My Ex's Wedding: A Fake Boyfriend Romance

by Annabelle Costa

  Bullshit.

  Well, maybe not bullshit. But she’s the one who dumped me. She ended our relationship. So whatever feelings she had weren’t enough to make her want to stay with me.

  “But I’m with Parker now,” she says. “I’m marrying Parker. You have to accept that.”

  She drops her hand onto mine. I can’t feel it—it could be anyone’s hand she’s touching right now. It doesn’t matter anyway, since the gesture is meaningless.

  “Isabelle,” I say quietly. “I’m not making up stories about Parker. He’s cheating on you. And if you thought about it, you’d know it’s true.”

  She shakes her head at me. “And how do you know that?”

  “Doug says everyone knows.”

  “And you believe the gossip?”

  “I don’t believe all gossip,” I say carefully, “but I believe that.”

  “Maybe you believe what you want to believe.”

  “I’m not telling you about this because I want you back,” I snap at her. “I’m telling you because I care about you, and I don’t want you to get stuck in a shitty marriage.”

  A smile plays on her lips. “So you came here to rescue me.”

  “I…” I’m about to protest, but maybe she’s right. Maybe I did come here to rescue her. I saved her that night when she was being threatened by the mugger. Even after what happened to me, I don’t regret that. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I let that mugger hurt her—it wasn’t even an option. But I’m not in a position to save anyone anymore. All I do is ask for help from everyone else.

  Maybe just one more time, I wanted to be the hero again.

  “I meant it when I said I want to be friends,” she says. “I do. And… well, Nellie seems great. I’d love to get to know her better.”

  “Yeah.” I drop my eyes. If Isabelle and I were to stay in touch when we got back home, the Nellie lie would be quickly found out. Of course, Parker will probably blab my secret before they even make it home. Shit, why did I say she was my girlfriend? Stupid, stupid…

  “I appreciate what you’re trying to do—really.” Isabelle looks down at my hand in hers. I think she’s squeezing it, but who the hell knows? “You’re very sweet, Alex. You’re a wonderful man. And someday you’ll make some woman a wonderful husband.” She closes her eyes. “But not me.”

  Someday you’ll make some woman a wonderful husband. I almost laugh at that one. Right, because women are clamoring for a guy who needs help to do everything, from bathing to going to the bathroom to eating. I’m a real fucking catch.

  Isabelle stands up so now she’s looking down at me. I wish I could hug her goodbye. I wish I could get up and walk her to the door. I wish I could get up.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at the rehearsal dinner,” Isabelle says.

  I don’t love Isabelle anymore. Not the way I used to. As I look at her now, standing in front of me, I know it with certainty. But at the same time, it still hurts to look at her. When I look at Isabelle, I can’t help but think of my own life. Of everything I would have had if that mugger hadn’t stolen it all from me.

  It’s hard to look at her. I don’t want to go to that dinner, but I already said I would. And Parker is planning to introduce Nellie to that Blake guy—we at least have to make a showing. And then I can think of some valid “medical reason” why I can go home early.

  “Alex?”

  I force a smile. “We’ll be there.”

  This means everything to Nellie. I’m not going to do anything to stand in her way.

  Chapter 30

  Nellie

  I yank my leg out of Parker’s grasp. My grip on my glass of Midori sour tightens as I contemplate throwing it in his face.

  “It goes without saying,” he says in a low voice, “if you throw your drink at me, it’s all over.”

  Calm down, Nellie. Don’t let him get to you. Just get through this.

  “I’m not going to throw my drink at you.” I release the glass, just so I’m not tempted.

  His eyes never leave my face. “Good. Then we can have a conversation like adults.”

  I slide back on my stool, itching to move to the next seat. Or leave entirely. “What do you want?”

  And now his hand is on my thigh again. “You know what I want.”

  I grit my teeth. “Get your hand off me. I’m not going to ask you again.”

  Parker throws back his head and laughs. “You know the ‘hard to get’ act drives me crazy, Wednesday.”

