My (Mostly) Fake Wedding: A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy (My (Mostly) Funny Romance Series Book 2)

by Penelope Bloom

  “Get to be?” Belle bit out each word like she had to force it from the core of her being.

  “It’s a pretty cushy job. You just have to show up, say the words at the right time, and my brother and I will pay you what we were going to pay Mindy. And you still get paid for planning the wedding. Double dipping, you know?”

  “I’d have to be crazy to agree to that.”

  “At the end of the day, what’s even the difference between a crazy person and someone who’s highly motivated. Right?”

  “No. I’m not bailing you out of this. Yes, I am probably screwed now without this wedding to rebuild trust in my business. No, I’m not willing to stoop to your level to fix it. I’m out. Okay?” She looked like she was about to storm out of the building, but she picked up her milkshake and proceeded to aggressively suck the last quarter of her drink down. She set the glass hard on the table, then glared at me. “You better tip that poor waitress nicely for having to hear about where your dick has been, too.”

  And just like that, Belle walked out of my life.

  Temporarily, of course.

  12

  Belle

  Let the record show that today was officially day four, L.A.C. For laymens, let the record also show that L.A.C. stands for Life After Chris.

  In my four days of post Chris living, I’d discovered a few important things. One was that my business was basically like a grease fire in the kitchen. I’d stupidly thought I could make a post on my site to calmly refute all the negativity flooding in, but all it did was stoke the flames. I’d even heard a rumor that a national news outlet was considering running a sensationalized version of my story. There were even whispers of headlines like, “The Wedding Slammer’s Revenge” or “Bridal Bloodbath.”

  My brother had tried to reach out a few times, but I didn’t need his uncanny ability to calm me down. I needed to sink into the horrible and let it marinate. Because calming down would mean I wouldn’t be too distracted to think about work all day.

  It would mean shifting my focus to dangerous things.

  Dangerous, tattooed, muscular, wild-haired things that still paid me visits every night in my dreams.

  I dragged my thoughts away from all of that and started listening to my friend, Val. She was one of that rare breed of friend that transcended time and space. It didn’t really matter that we’d both moved across the country a million times in the past few years. When she was in town, we hung out. And if neither of us would be in the same town for a few months, we found a way to make it happen. So when she knew she’d be near New York this week, we made sure that meant she got a place to stay and scheduled as much time together as we could manage.

  Val was a former dancer turned instructor. She still had the slender frame and gracefulness, but thankfully had learned to enjoy herself a little more than in past years. I was happy to see hear actually eating carbs as she chewed her bagel.

  “Is Texas still a no-fly zone?” Val asked. Her thick brown hair was pulled back in a bun, but exploded in a wild, poufy chaos of curls. She had rounded features with caramel colored eyes I always found comforting.

  “Texas is… yeah. I haven’t even talked to Lance, so it’s basically an open wound I’m not in any hurry to poke.”

  “What about the fact that I saw you on a magazine cover?” She pursed her lips and tilted her head in a way that let me know she’d been dying to tease me about it.

  I sighed. “Seriously? I hadn’t heard about that, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “The picture was actually really flattering. Then again, Chris Rose was practically swallowing you up in it. It looked like if he kissed you any deeper, his tongue would’ve popped out of your asshole.”

  I cringed. “Thanks for that disturbing image.”

  “So?”

  I wiggled my head around, trying to decide what to even say for myself. “Well, I told him to basically get lost after that.”

  “So I was right in guessing he was bullshitting? I knew my best friend in the whole world wouldn’t have been secretly dating a superstar and not tell me. Especially if she was tangled in some scandalized secret wedding slash fake wedding.”

  I grimaced. “Yeah, well, you called it. Except I kinda sorta hooked up with Chris Rose a couple weeks ago. On an airplane,” I added with a devious wiggle of my eyebrows. I couldn’t help it, okay? Trophy dick may not have been a widely accepted aspect of female culture, but it should’ve been. Hell, I should’ve been able to get his gorgeous cock molded and hung up on my wall like some big game huntress.

