My Ex's Wedding: A Fake Boyfriend Romance

by Annabelle Costa

  As soon as Doug is gone, Nellie hops onto my bed beside me. Right beside me. Like, one foot away. So close that if I could move even a little, I could easily put my arm around her. Or lean forward and kiss her. But instead, I’m propped up on a bunch of pillows, unable to do much more than look in her general direction. I smile at her, hoping it’s enough.

  The craziest part is I don’t feel self-conscious. Even though I’m in my underwear and I’m propped up on a bunch of pillows, with my hands in their splints. It’s not like with Isabelle. With Nellie, I don’t feel like I need to be the best version of myself—I can just be me.

  “Hey,” Nellie whispers in my ear. She’s so close, I can smell mint on her breath. Does she have any clue how crazy she’s making me? “I brought contraband.”

  What did she bring? A joint? I haven’t had one of those in years. I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable inhaling anything when my diaphragm is so damn weak. It’s scary to feel like I need to cough but not be able to. A trip to the ER would not be fun.

  But instead, Nellie whips out a Twix bar. She shakes it in the air triumphantly. “I got it from the minibar! I’ve never taken anything from the minibar before! It was, like, five bucks.”

  “You can still return it without being charged,” I say soberly. “It’s not too late.”

  She giggles as she rips open the wrapper. “Nope! Not anymore.” She pulls out one of the two bars and crunches loudly on it. She gets a smudge of chocolate on her lips that’s oddly sexy. “Want a bite?”

  I nod. I’ve already had my teeth brushed, but to hell with that.

  Nellie’s fed me so many times today that it isn’t a big deal anymore. I open my mouth so she can put the end of the Twix bar inside. I haven’t had a Twix in years. I forgot how good they taste. But I have a feeling anything would taste good if Nellie were feeding it to me.

  We alternate bites of the Twix bar. It doesn’t escape me that we’re swapping spit via the bar, and she doesn’t seem at all bothered. I take it as a good sign. She’s not willing to kiss me, but she’s not disgusted by me.

  We demolish that Twix bar together in under a minute. It’s so good, I almost tell her to go grab another one. But I’ve eaten a lot today and I need to watch my calorie intake. I’m not overweight, but that can change real quick when I can’t do anything to burn calories.

  “Hey,” Nellie says, as she leans against the pillow next to mine, her face inches away. Her breath smells like chocolate and caramel. “You’ve got chocolate on your face.”

  “Gee, thanks for the heads up.”

  She rifles around in her pocket and pulls out a napkin. She reaches out and runs the white material against my lips. It’s typical for me to have some food left around my mouth after I eat that needs to be wiped away—it’s not fun, but it’s part of my life now. My mother, who is the one who usually feeds me, will dab at my chin intermittently with a napkin through the meal, then wipe me down more thoroughly after the meal is over. Doug is more impatient, and usually always waits till the end to wipe me off unless I complain.

  But Nellie does it differently than my mother or Doug. She doesn’t do it mechanically, like it’s a chore she’s getting out of the way. She’s gentle. Her fingers linger close to my face until I almost feel like I can’t breathe.

  “So what do you think?” she says.

  About what? “Huh?” I say, scared to say the wrong thing and ruin this moment.

  She smiles. “Cooking show? What do you say?”

  I let out a breath. She came here to watch television and that’s what we’re going to do. It was stupid to hope for more. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

  She starts to turn the television on but then hesitates. She turns to me, tucking her legs under her body, her brown eyes wide. “Can I confess something to you?”

  Confess something to me? What does that mean?

  I think I’m falling for you, Alex.

  I want you to kiss me.

  I want you to lick me all over.

  Christ, I’ve got to stop thinking this way. Nellie is paid to be here. She is paid to be here. I can’t ever let myself forget that.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “I’m super nervous about tomorrow.” She blinks a few times, tucking her hair behind her ears. “You know, about that guy, Blake Howard. I looked him up and he’s a really big deal.”

