My Ex's Wedding: A Fake Boyfriend Romance

by Annabelle Costa

  Chapter 32

  Nellie

  The wax museum is so cool. I am having such a good time.

  The statues are so lifelike. I felt like I really was standing just feet away from Gwen Stefani. It’s creepy, but also fascinating. When we got to the statue of Wayne Brady, Alex teased me incessantly about my Electra complex until I agreed to take a selfie of me giving him an air kiss.

  “Ooh, Madonna!” I yelp, as I discover the statue of the woman who is possibly my favorite singer of all time. I’m still on a high from singing “Like a Virgin” last night.

  “What do you know about Madonna?” Alex says. “You weren’t even born yet when she was popular!”

  “Well, Alex,” I say, “there’s a little thing called the radio. Oh, and CDs. And MP3s. So I’ve managed to hear a few Madonna songs over the years.”

  “Favorite Madonna song?” he asks me.

  I smile. “It’s got to be ‘Material Girl.’ That song is the best. How about you?”

  “I’ve always been partial to ‘Like a Prayer.’” He pauses. “Although officially, since I’m a straight man, I can’t have a favorite Madonna song.”

  “Right. I understand.”

  Alex grins up at me, and I can’t help but grin back. Part of why I’m having such a good time is I’m here with him. He’s dressed up in a nice shirt and slacks because of the dinner tonight, and he looks so freaking handsome. While we walk together, all I can think about is how nice it was yesterday when I was sitting in his lap. I wish I had more uncomfortable sandals so I’d have an excuse to ask for a seat.

  I can’t stop thinking about last night. We were getting so cozy when Isabelle texted him. I wish I hadn’t encouraged him to see her right away. In retrospect, it was a mistake, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted it, and it was all he was going to be thinking about. I figured she’d come by, they’d each say their pieces, and it would be over. And I’d have Alex to myself for the rest of the trip.

  But then… Parker happened.

  After that, I couldn’t go back to Alex’s room. I felt too horrible. All I could think about was Parker’s ultimatum and what I was going to do about it.

  I mean, I’m going to say no. There’s no way I’d ever do something like that.

  “Hey,” Alex says, “I bet someday you’ll be in this museum.”

  My face gets hot, although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because the thought of ever being famous enough for someone to want to build me out of wax and put me in a museum is beyond ridiculous. Or maybe it’s because I can look at Alex’s face and know he means it.

  “This is going to be your big break,” he says. “I know it.”

  He has no clue about Parker’s ultimatum. He’d be absolutely furious if he knew. It would make him hate Parker even more than he already does, if that were possible.

  If I actually did it—if I slept with Parker just for the sake of my career—Alex would be totally disgusted. Hell, I’d be totally disgusted. I don’t know how I’d be able to look myself in the mirror the next day.

  So I can’t do it.

  I’m not doing it.

  Except the thought of going back to New York and looking for another awful waitressing job makes me physically ill. I want my career to take off. I’m ready. I’m so sick of begging for standup gigs where my only payment is free drinks—if I’m lucky. It’s so depressing. I didn’t tell this to anybody, but a week before I came to Vegas, I was so down about the state of my life and career that I sobbed uncontrollably in my apartment for an hour straight. There was one scary moment when I was worried I might not be able to stop crying.

  And now here’s an opportunity to get the job of my dreams. It’s been plopped right in my lap.

  All I have to do is abandon all my morals.

  Goddamn it.

  “Oh, Christ,” Alex mumbles, his face going white.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He drops his eyes. “Behind you.”

  I whirl around, and my heart drops in my chest. Standing behind me is none other than the beautiful Isabelle Legere. She is perched at the entrance to the room, her pretty blue eyes wide open as she stares at the two of us. She’s like a deer in headlights. It’s clear she intended to spend a nice day at the wax museum by herself, and now she’s run into us and she’s not sure what to do. Welcome to the club.

  “Hi, Isabelle,” I finally say, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Hello.” She blinks a few times. “Um, how are you enjoying your visit to the wax museum?”

