Oh, lord.
There were so many emotions swirling around my head that it was hard to pinpoint what I was feeling the most and what exactly my biggest problem was. Of course I was upset with Dec—I didn’t like the fact that he was married to my mother for money, and I didn’t like the strange effect he had on me which seemed to make me fall into his arms like I was a puppet being controlled by strings. But then the way he looked at me yesterday…the way he touched me…a tiny part of my mind wondered if it meant something. Wondered if he was some manipulative sorcerer with the ability to control my body….or maybe it was just that we were perfect for each other.
A naughty tingling began to build between my legs, and I abruptly pushed the thought away. Of course Dec and I weren’t perfect for each other. The perfect man for me wouldn’t be married to my damn mother!
“You okay?” Shayla peered at me, pretty face etched with concern. “Nervous about today?”
I forced a smile. “Yep. You?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah, for sure. Seeing my future husband for the first time when I walk down that aisle…it’s huge. Honestly, I’m a wreck.”
“Tell me about it,” I said diplomatically. This show was freaking ridiculous. I knew most people were on it for a chance at the million dollar prize, but there were always a few sighing, mooning contestants like Shayla who genuinely thought the partner they had to marry would actually be their life partner when the show was wrapped. In all the seasons so far, I was pretty sure not a single couple had remained together after the director called ‘cut!’. At least that’s what my mom had told me, anyway.
I gritted my teeth at the reminder of my mother. I still wasn’t exactly happy with her either. What the hell was she thinking, paying some sexy guy to marry her for a few years, just so other people would think she was still hot and bangable? It reeked of insecurity. My mother was forty-eight and still stunning, in my opinion. She didn’t need to pull ridiculous stunts like this. I guess I wasn’t angry, though. It was more that I felt sorry for her, thinking she needed to do something like that for attention.
“I just hope I get matched with someone who wants the same things as me.” Shayla kept talking, stars practically flashing in her eyes. “And I hope he’s actually attracted to me.”
“Of course he will be! You’re gorgeous, Shayla. How could any guy not want you?”
She blushed again and smiled. “You’re too kind, sugar. But I’ve seen every previous season of this show, and believe me—it happens.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Last season, this guy made it clear that he was only attracted to petite brunettes. The Love Randomizer put him with this girl, Rochelle, and she was blonde and five-eleven. The guy went through with the wedding, but then he quit the show within the first two weeks and said ‘she’s too tall, too blonde, and too fat’. On national TV!”
“Poor Rochelle.”
“Yeah. Last I heard she developed a nasty case of bulimia.”
“That’s so awful. But it won’t happen to you, Shayla.”
She smiled again. “I guess now’s not the time to start worrying about it anyway, is it? Not when the matching ceremonies are starting in just a few hours.”
“Exactly. Anyway, can you help me with the dress?”
I held up the heavy ivory gown she’d picked for me, and she helped me zip and lace myself into it. Five minutes later, I turned to look in the dressing room mirror, and we both gasped at the same time.
“Oh my, you look perfect!” Shayla said.
She was right. I wasn’t the conceited type, but holy hell, she was right about the way the dress fit me. It skimmed my curves without being too tight, and the shade of ivory with its glinting beads brought out my eyes and accented my complexion perfectly. I looked like an honest-to-god princess, and I felt like one too.
“Thanks,” I said. “What about you, did you pick yours yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll help.”
As we went through the racks searching for the perfect gown for Shayla, I glanced across the room at the other women, who were all doing the same thing. Isobel was by herself, sneering at anyone who went near her—surprise, surprise—and the other nine women were easily divided into two cliques. There was the clique Shayla and I had dubbed the Snob Brigade: skinny model types who always had an expression on their faces like they’d just smelled a particularly nasty fart, and the Barbies: fake ditzy blondes who were as sweet as candy but probably couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag.
“I wonder what the guys are like,” I mused. I couldn’t let on to Shayla that I already knew at least one of the twelve male contestants, but I was curious about the rest of them. Who would I get matched with? Would he be handsome? Smart? Dull? Mean? I had no idea.
Shayla cocked her head to the side. “Hmm. I dunno. It’s usually easy to predict the kind of women on these shows, but not so easy to predict the guys.”
I hoped to god the Love Randomizer didn’t pair her with Dec. She was looking for true love, so she deserved better than an arrogant prick who wasn’t even available, due to the fact that he was already married. Honestly, I couldn’t get over it.
I hoped he got paired with Isobel. Then when he got himself voted off the island within the first few weeks, she would have to leave too.
My veins seemed to fill with ice water as a horrible thought occurred to me. What if the randomizer paired me with Dec? There was a one in twelve chance of that occurring.
Shit.
Then again, I was sure the randomizer wasn’t actually random. Surely the producers only said it was for dramatic effect, when in reality they were carefully pairing people off with partners who they thought would create the best drama alongside them. As the executive producer, there was no way my mom would let me fake-marry her husband. That would just be ridiculous, even for her.
“I have a question,” I said, turning to Shayla as she tried on a white mermaid-style gown. “Has anyone ever refused to marry their partner? Like, taken one look down the aisle and said ‘nope!’”