  Her confession isn’t about me. Obviously. I feel stupid for even thinking it might have been.

  “So you should be psyched,” I say. “This is a great opportunity.”

  “I am psyched.” She sighs. “But I’m also hella scared. This could make my whole career. I’ve got to make a good impression.”

  “Okay, I’m going to tell you two things to make you feel better,” I say. “First, you’re one of the funniest standups I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. You have nothing to worry about. And second, Parker loves helping his friends, so he’ll talk this Howard guy into giving you a shot no matter what. And by the way, every attractive woman is his friend.”

  Nellie’s smile is unreadable. “So maybe Parker isn’t such a bad guy after all.”

  “It’s not about Parker being a bad guy or not.” I think the jury is still out on that one. “It’s about Isabelle. They’re wrong for each other.”

  “Maybe,” she says vaguely. She rolls over on the sheets and the mattress shifts under her weight—my hand slides across my thigh against my will. “You really think I’m one of the funniest stand-ups you’ve ever seen?”

  “Absolutely,” I say honestly.

  Her cheeks color at the compliment, which is adorable. “It’s all about my audience though,” she says. “Sometimes I tell what other people might think is a funny joke to the wrong audience and it’s a bust.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like…” She chews on her lip as she thinks a minute. “I had this bit about a guy I dated who was really into dogs. Like he brought his dog on all of our dates. At first it was cute, but then it got to the point where I was jealous of the dog and started to plot to get him out of the way so I could have some alone time with my boyfriend.”

  I grin at her. “That sounds funny.”

  “I thought so.” She shakes her head. “The people at the fundraiser for the animal shelter didn’t think so though.”

  If I could, I’d be covering my mouth to keep from snorting. As it is, I can’t help what embarrassing noises come out of my mouth. (Incidentally, if I’m about to sneeze, get out of the way.) A little bit of spittle escapes from my lips and I can feel it moisten my chin.

  Great. Now I’ve got drool on my face. Really attractive.

  Nellie notices what I’ve done, but she doesn’t make a big thing of it. She grabs the napkin she’d used to wipe the chocolate off my lips and quickly dabs at my chin.

  “So,” she says quietly. “If I’m so good at what I do, how come I’m still working two side jobs just to pay my bills?”

  I don’t have an answer for that one. “It’ll be all that much sweeter when you do succeed.”

  “Well, I’m glad someone believes in me.” Her hand slides onto my shoulder. She has no idea what she’s doing to me right now. No clue. “I think you could be the only one.”

  Now we’re just looking at each other. It’s… intense. That’s the only word for it. I’m staring into Nellie’s brown eyes, and my heart is beating so fast, it’s making my chest hurt. I’m nervous, but good nervous like I was at the blackjack table. Because things might go south here, but there’s also a chance of something great happening. No, beyond great. Fucking incredible.

  And then my phone buzzes.

  It’s a text message. From Isabelle, of all people. I lower my eyes to read it off the screen:

  Can we talk in person?

  Nellie leans over me to read the message too. Her soft black hair brushes against my face while her eyes scan the screen. “Isabelle wants to talk to you?”

  “Apparently.”

  Another message pops up
: Please?

  “Wow.” She raises her eyebrows. “Are you going to write back to her?”

  I don’t want to. What I want is to stay in this room with Nellie, talking about her act, watching television, and whatever else she wants to do. Anything, everything.

  “Uh,” I say. “I guess.”

  “I mean,” she says, “this is what you came here for, isn’t it?”

  It was, yes. But all that suddenly seems unimportant compared to what could happen in this room tonight.

  But Nellie is looking at me expectantly, so I turn to my phone and dictate a response to her: When?

  “Maybe she wants to get lunch tomorrow,” I mumble. I glance at Nellie, who is fiddling with the remote. Shit, did I blow it? Was there ever a chance something was going to happen between us? Or am I a dumbass for even thinking about the possibility?