  Val didn’t react for a few seconds, then she flashed an uncertain smile. “Where’s the punchline?”

  “There isn’t one.” I leaned forward, gesturing vaguely with my hands to show her how big it was. “It was fantastic. And stupid. But fantastic.”

  Val reached across the table to slap me. “Stop lying to me.” But she was smiling broadly now.

  I spent the next few minutes filling her in on the fiasco Chris and his wedding turned out to be, wrapping it up with my version of events at the aquarium restaurant.

  “Wow,” Val said. “And you seriously told him to go fuck himself?”

  “Not in those exact words. But what was I supposed to do? I mean, how could I live with myself if I agreed to something like that.”

  “Because it sounds like he just wants it to be an excuse to be around you more, doofus.”

  “What?”

  “Think about it. The guy is cornered in the stupid mess he and his brother created. If he’s not ‘engaged’ he’s got to at least be off the market. He obviously likes you, and even if he was hiding the truth about this whole thing to you, he’s probably thinking now you two can finally bump uglies again.”

  “I doubt it. I think he just wanted to use me, and I was the one who happened to be standing close enough when the shit hit the fan.”

  “Oh, come on. You modeled wedding dresses for him. You tried cakes. You picked out colors and decorations and themes. Think about it, Belle. You practically planned your dream wedding with this guy. So what if it’s fake? You get the best of both worlds if you go along with it. A fast and furious relationship with Chris Rose, no strings attached. A dream wedding. Then a ‘this shit ends here’ clause to make sure you don’t get tangled up long-term with him. Oh, and they’re going to slap you with a fat wad of cash for your trouble? I mean, come on. Are you seriously debating this?”

  I stared into my coffee cup. “You raise a valid point or two. But what about my feelings? What about, I don’t know, the whole sacred pact of marriage? Won’t I be dooming myself to some kind of cosmic karma kick in the ass if I play this game with him?”

  “No. Okay, maybe. All I know is you’re going to get a very real Val kick in the ass if you don’t go find that man today and tell him you’ll do it. Wait too long, and you’ll lose your chance.”

  “Why did you have to come visit this week of all weeks?”

  “Because you need me and my brilliant advice, probably.”

  13

  Chris

  Damon and I met in the conference room at Rose Athletic. Fittingly, it was the same conference room where Belle had signed on to be the wedding planner for Mindy and me.

  Damon, wearing his usual ensemble of muted colors and fancy clothes, glared at me from across the table.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I still feel like this is all your fault. Somehow.”

  “Hey, for once, it wasn’t. I didn’t put that well-endowed bastard in Mindy’s bathroom. I wasn’t the one flaking on meetings with the wedding planner every day. I behaved.”

  “You appeared to, which is why I’m having trouble believing things went like you say.”

  I shrugged. “Believe what you want. But you can at least admit my improvisation was on point. I mean, come on. That little fib I spun for the cameras was golden.”

  “It would’ve been golden if Belle agreed to go along with it. If she’s only showing up here to h
ave a witness when she kicks you in the balls, we’re more screwed than we were before.”

  “Listen to the married man talking like he knows the first thing about getting screwed. You’d need a history book for that, wouldn’t you?”

  Damon got a dangerous glint in his eye. “If I spoke to my brother about the sexual adventures Chelsea and I have…”

  I waited, eyebrow raised, and stomach prepared to void its contents onto the table.

  “We would be here all day,” he finished.

  I snorted. “Disgusting. And Belle is going to come around. Just watch. She and I have a connection.”

  Belle walked into the conference room without a word. She stopped in front of a chair at the far end of the table, glanced between the two of us, then sat. She was wearing a white and black pantsuit. It wasn’t exactly my style, but hey, all the more motivation to help her out of it later.

  “Thanks for joining us,” Damon said.

