My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  I like to think Abigail, my middle sister, is the sanest one of us. When she graduated college, she was offered a high-position job at the family company, but much to Dad’s dismay, Abi firmly turned down the position and ventured out on her own.

  It pissed Dad off, but Abi stood her ground. She’d had enough of him telling her what to do and relished having the freedom away from the drama of running a family business.

  Courtney glares at me, balling her fists. “Hey! Speak for yourself. I like my job.”

  I open my mouth to defuse the growing storm in Courtney’s eyes when I hear a familiar voice from behind us ask, “Geez, am I going to have to play sibling referee again?”

  I turn to see my assistant and best friend, Kaede McWarren. After high school, we went to college together, him on a football scholarship that helped him get passing grades whether he did the work or not. After graduation, when the pros didn’t come calling, he realized that he had no concrete plans and coat-tailed it with me to the family company.

  Since then, he’s saved my ass countless times since and has really found his niche, keeping me in line, offering advice, and being my partner in crime. It might be my name on the door with the fancy title, but I couldn’t do half of what I do without his help.

  Courtney blushes, unclenching her fists and ducking her head before she remembers to stand tall. Interesting. “Hello, Kaede.”

  “Hey, Courtney,” Kaede says. “You’re not planning to stab your brother with a letter opener or shoot him with a staple gun again, are you?”

  Courtney casts a scowl my way. “Not quite . . . but we’re getting there.”

  Kaede chuckles. “I showed up just in time, then.”

  “And just in time for Courtney to remember she has a long task list to check off before she goes home, lest she end up with one pissed off Daddy CEO,” I say pointedly, nodding in the direction of Father’s office.

  Knowing a dismissal when she hears one, Courtney gives me another look that says, ‘We’re not finished.’ “You two have fun. Nice seeing you, Kaede.”

  “You too, Courtney.” Kaede watches Courtney go for a moment before turning to me. “Meeting didn’t go too well, I take it?”

  I shake my head, continuing into my office.

  “We have a problem,” I start as I enter the room, where the city skyline appears before me.

  My office is a study in swanky luxury, with floor to ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view, a large dark oak desk positioned in the center of the room, a tufted leather chair that looks like a throne, and a personal wet bar stocked with premium liquor.

  Kaede follows me in, closing the door behind him, and walks over to take one of the accented seats in front of my desk.

  “Hit me,” he says as he leans back, propping his feet on my desk and crossing his hands on his belly. He looks like he could be prepping for a nap, and anyone else who dared defile my desk like that would get a tongue-lashing they wouldn’t soon forget, but Kaede and I are casual at work when it’s just the two of us. Plus, I know that this pose is his version of a ‘thinking hat’. He’s ready to tackle whatever problem I’ve got with focus and scalpel-like precision.

  “Remember that night at Club Red?” I ask, walking over to grab a glass from the wet bar and taking out a bottle of whiskey. I normally don’t drink at work, the bar is more for show and guests, but this is one of those times that it’s needed. Taking a sip, I quickly outline the argument with my dad, the gossip spread, and his threats about how I’ll lose my position within the company.

  “Fuck, that was the pastor’s wife?” Kaede asks in disbelief when I’m done. “What the hell? She was all over you, pouty and sad and damn near begging for you to make it all better. Why would they be pissed at you and not her?”

  “That’s what I’m saying! The rumor isn’t true, but still . . .”

  Kaede strokes his chin thoughtfully, already in damage control mode. “I’ll draft a letter to Joeden Snow,” he mutters as if it’s a foregone conclusion that I’ve already agreed to, “conveying your sincerest apologies for not recognizing his wife, a reassurance that nothing untoward happened, and a promise that you’ll make a considerable donation to certain acceptable charities.”

  “I don’t like it,” I say right away. “It gives that trashy article legitimacy.”

  The fact of the matter is, I didn’t do anything with his wife but offer a listening ear, and such a letter would be an admission of guilt.

  And for once, I’m not guilty.