  Isabelle’s response pops up on the screen: Now? I can meet you at Coffee Bean again.

  She wants to meet now. I look at Nellie, who has turned on the television. I don’t know what to do. Isabelle is begging to meet with me. And to be fair, she’s the reason I’m here in the first place. To stop this travesty of a wedding.

  And let’s face it—it was never going to happen between Nellie and me. Now that she’s channel surfing again, I feel like an idiot for getting my hopes up.

  “She wants to meet now,” I say.

  “Now?” Nellie’s eyes widen. “Like, right now.”

  “I’d assume that’s what ‘now’ refers to.”

  She yanks the phone off the night table to get a better look at Isabelle’s texts. Her brow furrows. “You’re going to meet her, right?”

  I nod at my wheelchair next to the bed. Without Doug here, I have no way of getting back into it. Nellie sure as hell can’t transfer me. “I don’t think I’m making it to Coffee Bean.”

  “So she can come here.” Before I can protest, Nellie’s thumbs are flying across the screen. “How about in fifteen minutes? I can make myself scarce.”

  “Nellie, what the fuck?” The panic rises in my chest. It’s bad enough Nellie is here when I’m like this, but I can’t stand the thought of perfect Isabelle seeing me this way. “I don’t want her here when I’m in bed!”

  “What’s the big deal?”

  Heat rises in my ears. “I don’t feel presentable, okay?”

  My phone buzzes and Nellie smiles. “Well, too damn bad because she’s on her way.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I think you’re overreacting.” She reaches over and runs a hand through my damp hair. “You look fine.”

  The hell I do. But this is happening, so I should just minimize the damage. “Can you take the splints off my hands?”

  She looks down at my hands, like she’s considering saying no. But then she nods. She lifts my hands, one by one, pulls off the Velcro, and sets the splints aside. Then I have her remove the boots from my feet.

  “Where do you want me to put them?” she asks.

  “On the desk is fine.” As long as they’re out of the way. Not that Isabelle doesn’t know about my myriad of equipment, but she doesn’t need a reminder right in her face. “And pull the blanket up a little more.”

  She tugs my blanket up so it’s at mid-chest level. Once she leaves, I won’t be able to make any other tweaks to my appearance. I can’t even run a hand through my hair. And if I’ve got more chocolate on my face, it’s staying there.

  Why the hell do I care so much? I’m not in love with Isabelle anymore. Definitely not. But there’s something about Isabelle that makes me feel like I have to be perfect for her. After all, I was perfect before. I don’t want to be any less than that.

  “You look good,” Nellie assures me as she replaces my iPhone on the nightstand.

  I don’t. I never will again. But it’ll have to be enough to get me through this.

  I nearly jump out of my skin when a timid knock comes from the hallway. Nellie goes to answer the door, and I hear soft words being exchanged. The door slams shut, and I can only lie there, waiting. Until she appears in front of me.

  It’s Isabelle.

  She’s here.

  Chapter 28

  Nellie

  Damn Isabelle.

  You only had to look at Alex to see how head over heels he still was for her. After all, he was fine with having those splints on his wrists when I was around, but he couldn’t bear for his precious Isabelle to see him like that.

  The sad part is, I can’t even blame him. Like I said, she’s spectacular. I have healthy self-esteem, but Isabelle is in an entirely different league. If you looked up “beautiful” in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of Isabelle with her shiny blond hair and perfect ass and perfect tits. At best, I’d get a picture under “cute and funky.”

  She even has a beautiful name. Isabelle. If she were named, I don’t know, Hortense, then maybe I’d feel like I could compete. But no. She’s beautiful, perfect Isabelle.

  It pisses me off. Especially since before she texted him, I had thought…

  I thought he and I might…

  Well, never mind. Whatever connection we had was ruined once that text came in. His head wasn’t in the game anymore after that. Better to let him meet her and sort the whole thing out. I have to remember this is just a job. I’m not here as Alex’s girlfriend. I’m not his girlfriend. Even though he’s warmed to me, I’m not even his friend—not really. I’m paid to be here.