She frowned in thought, then shook her head. “I don’t think so, no. There’s been plenty who didn’t find their spouse attractive, but they still stuck with the show. Probably because they wanted the prize money, and also probably because they didn’t want to look like an asshole on live TV.”
“Live TV?”
“Yeah, the matching ceremonies are live,” she said. “You didn’t know?”
“No!” I practically yelped.
“Well, don’t worry, this is the only live episode. The rest of the season is pre-recorded and edited.”
I gulped. No editing, no blooper reels, no room to mess up—I was going to be getting married on live TV in just four hours in front of an audience of Wed At First Sight super-fans who’d been flown in to the Starling Islands to witness the weddings.
What the hell did I get myself into?
I knew what was going on when I agreed to do this show for Mom, but god, it was only just occurring to me now how harrowing this all was. Everyone was going to see me—me!—marry a complete stranger. I pictured Audrey back home in New York, and I knew she’d be watching and laughing uproariously as I said ‘I do’. Hell, I’d laugh at me too.
“Just breathe, honey,” Shayla said. “I know, it’s nerve-wracking.”
“It only really just hit me now,” I mumbled.
“I get it. C’mon, let’s get you some water.”
Time seemed to speed by after that, and just over three and a half hours later, I was standing with the other female contestants, producers, cameramen, and assistants in a large white marquee on the grounds of the resort island. An enormous carved stone fountain stood at one end of a wide garden path, and that served as the altar where the groom had to stand with the fake priest. The lawn on either side of the path was filled with white chairs, strewn with flowers and vines, and I counted at least a hundred ‘wedding guests’ filling the seats. At the other end of the p
ath, closer to the marquee, there was a beautiful arch with ivy and flowers woven through it (all fake, of course, just like the show), and that was the spot from which the brides would first see their fiancé.
Just breathe, I told myself, remembering Shayla’s advice. She wasn’t here to comfort me now, because it was her turn at the arch—she was the second bride-to-be. The first was one of the Barbies; a redheaded girl named Belle who’d been married to an investment banker from Chicago.
“Shayla Mason, are you ready to meet your husband?” came the booming voice of the show host, Chase Adler.
I was standing in a gaggle of other brides in the marquee now, all waiting for our turn and all equally nervous (except Isobel, who was as cool, calm and collected—and bitchy—as ever). We all watched anxiously as Shayla stepped out with her bouquet and said yes to Chase. From where I was, I had a decent view of the proceedings without actually being in the shot, but it was easier to watch the events unfolding on a small screen off to the side, which displayed everything that was being shown on live TV at the moment.
A camera followed Shayla up the aisle towards her groom—a handsome blond man with sparkling blue eyes—and I watched with bated breath as they exchanged their vows. Shayla looked very happy with her partner, and he looked elated with her as well. Hmm. Maybe this season there’d actually be a true relationship on the show.
“Can you get out of my way? It’s my turn next.”
I recognized the snide tone, and I turned to see Isobel standing behind me. She was trying to move past me, which looked difficult with the enormous train of her wedding dress.
“Sure,” I said meekly, quickly stepping aside. It was better not to poke the dragon.
She ended up married to a rather short and skinny bespectacled man whom I knew would prove unpopular with the viewers (they tended to like the tall muscular tanned guys) and I couldn’t help but smile at that. Hopefully, nasty Isobel would be out of our hair sooner rather than later.
“You’re up next, Miss Esposito.” My mom called over to me, pretending not to know me for the benefit of all the other contestants, and I picked up the hem of my gown and carefully stepped over to the aisle. No one could see me yet; I was still standing off to the side a little. My heart raced like mad, and I concentrated on my breathing yet again.
Mom gave me a little smile from her position near the arch, where she was coaching each bride and monitoring the proceedings. “You okay, honey?”
“I guess.”
“I really do appreciate what you’re doing,” she whispered. “This season would’ve been toast without the right amount of contestants, and we literally couldn’t find anyone else.”
I smiled. “I know. I’m just nervous, that’s all.”
“It’ll be fine.”
She couldn’t squeeze my hand or hug me without making it clear to the other women that she knew me, but I could feel the warmth and support radiating off her. This was one of the rarer sort of moments with my mom. Usually she was far more abrupt and cold.
Chase’s booming voice filled my ears again. “Our next blushing bride is Olivia Esposito of New York City! She may be young, but she knows what she wants, and what she wants is true love! Olivia….are you ready to meet your husband?”
A camera in the marquee zoomed in on me, and I knew my face was on live TV right now. “Yes,” I said, forcing a smile.
“Great! Now before you step out, let’s show the audience who the Love Randomizer has paired you with!”
My face was off the screen now, and I sighed with relief as the TV displayed the show’s ridiculous randomizer instead. It was set up to look like a lottery machine with balls bouncing around, only the balls had names on them.
“Olivia, this is your future husband!”
A name flashed up on the screen, and I almost had a heart attack.
Oh no. Oh, hell no.
Declan Marin.
I guess I was wrong earlier. The randomizer really was random.