  “It’s not an act.” I glare at him. “Look, you know I want Blake Howard to like me. But I’ve got a boyfriend. And you… you’re getting married…”

  He shrugs. “A marriage certificate is just a piece of paper.”

  “Is that what Isabelle thinks?”

  “Look,” he says, “I’m ready to get married. I’m getting close to forty, I want to have children while I’m still young enough to remember their names, and there’s nobody better than Izzy. She looks like a model, she’s intelligent, and she’s not a bitch. She’s great. Alex knew what he was doing when he proposed.” He grins. “But the best thing about her is she travels for work. A lot.”

  Alex was right and I was wrong. Parker is a slimebucket. He’s the worst guy I’ve ever met.

  “Well, I’m with Alex.” I take a swig of my drink. “So.”

  His gaze is still with me, relentless. “Except you’re not really.”

  “I am really.”

  “Bullshit,” he snorts. “Alex Warner is not your boyfriend. The two of you couldn’t even get your stories straight about how you met. Your ‘relationship’? It’s as fake as your tits.”

  I tighten my grip on my glass. “Fuck you, asshole.”

  “Easy there, Wednesday.” His lips curl slightly. “I was kidding. I know they’re real.”

  I bite my tongue, knowing anything I say will be something I’ll sorely regret.

  “So tell me.” His eyes narrow. “Are you friends with Alex? Or is he paying you to be here.”

  I look away, aiming my gaze at a bottle of Jack Daniels behind the counter. He can’t find out the truth. Alex would be so hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “He’s paying you, isn’t he?” He sounds so damn sure of himself. “You don’t even know him, do you?”

  “I have to go,” I say, although my voice sounds choked to my own ears.

  But Parker’s hand is suddenly on my wrist, anchoring me to my barstool. He doesn’t apply enough pressure for it to hurt, but I suspect if I try to stand up, that will change.

  “I don’t blame you,” he says. “You can’t be making much money doing standup comedy. I understand if a desperate guy like Alex throws a few bucks your way, it would be hard to turn down.” He lowers his voice a notch. “Is he paying you to fuck him too, or just be his date?”

  “He’s not paying me to fuck him,” I snap at Parker. I want to slap him so badly. If he weren’t holding Blake Howard over my head, the guy would have a black eye by now.

  “Okay, I believe you.” He flashes his white teeth. “I bet it would cost a lot of money for you to be willing to do that. But I’m not Alex Warner. I’m not a cripple who can’t get laid unless he pays for it.”

  “Good for you,” I mumble.

  “So what do you say?” He puts pressure on my wrist. “Let’s have some fun tonight, and then tomorrow, I put in a good word for you with Blake Howard.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit out.

  “Right. Exactly.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not doing it. Forget it.”

  “Now don’t be hasty, Wednesday…”

  “I’m not doing it.” I look down at his fingers on my wrist. “And you better let go of me right now, or else you’re going to feel my knee in your balls. Count of three till knee in balls: one… two…”

  He releases my wrist and throws his hands in the air. “Fine. You need some time to think about it.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Nelli
e.” That sensation of skin-crawling has returned, but much worse. I hated it when he called me Wednesday, but it’s even worse when he says my real name. “You’re in a business where connections are everything. I could help you. Don’t be stupid.”

  I want to give him the finger and march out of there. But somehow, I find myself hesitating.

  “Do you want to spend the rest of your life waiting tables?” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Because that’s where you’re headed if you turn this down. Trust me.”

  He’s right. The bastard is right. I’ve been doing this long enough to know it. I’ve been waiting and waiting for my big break, and here it is.

  And all I have to do is fuck Parker Ashmont.

  That will never happen. Never in a million, billion years. I would never sink so low. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been busting my ass for six years straight. It doesn’t matter that in those six years, I’ve barely gained any notoriety in the field and still work for free almost all the time. It doesn’t matter that I have grown to hate waitressing more than life itself, and every time I take down a drink order, a little part of me dies.