  And also, he didn’t even want me here in the first place.

  After I go back to my own hotel room, I press my ear against the door for a good two minutes, trying to hear what they’re saying. When it becomes clear I can’t hear shit, I decide to get dressed and go downstairs. I don’t care what they’re doing in there. It’s clear Isabelle still has some serious feelings for Alex, just like he’s got feelings for her. Maybe she’s here to tell him she wants to dump the douchebag and get back together with him.

  Well, if that’s the case, good for them. I don’t care.

  Really.

  I find myself wandering over to one of the many bars in the casino. If I wasn’t depressed enough, they don’t even card me when I order a Midori sour! Yes, I’m twenty-eight. But I still look like a young girl of twenty, don’t I? What’s wrong with these people?

  Well, at least they didn’t call me “ma’am.” If that ever happens, I’m never going out in public again. I swear, “ma’am” is the most traumatic word in the English language. It should be one of those words they have to bleep on television, like “shit” and “tit.”

  “Wednesday!”

  My stomach sinks. There’s only one person in the world who would call me that.

  “Parker,” I say weakly. I turn around and see him standing there. Parker sitting in the sports bar was attractive. Parker standing in front of me, tall and muscular in his expensive white dress shirt with the first button undone, is damn sexy. I get what Isabelle sees in him.

  “Don’t look so excited to see me.” He laughs. “Aren’t we friends now?”

  No, we’re most definitely not. But I’m finding it hard to hate him. After all, he’s doing a huge favor for me. Huge. It means a lot to me. And I know he was never seriously interested in me, considering he had a girl like Isabelle to come home to. Maybe Parker Ashmont isn’t such a bad guy after all. Yes, he grabbed my boob—no getting around that—but just because he has an immature sense of humor, it doesn’t mean there’s nothing redeeming about him.

  “Can I join you?” he asks as he arches one of his eyebrows.

  “Sure.” I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Be my guest.”

  Parker slides into the stool next to mine. For the first time since I’ve met him, my skin doesn’t crawl at the idea of being close to him. Also, he smells nice. Like expensive suits and fine wine. Is that a cologne brand? Rich Boy, a fragrance by Calvin Klein.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

  “That’s okay,” I say, taking a sip of my Mido
ri sour. “I won’t be here long. Alex is waiting for me.”

  There’s an amused look in Parker’s blue eyes. “Is he?”

  I frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He slides a tiny bit closer to me. “Only that I’m doing you a favor, so you don’t have to rush off like I’m some asshole. You can stay a little while. Spend some time with me.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying…” His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “I’m doing you a big favor. So maybe you can do one for me too.”

  And that’s when he puts his hand on my thigh.

  Chapter 29

  Alex

  “Isabelle.” Why is it so goddamn hard to say her name? I dated her for two years. We were engaged, albeit briefly. I should be able to say her name without stammering. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Alex,” she says softly.

  She won’t stop staring at me and it’s driving me crazy wondering why. She came here for a reason. This isn’t a social call. She’s got something important to say.

  “About what you said to me earlier…” she says.

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “That.”

  Her eyes soften and fill with tears. And now I get why she’s here. Why did I think for even a moment it could be anything more? “Alex, you have to understand, this is hard for me too.”

  She rounds the far side of my bed and gingerly settles down on the edge of it, which sets me into a tailspin of panic. That’s the side where my catheter tube runs, even though it’s covered by the blanket. So if she’s sitting there, there are good odds she’s sitting on my catheter tube, whether she realizes it or not. And if she looks down, she’ll see my bag of piss hanging off the side of the bed.

  Why the hell couldn’t she have sat on the other side? There’s so much more room on the other side! And zero catheters.

  “Alex,” she goes on. Maybe she’s not sitting on the catheter—maybe I’m okay. “It’s not like I don’t still have feelings for you.”