I looked at Mom with horror. She looked equally shocked and horrified, but we both knew it was live TV, and we couldn’t stop it now without wrecking the premiere of her show. Besides, she had to have known there was a chance of this happening. After Shayla, Isobel and Belle got married, there were only nine names left in the mix, rather than the initial twelve, so there was a one in nine chance I’d be paired with Dec. Certainly nowhere near a sure thing, but not exactly low either. I snickered to myself briefly as I realized it was hardly ‘random’ for whoever went last in the proceedings. They were literally just stuck with whoever the last guy was.
I suddenly snapped back to reality and remembered where I was; what was happening. Panic seeped through me again, and I peeked out of the marquee and down the aisle to see Dec standing before the fountain in a tux. I had to admit, he looked handsome as hell, but there was no way I wanted to marry him. Even if it was fake.
“It might be better this way, actually,” Mom whispered, pretending to give me moral support while Chase informed the audience that I was simply experiencing a sudden bout of paralyzing nervousness at the sight of my gorgeous fiancé. “You said you thought it was unfair on the male contestant you got paired with if you just purposely got yourself voted off within a few weeks. Now it won’t matter, because Dec is supposed to do the same thing. Just filling the ranks, then bowing out.”
I nodded slowly. That was a fair point. Dec and I were just here to round out the numbers and then disappear as soon as possible. We weren’t here to properly compete, so it was probably for the best that we were paired together. It made the process fairer for everyone else.
“I suppose,” I whispered back. “But Mom, this is weird. So freaking weird. He’s your…”
She waved her hand. “I know, I know. But we need to get on with it. It’s all fake, honey, you know that.”
I took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. I guess it’ll all be over soon.”
“Exactly. So are you ready, Liv?”
My mom looked at me expectantly as she waited for my response. For a second, I thought she might hitch her arm in mine and offer to walk me down the aisle, but that thought quickly faded. Of course she wasn’t going to do such a thing. No one else knew who I really was, and we couldn’t give the game away by letting her do that.
I finally gave her a small nod. “Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”
“Go on, then.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the aisle, then gave me a thin smile. “I’ll be here, don’t worry. It’s not every day I get to see my little girl get married.”
I almost scoffed at her sarcastic words, but I held it in as the camera zoomed in on me again, waiting to see what I’d do. I couldn’t risk letting anyone see me do something like that. All the guests and viewers needed to believe that I wanted this. They needed to believe that this wedding was real.
I stepped out onto the white carpet runner and began to walk towards Dec, my fiancé. My fake fiancé.
Here goes nothing….
Chapter Eight
Dec
I plastered on a genial smile and waved to the cameras as they zoomed in to introduce me to the audience. My bride was going to step out at any moment, and I hadn’t been told who she was. The audience knew, though, and apparently the bride was also told seconds before heading down the aisle. Typical wedding, really—leave the groom out of everything. Ha.
The guests began to turn their heads, and I looked up the aisle to see a petite brunette haltingly making her way toward me. Oh, shit. Was this show actually fucking serious?
It was Liv.
Holy. Fuck.
She looked utterly breathtaking in a princess-style wedding dress, and for a second, it all felt real. The wedding. My fiancée. The priest and the altar. I pictured the guests as my friends and family, radiantly happy and cheering me on as I married the most beautiful woman alive.
But of course it was all bullshit. Liv was the most beautiful girl alive, as far as I was concerned, but she couldn’t st
and me, and to be honest, after yesterday I wasn’t sure I liked her attitude either. She was so damn paranoid, always thinking people were out to get her. I wasn’t manipulating her; it wasn’t my damn fault she fell apart under my touch the way she did. It was because our bodies melded together perfectly, and the mere sight of her made me want to ravish her for a week straight. That was just pure chemistry, not manipulation on my behalf.
I watched her face as she approached. There was a vague look of impressed desire on her pretty features as her eyes skated over my suit, but it was quickly replaced with shy embarrassment. This couldn’t be easy for her, being on live TV at such a young age, only to be married to her own mother’s trophy husband, whom she apparently couldn’t stand.
I almost snorted out loud at the sheer ludicrousness of it all.
How the hell did Ellen not put a stop to this? I knew the show was live and therefore difficult to cancel, but come the fuck on! Did she have no soul at all? Was she really willing to watch her daughter pretend to marry her own husband just so the show could go on? Of course hardly anyone else knew that I was Ellen’s husband (and it was a sham marriage, so I used the word ‘husband’ rather lightly) but still….seriously? It was bad enough I was in one fake marriage with her, but to be in a second fake marriage with her hot-as-fuck daughter…
Jesus.
Liv finally reached me at the altar. She looked like she was about to have a heart attack at this point. Poor little girl. I didn’t blame her in the slightest. My own heart was racing like I’d just completed a triathlon.
I put on a big smile to try and calm her nerves. It was fake as hell, but so was this whole damn wedding. Liv’s eyes flitted around anxiously, and I held out my hand and offered it to her. She took it hesitantly.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Declan. Dec for short.”
“I’m Liv,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, now that you two have met, let’s get you married!” said the priest, who was about as godly a man as Stalin.
Daddy's Fake Bride (A Fake Marriage Romance) Page 5