  Oh my God, she’s so uncomfortable. I’d feel sorry for her if I wasn’t so busy feeling sorry for myself. I wonder what she and Alex discussed when she came over last night. Clearly, the wedding is still on. And based on how pissy Alex was this morning, I’m guessing she didn’t profess her love to him like he wanted.

  “It’s great,” I say. “We just saw wax Britney Spears and now we’re comparing her with wax Madonna.” I turn to Alex, “What do you think? Britney or Madonna?”

  “Britney,” he says.

  I smack him in the shoulder. “Are you kidding me? That wasn’t even a serious question! The answer is obviously Madonna! Right, Isabelle?”

  Isabelle nods. “Absolutely. Britney is a pop icon, but Madonna is a legend. You can’t even compare. Britney will be a footnote in music history, but Madonna shaped an era.”

  “Exactly!” Ooh, I’m beginning to like Isabelle. “I mean, Britney’s practically washed up already and she’s not even forty yet. I hear more Madonna songs on the radio than Britney songs, even though Madonna’s stuff is much older.”

  “Plus,” Isabelle adds, “Madonna is a more talented singer.”

  “Absolutely.”

  We both glare at Alex, waiting for him to explain himself.

  “Sheesh,” he says. “I thought you were asking me who I thought was hotter, not their global impact on society.”

  “Well, you’re still wrong,” I say. “Madonna was hotter.”

  “Way hotter,” Isabelle agrees.

  “I’m entitled to my opinion,” Alex sniffs.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. I like how he doesn’t tense up when I touch him anymore. “Listen, Isabelle,” I say, “would you like to join us?”

  It’s almost funny the way Isabelle and Alex get equally panicked looks on their faces. But I’m not sorry I asked. Alex came here to stop the wedding, and more than ever, I’m convinced he was right—Isabelle shouldn’t marry Parker. Maybe there’s still a way to stop it from happening.

  And anyway, what are we supposed to do? Go in opposite directions in the same museum, pretending like we don’t know each other? That would be dumb.

  “Um,” Isabelle finally says, “I…I guess I could…”

  I give Alex a look. He shakes his head, but I give him The Look again. Then he sighs.

  “You should join us, Isabelle,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

  A shy smile touches her lips. “Well, I suppose… maybe just for a bit.”

  At that moment, I know I can’t do it. I can’t sleep with Parker. I don’t care if it means passing up a great opportunity. I can’t do it to Isabelle.

  Chapter 33

  Alex

  You won’t believe it, but we have fun together.

  We’re an odd trio. People are staring and I can’t blame them. Two beautiful girls and me—a guy strapped into a sip and puff wheelchair. Nobody can figure out that one. Psst—the secret is I’m not involved with either of them.

  “I Love Lucy was one of my favorite TV shows when I was a kid,” Isabelle says as she gazes at a wax statue of Lucille Ball in a blue dress, her iconic red hair pinned behind her head, mixing chocolate in a bowl. “I used to watch reruns over and over. I’ve probably seen every episode five times.”

  Isabelle is the biggest surprise of all. She’s acting normal—not awkward or teary-eyed. She acts like we’re just three amigos hanging out. We’re pretending like last night never happened. Which is good, because
the last thing I want is to admit to Nellie that my conversation with Isabelle last night consisted mostly of her letting me down easy.

  “I had a crush on Desi Arnaz,” Nellie says. “He’s hot!”

  “I had it bad for Ethel,” I say. “She had that sexy older woman thing going on. You know what I mean.”

  Nellie laughs. I love her laugh. I love the way her whole body gets into it when she thinks something is really funny. If I had working arms, I’d pull her into my lap. I want to do it so badly.

  “Favorite episode of I Love Lucy?” she asks me.

  “Probably the one where Lucy sets her fake nose on fire,” I say.

  “Good choice.” Nellie smiles at me. “My favorite was the one where Lucy and Ricky get handcuffed together. I know the handcuffs are cliché, but Ricky singing with Lucy’s alien hand was hilarious.” She looks at Isabelle. “How about you?”