  Belle cleared her throat, not quite making eye contact as she spoke. “I’m ready to consider your offer.”

  “The offer is already on the table. What’s to consider?” Damon asked.

  “Maybe she wants to get put on the table herself?” I wondered aloud.

  Belle’s jaw tightened. She took what appeared to be a calming breath, then continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “How much more you’re going to pay me for the part where you made a fool of me and misled me into thinking I was planning a real wedding.”

  I put my hand to my mouth, covering a smile. Good hustle, Belle. I could fully enjoy her squeezing more money out of us, since my brother was footing the bill for everything related to the fake wedding experience.

  “Another fifty thousand,” Damon said.

  Belle, like a badass, just lifted her palm up higher.

  “One hundred. Not a penny more.”

  “I guess we’re done then,” Belle said, standing back up and heading for the door.

  “Wait.” I could see how much it pained him to do it, but Damon knew what we all knew. We needed Belle. And because of the way I’d pitched the story to the cameras, she was the only one who could do this.

  “One fifty, but you won’t get any of it until the marriage is official.”

  Belle did a small, awkwardly adorable dance, then quickly calmed herself down. “I accept your offer.”

  She made a sound in her throat, then fixed me with what I assumed was supposed to be a “this is just business” face. Her small hand was extended toward me.

  With a grin, I took it and shook.

  All business? Challenge accepted.

  Belle - Chapter 13

  Eighties music blasted from my Bluetooth speakers, the afternoon sun was flooding my apartment windows, and I was fully embracing the cliche by wearing a long, ratty t-shirt and panties while I swept the floors. Yes, I was even doing the occasional vocal solo into the handle of the broom, except I was notoriously bad at remembering lyrics, so I mostly just moved my lips enthusiastically and made guttural noises.

  I was in the middle of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” when someone knocked at my door.

  Like any sane person, I cut the music and tiptoed toward the door, hoping whoever it was hadn’t heard I was home. As sneakily as I could, I lifted my eye to the peep hole on my door.

  I was greeted by a fish-bowl version of Chris’ face—yes, he even looked good when his nose was twice its normal size and his eyes were pushed off to the side.

  “I see you in there,” he said. “Let me in. I know how to pick locks, so asking is really just a formality.”

  “If you stick anything in my lock, I’ll scream.”

  “Yeah, I know from experience. And I enjoyed it.”

  I rolled my eyes, grinning only because I knew he couldn’t see. “I need to get dressed. Wait there.”

  “You’re naked?” Chris started reaching for something in his pocket, then I heard metal scrabbling from inside the door.

  I didn’t have time to be pissed, so I turned and ran as fast as I could toward my bedroom closet. The socks I’d put on to be able to pull off a wicked entrance slide ended up working too well. I tried to slow down before I turned, but my feet kept going forward.

  The next thing I knew, I was sliding on my ass and my head was thumping against the floor.

  I blinked a few times, then felt the dull, spikey throb of pain start to pulse from under my scalp.

  “You okay?” Chris called through the door. “Did you just fall?”

  “I’m alive!” I shouted. “Don’t come in. I’m not decent.”

  “Me either, it’s okay.” The door swung open, and Chris half-jogged toward me. He knelt, then frowned when he saw where I was touching my scalp.

  “I told you not to come in,” I groaned.

  “Yeah, well, you can yell at me later when you’ve got some frozen peas on your head. Plus, I’ve already seen everything you’ve got to offer. There are no secrets between us anymore, wifey.”

  I let out a low, half-laughing moan. “Please don’t start calling me that.”

  “Already started.”

  I flinched when he scooped me up and carried me to the couch. He set me down, then threw a blanket over me.

  “I don’t have hypothermia. I just hit my head.”

  “Sorry. Saw the hard nipples through that t-shirt and figured it was either the cold or me. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but it’s good to know I still get you going.”