  “Think about it,” he says. “We both live in New York. I can wait till we get back.”

  “I’m not going to do it,” I choke out.

  I hate the confident smile on his face. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 31

  Alex

  Because we’re going to the rehearsal dinner tonight, Doug dresses me in nice clothes today. A white dress shirt and gray pants that used to be part of a suit.

  After I’m dressed, I wheel myself over to the giant mirror on the wall of the hotel room, to make sure I look okay since I’m meeting Nellie for lunch. Yes, I know my infatuation with Nellie isn’t going anywhere. Still. I want to make sure I don’t have a big hunk of toilet paper stuck to my face or anything else embarrassing. And if I don’t check before Doug leaves, I’m shit out of luck because I can’t fix it.

  But as soon as I look in the mirror, I’m sorry. Any tiny, remaining shred of hope I had that she might want me as much as I want her flies right out the window.

  My face—well, that’s fine. Better than fine, even. I’ll give myself that. My brown hair is still thick with no signs of the hairline receding. I don’t think I have a bald spot, but the headrest would probably hide it if I did. My eyes—well, girls always liked my eyes. They would call them “soulful” or some bullshit like that. My features are all fine and come together in an aesthetically pleasing way. Before I got hurt, girls used to say I was “hot.” And best of all, I don’t have any toilet paper or food stuck to my face.

  It’s everything from the neck down that kills my self-confidence.

  I bought these clothes back when I worked at Coleman. Back then, they fit me perfectly. That’s not the case anymore. The slacks are far too loose on my bony legs, except at the waist, where Doug had to strain to get the button to come together over my gut. The white dress shirt is baggy where it used to fit comfortably over the muscles in my arms and chest. But what I hate most is the black strap across my chest, which stands out starkly against the white of my dress shirt. The way I’m positioned in the chair makes it look like my body is sagging and the strap is the only thing holding me up. It’s not attractive, to say the least.

  I make a face at my reflection. “I think I’m sagging.”

  “Yeah?” Doug is rifling through a drawer, not looking up at me.

  “Can you give me a boost?”

  I wait for Doug to respond. If my butt is too far forward on the cushion, I can’t correct it. I don’t have the strength to adjust myself in the chair. At all. I need his help with that.

  He finally looks up, studying me. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

  He grabs me under my armpits, and hoists me up, straightening out my body and adjusting the strap. It’s better. The strap still stands out too much, but my posture is better. It’s as good as it’ll ever be.

  Nellie and I have plans to get an early lunch, then head to Madame Tussauds. The wax museum is in the hotel, which makes it easy for me—I don’t want to deal with getting an accessible taxi. I’m looking forward to my plans with Nellie. A lot. I don’t want to admit to Doug how much.

  Nellie never came back to my room after Isabelle showed up. I texted her to see if she might come, but she said she was tired. That’s my line—I’m the one who’s always tired. I couldn’t tell from the tone of her text messages if she was angry at me for seeing Isabelle. Although to be fair, she was the one who told her to come over.

  Doug sets me up with my Bluetooth headphones and takes off for his conference. I work on my laptop for much of the morning, setting up some online sales. I got an email from my boss this morning that lacked any of the friendly tones our prior interactions had. It was polite but stiff. He feels awkward now that he knows my situation. It’s not like I shouldn’t have expected it, but it still sucks. I’ll just have to prove myself by continuing to kick everyone's ass in the sales department.

  Nellie is supposed to show up at half-past eleven. By eleven, my stomach is rumbling, because all I’ve eaten today is the breakfast bar Doug fed me before he left. I’d been hoping she’d come early, so it’s a little disappointing when eleven-thirty comes and goes. By a quarter to twelve, I’m getting nervous. Where is she?

  I feel a flash of angry frustration. I’m hungry and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it until she shows up. I can’t even turn on the TV without her. And she knows it. So where is she?

  I’m itching to send her a text message, demanding to know where she is. But I stop myself. I don’t want to seem helpless or desperate. After all, when Doug first suggested she come to Vegas I had refused, saying I could be alone here all day with no problem. I don’t want her to realize I was full of shit.