  “I liked the one with all those little baby chicks,” Isabelle says. “They were so cute!”

  Isabelle gets this wistful look on her face and an awful thought occurs to me: Isabelle’s going to have kids with Parker. Holy shit. It’s bad enough she wants to marry him, but the thought of that makes me sick. Isabelle and Parker being parents. Together.

  I’m just not going to think about it. After all, it’s going to happen whether I like it or not.

  Nellie lets out a cute little yawn. “I’m exhausted. How long have we been walking around this museum anyway?”

  “Only an hour,” I say. “You’re just lazy.”

  She nudges my shoulder. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got a seat all the time. I should make you get up and walk, and I get to have your wheelchair.”

  Isabelle looks shocked, but I love the fact that Nellie feels comfortable joking around about my disability. Isabelle was never comfortable enough to do that, but after only a few days, Nellie is. Somehow, it doesn’t bother her that I’m paralyzed. I don’t know if I can say that about anyone else I’ve interacted with in the last four years. Even my brother gets awkward around me sometimes, but Nellie doesn’t.

  “No deal,” I say to her.

  She grins at me. “How about this? We can share.”

  And then she settles down in my lap the same way she did last night. I hate admitting I’m wrong about anything—it’s one of my character flaws—but I was one-hundred percent wrong when I told Doug she shouldn’t come on this trip. I don’t care if I’m paying for this. Because when she’s on my lap with her arm around my neck and the scent of her strawberry shampoo floating into my nostrils, it feels real.

  I wish I could kiss her. But no. Kissing’s not part of the deal. She made that very clear.

  Isabelle is shifting between her feet, looking uncomfortable. That’s a bonus too—we’re making Isabelle jealous. Although the truth is, I don’t give a shit about Isabelle right now.

  It’s tricky to maneuver my wheelchair with Nellie on my lap. She has to adjust my controls for me because she sort of knocked them out of the way when she sat. “Hey,” she says suddenly, “can I work the controls?”

  “Uh, sure,” I say. Back when I was in rehab, the therapists got Doug a sip and puff chair to try, just to see what it was like. He and I messed around in the gym, and I made fun of him because he was shit at controlling it. He kept going around in circles like I used to when I first got the chair. We laughed a lot that day, but I felt a jab in my chest at the end of the session when he stood up from his chair while I was stuck in mine. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t work the controls because he could walk. “Just put the tube in your mouth and blow into it to go forward.”

  Nellie brings the tube closer to her mouth and blows into it much too timidly. Not surprisingly, the chair turns instead of going forward.

  “What the…?” she says.

  I laugh. “You have to blow harder. Can you do it?”

  “Can I blow harder?” she snorts. “Alex, you don’t know who you’re talking to.”

  She tries again and this time the chair flies straight, except I have to yell at her to sip to get it to halt. I let her mess around with the controls for a bit, attempting to navigate to the next exhibit. We nearly run down two people in the hallway. By the time we get to see Elvis, Nellie is laughing so hard, she’s got tears running down her face.

  “Oh my God!” she giggles. “That is really hard. I had no idea!”

  “Yeah.” I grin at her. “I’m pretty skilled with my mouth.”

  The two of us are just staring at each other now with dopey grins on our faces. Her face is inches away from mine. The way she’s looking at me—that couldn’t be all an act. Could it? She must… I mean, nobody’s that good an actress.

  Maybe I should try to kiss her. I want to kiss her so fucking badly.

  But I don’t want to have that awkward conversation with Nellie, where she says she likes me but not like that. I don’t think I could take it. It would wreck me.

  My tortured thoughts are interrupted by Isabelle loudly clearing her throat. I had honestly forgotten she was even with us.

  “So, um,” Isabelle says, “I should probably… I think I’m going to get going. Lots to do before the dinner.”

  Nellie hops off my lap, which nearly kills me. Another moment ruined by Isabelle. Nellie brushes off her shorts and smiles. “We should probably go too. I just need to run to the bathroom.”

  “Oh,” Isabelle says, “well, I can stay with Alex while you go.”