  With an obnoxious wink, he went to my fridge and rooted around. “Do I even want to know what a sane person is doing with three different kinds of pickle jars in her fridge? Are you eating these, or are you way lonelier than I thought?”

  “Some are for snacking. Some are for sandwiches. And some are for relish.”

  “Well,” he said, coming back toward me with a chilled jar of dill pickles. “Your horribly under-stocked fridge only had this to offer. He stuck the jar toward me, waiting for me to grab it. “What?” he asked when I didn’t take them right away.

  “I feel like my uncle just stuck his finger out and asked me to pull it.”

  “Come on. I’m not that predictable, am I?”

  Reluctantly, I took the pickles.

  “I wish I could say this was the first time you got your hands all over my pickle.”

  I sighed. “They aren’t even your pickles. Terrible joke.”

  “You could do better?”

  As if he owned the place, Chris hopped on the couch by my feet, making himself comfortable. He was wearing a t-shirt with his name on it and the little logo of his silhouette winding up for a pass that was on all the Chris Rose gear.

  “I could, but I’m not about to lower myself to your level.” I adjusted the blanket with my free hand, making sure I wasn’t flashing my underwear at him. I also pulled it up to cover my nipples. And even if he was right about why they were hard, he was still an asshole for pointing it out. I couldn’t help it if my nipples hardened at the slightest hint of arousal.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “Try to make me laugh. And being yourself doesn’t count.”

  “Ha. Ha,” I said dryly. “And you can’t just tell someone to make you laugh on command. I’m not a stand-up comic.”

  “No kidding. Use a prop then. Give me your best ‘this guy just handed me a pickle jar’ joke.”

  I shook my head. “This is dumb.”

  “Dumb is fun. Try it.”

  “I don’t know? Were these the biggest pickles you could find?”

  Chris winced. “Wow, yeah. You really aren’t very funny, are you? Try to think more like a middle schooler. Channel your inner ridiculousness.”

  “Sorry, it’s a little hard to think straight when I’ve got your pickles on my mind.”

  He cracked a smile, then let out a genuine laugh. “Stupid, but I like it.”

  I gave him a small smile in return. “You know, you’re not anything like I would’ve imagined. I mean, from seeing you on TV. I would’ve pictured you being more like yo
ur brother. All growls and death glares.”

  “My brother doesn’t know how to have fun. I do.”

  “Maybe you’re too good at having fun. That’s why you’re in this mess of a fake engagement in the first place.”

  “And yet the solution to my problem is turning out to be fun.” He gave my foot a little wiggle, but I kicked him away.

  I’d been smiling, but I felt the humor drain away. “This isn’t normal. At all. You realize that, right? I mean, you’re paying me to pretend to be with you.”

  “And?”

  “And—wait,” I tilted my chin to the side. “Why were you knocking on my door in the first place?”

  “Oh, right.” Chris dug in his back pocket and pulled out a box. He hopped off the couch and got on one knee, clearing his throat. “Will you be my pretend wife and make me the happiest fake-ly engaged man in New York?”

  I plucked the ring out of the box. “Is this a different ring than the one you gave Mindy?”

  Chris shrugged. “Couldn’t find her to get the ring back, so I grabbed this after practice yesterday.”

  I inspected it. “You just grabbed this? What did it cost, like fifty thousand dollars?”

  “How am I supposed to remember? Well, are you going to say, ‘I do’ or what?”

  “The woman says ‘yes’ for a proposal and ‘I do’ at the wedding. You’ve got so much to learn if we’re going to get you through this wedding without everyone realizing its fake.”

  “That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. If we’re going to pretend to be in love, we’ll probably need to get to know each other. I was thinking we could spend some time together. Let me tag along while you do wedding planning things or whatever.”

  “Tag along…”

  “Yeah. I’d be your famous, mega talented sidekick.”

  “Why do I feel like you’re not telling me your real motivations here?”

  Chris stood up and dusted off his knees. “Because you’re unusually perceptive? So what are you doing tonight?”