle up the driveway together.
“Make sure you take care of her.”
I wave Darius off with my hand that’s not wrapped around Mazzy’s body. “Almost there,” I tell her.
The stairs up onto the front porch are a challenge and I have to yank her into me a few times to make sure she doesn’t fall. She doesn’t need to add a head injury to her problems. I push the code into the keypad on my door while Mazzy moans.
“Oh, God.” Then without warning, she throws up all over me.
I’m not surprised she vomited—lots of people throw up when they have vertigo. I was just hoping to get her to a toilet first. Still, I’m less affected than one might think. It certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been thrown up on. But it’s still not pleasant and the scent is enough to make anyone ready to vomit themselves.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
I’m wearing a Henley, so rather than wear it inside, I brace Mazzy’s hands against the side of the house. “Stay like that for a second.”
I strip off my shirt as carefully as I can, trying not to get any vomit in my hair, then I toss it onto the grass on the front lawn. That shirt is going straight to the garbage.
“Okay, let’s get you inside.” I don’t miss how Mazzy’s gaze travels up my chest. I’m happy I hit the gym several times a week and make fitness a priority. Just so she can admire and never touch.
>
I wrap my arm back around her and lead her into the house, trying to decide where I should take her. Having her in my bedroom feels too intimate, but it’s the only one with an adjoining bathroom, which might save me from having to clean up more vomit. So I lead her up the stairs to my bedroom and help her onto the bed.
“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?”
“No, not right now.”
“Okay, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back. Bathroom is right there.” I point at the door that leads to the master bathroom. “I’m going to take care of a few things.”
I go downstairs, call in a prescription for Mazzy, and ask them to rush its delivery. Since I helped the pharmacist’s daughter out once when she came in with a broken arm, she agrees to have it dropped off within an hour. Then I get a glass of water and take it up to her. She manages to swallow a couple of gulps before insisting that’s all she wants.
When I offer Mazzy a change of clothes—one, because some of the vomit splashed on her blouse, and two, because being sick in a pencil skirt and silk blouse doesn’t seem ideal—she agrees but insists I leave the room when she changes. Somehow, she manages to undress and put on my T-shirt and athletic shorts, then get back into bed.
The doorbell rings and it’s the prescription delivery, so I administer a dose to her and she passes out shortly after. I stand over the bed, studying the way her more-strawberry-than-blonde hair is strewn across my pillow, and I push back the niggling feeling in my chest, ignoring it for the warning it is.
The fact is, seeing her fall to the ground affected me a helluva lot more than it should have.
Fourteen
Mazzy
I wake with a heavy feeling in my limbs and a groggy head. Before I even open my eyes, I recognize the feelings for what they are—the aftermath of a vertigo attack. I’m lying on my right side in the same position I always lie when I have one of these—the one that allows me to feel as though my head isn’t swimming. With a deep breath and a small prayer, I slowly roll over to the other side to see if it feels as if my brain is shaking or whether I’m back to normal.
Don't Mind If I Do : A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy Page 6