  And just like that, I feel like shit about myself again.

  “I don’t need you to stay with me,” I say through my teeth. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t mind,” Isabelle insists.

  Nellie runs off to find the bathroom, leaving me alone with Isabelle for the third time in two days. I look up at my ex-girlfriend, reminding myself I shouldn’t feel bad about myself. For all she knows, I’ve got a new girlfriend who’s crazy about me, while she’s with Parker.

  “So that was fun,” Isabelle says brightly.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It was.” I pause. “But you don’t need to wait with me here. I’m fine. So if there’s somewhere you need to be…”

  “There isn’t.” She chews on her lip. “There’s actually… there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “There is?”

  “Listen, Alex.” Her voice grows soft, uncertain. There’s a deep crease between her eyebrows. “I thought you should know…”

  I blink at her. “Know what?”

  Is she leaving Parker? Is the wedding off?

  “Parker told me about Nellie,” she says. “He told me she’s not actually your girlfriend. That you made it up.”

  My mouth falls open. “He…”

  He told her. That asshole told her. Fine, that shouldn’t be a surprise. But why would she bring it up to me? Why couldn’t we just keep pretending she believed I’m not some loser who couldn’t find himself a real girlfriend? Who had to pay someone to pretend. Christ, this is awful.

  “I can understand why you did it,” Isabelle says in that same soft, kind voice. “It’s obvious Nellie is a good friend of yours and it’s sweet of her to go along with it. But… you didn’t have to do this. There’s no reason to pretend around me, Alex.”

  For a moment, I consider denying it. But when I look at Isabelle’s face, I see there’s no point. She can read me like a book.

  “It was Doug’s idea,” I mumble.

  As if that makes it any better. And anyway, it’s not true. Bringing Nellie was Doug’s idea, but the girlfriend lie was all me.

  “I’m sorry you felt like you had to lie about having a girlfriend,” she says.

  I shrug. “Yeah, well. I’m sure you can see why.”

  “Alex,” she says, “the reason I wanted to talk to you about this is because… well, I want to help you.”

  I stare at her. “Help me?”

  She nods eagerly. “When we get back to New York,” she says, “I’m going to make it my mission to get
you the wonderful woman you deserve.”

  “Isabelle…”

  “I won’t take no for an answer,” she says. “I’ve got dozens of girlfriends who are out there looking for a great guy. Trust me—I’ll find you someone you’ll hit it off with.”

  I know Isabelle’s trying to be kind, but I don’t want her help. I don’t want to get set up with Isabelle’s girlfriends. I don’t want her to find me some girl to hit it off with.

  All I want is Nellie.

  Chapter 34

  Nellie

  I clean up good.

  Isabelle is the classy one. She’s got the high cheekbones and the shiny blond hair, whereas I’ve got a round face and black hair hacked into a bob with an uneven red streak in it. I’m not the kind of girl you’d imagine taking to the fancy ballroom where Parker and Isabelle are having their rehearsal dinner.

  But when I put on my black cocktail dress with my sheer stockings and a pair of black satin pumps, I look…

  Well, I’ll never look as good as Isabelle Legere. Who does? The point is, the girl staring back at me in the mirror in my hotel room is rocking her little black dress. I’m not going to embarrass myself tonight—at least not with what I’m wearing.

  I knock on the door to Alex and Doug’s room so we can powwow before leaving for the dinner. As Doug pulls open the door, he smiles politely at me. “You look nice, Nellie.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  I step into the room where Alex is sitting. Doug completed his brother’s outfit with a gray suit jacket and a gray tie. My breath catches in my throat when I see how handsome Alex looks—the gray in his tie brings out his eyes. I almost don’t notice the way his mouth is hanging open when he notices my dress.

  “Christ, Nellie,” he breathes. “You look…”

  I stare into his eyes, waiting for him to complete the sentence.

  “…Nice,” he finally manages. Of course, it’s the same thing Doug said, but it takes on a whole new meaning when he’s practically drooling over me. Thank you, little black dress. And oh yeah, take that, perfect Isabelle.