  Still, who makes someone sit around and wait for twenty minutes? Maybe she’s not madly in love with me, but she could at least have enough respect for me to be on time.

  When Nellie finally bursts through the connecting doors at ten to twelve, I’m seething. The first thing I do is yell at her, “What the hell took you so long? I’ve been waiting here like an idiot.”

  Nellie stops in her tracks. She blinks a few times, bleary-eyed. “I couldn’t sleep last night, okay?” she mumbles.

  Yeah, sure. Couldn’t sleep. She probably went to hit a bar after she left the room and hooked up with some guy. Some guy who isn’t strapped to a giant power wheelchair. She has one-night-stand written all over her face.

  Whatever. She can do what she wants. But she told me she was going to be here, and we’re fucking paying her.

  “You could have called me.” I glare at her. “Knocked on the door, made sure I was okay.”

  “Listen, buddy…” Her eyes flash, and I try not to think about how sexy she looks right now. “Aren’t you the one who goes on and on about how you’re fine all alone and you don’t need anyone with you? I figured if I checked on you, you’d have a shitfit.”

  “Common courtesy,” I shoot back. “You could have sent me a text. ‘Hey, Alex, I’m going to be twenty minutes late.’ You could have shown a little consideration.”

  She stares at me, and now I’m worried. I shouldn’t have yelled at her that way. I went too far. Whatever happened last night with some hot guy at the bar, it’s clear she’s having a shitty morning. I remember how I used to snap at Isabelle until that day she cracked and ran out on me. Nellie would probably be within her rights to march back to her own room and leave me sitting here, unable to eat on my own or even leave the room.

  And even putting aside the fact that I’m starving, I don’t want to fuck things up with Nellie. I don’t want her to hate me the way Isabelle started hating me. I’m past acting that way. Sure, I get bitter and angry sometimes, but I’m so much better than I was. I ought to be able to act like a nice guy and not drive away the coolest girl I’ve ever met.

  Just when I’m shitting myself that Nellie’s going to leave, she crosses the ro
om and yanks open the door to the minibar. She looks inside for a moment, then snatches up a small bag of cookies that probably costs like ten bucks. Without batting an eye, she opens the bag and holds one of the cookies out in front of my lips.

  “Eat it,” she says.

  What the fuck is she doing? “Nellie,” I start to say.

  “Eat it,” she says, pressing the edge of the cookie against my lips.

  Fine. I let her put the small cookie in my mouth, and I chew on it. It’s a really good cookie, although I may be biased because I’m so damn hungry.

  She feeds me a second cookie, then a third. After the fourth, she pops one in her own mouth. “So,” she says, “now that you’ve got some food in you, are you ready to quit acting like a dick?”

  “Sorry,” I say sheepishly.

  A smile touches her lips. “That’s okay. I’m a bitch when I’m hungry too.” She stuffs another cookie in her mouth. “And you were right. I was late. I should have texted you.”

  I glance at the door. “We should probably go. The restaurants are going to be packed. And you know how hard it is to…”

  Christ, I don’t feel like dealing with the lunchtime rush. When we came back from karaoke last night, I had a hard time even squeezing my chair in the elevator. It didn’t help that all the passengers jumped away from me like my disability was contagious.

  “I have a wild idea.” Nellie grins at me. “Why don’t we order room service?”

  I have ordered room service many, many times in my life. Usually, it was utterly unexciting. I’d come back from some business meeting and be so exhausted, it was all I could do to dial the number to get myself a sandwich. Or maybe Isabelle and I had spent a day touring the entirety of Hong Kong, and all we wanted to do was stay in for the night.

  But one thing I can say is I’ve never in my life seen anyone so excited about ordering room service. Her brown eyes are lit up, and she looks happy for the first time since she stumbled into the room. It’s adorable.

  “We have to do that,” I agree.

  I’ll never get sick of Nellie’s smile.