  But Kaede is already shaking his head. “What you do or do not like, or did or didn’t do, doesn’t matter in this situation. Also, I’ll suggest that our PR group and Pastor Snow’s put out media releases stating that the evening in question was no more than professional acquaintances having a friendly drink and that you wished Pastor Snow and his wife well when you saw her safely home.” I glare at him, but he continues before I can say what I’m really thinking. “Look, going the extra mile will be two-fold. You assuage any ill feelings from Joeden, and your father will appreciate that you took steps to rectify any public damage to the company.”

  It rankles my nerves to have to do anything in this situation.

  I do what I want.

  When I want.

  I don’t like people telling me what to do, least of all my father, who’s blowing this whole situation out of proportion to get what he wants. Hell, the shareholder part is probably just made up to reinforce his leverage.

  But as much as I hate to admit it, Kaede’s plan has merit. The man has gotten me out of some very tight situations, and this time will be no different. I trust his judgement, and as much as I don’t like his plan, if he thinks it will fix the bad press and heal things with Dad, I’m down with doing it.

  I look out at the skyline and make my silent decision. All right, you win this time, old man. But I’m only doing this so you lose your bullshit leverage of trying to force me to settle down.

  I down my shot of whiskey but freeze when I hear Kaede add, “But . . .”

  “What?” I demand, turning to survey him. He’s sitting upright now, both feet on the floor and a tight jaw, a sure sign that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

  “I think maybe you should do what your dad wants.”

  I don’t even have to ask to know what he means.

  The truth of the matter is, I’m just not ready to settle down. I’m not the wild child the media thinks, and I’ve even had several relationships, but something’s always missing. When I picture waking up with the same woman day after day, it sounds . . . boring. Monotonous. Predictable.

  And I especially can’t see myself just finding someone out of the blue to be with just to appease my parents.

  “You can’t be . . .” I begin to say, but the look on Kaede’s face says it all. “Dude!”

  “Even if it’s not real,” Kaede insists. “Just someone to give the illusion that you’ve changed and are willing to settle down, someone who can help with your image and calm the shareholders. Call it a . . . relationship of appearances.”

  “The shareholder thing is bullshit to get me to do what he wants, and the letter should be enough—”

  “It’s not bullshit, actually,” Kaede says, shaking his head. “And your parents are not going to stop harping on you now that your dad has you backed into a corner. So, let’s pretend for a moment. We know your ego is too big to do something like this after being threatened, but at the same time, you risk losing your seat on the board . . . so, what do you do?”

  “Find a fake girlfriend?” I guess.

  Kaede snaps his fingers, sitting back in his chair and grinning. “Bingo.”

  I chuckle at the ridiculous notion, even though I’m kind of intrigued by the idea. It definitely would be the perfect revenge on Dad for having the nerve to threaten me. Wouldn’t be so nice for Mom, though, but there’s always some collateral damage in war.

  The more I think about it, the more I like it, a host of scenar
ios playing out in my head. Like K said . . . a relationship of convenience. Hell, maybe even convenience with benefits.

  The idea is so amusing that I can’t help but laugh, thinking about what a fool I could make of Dad for daring to cross me.

  But I still have doubts, saying, “That’s just crazy.”

  But Kaede is already mentally scrolling for candidates.

  “Got any contenders?” Kaede asks. “I know a small list of trustworthy women who work on this floor who would love to be your girlfriend, even if it’s just for show.”

  I think for a moment, rolling through a Rolodex of faces through my mind. Some of the faces are blurry, some clearer than others. Some of them work under me, and some of them have been under me.

  Finally, I shake my head. “No, if we’re going to do this, it can’t be someone at the office. That’ll just be something else for them to bitch about,” I tell Kaede firmly, seeing their fear of a harassment lawsuit as clear as day. “And whoever it is, they have to know from the beginning. I’m not willing to play with some poor girl’s feelings for my own ends. Whoever we find will know exactly what it’s for . . . but will have to sign a very tight-knit NDA that they’re not to speak of the details behind our relationship when it ends.”

  “Agreed,” Kaede says, running his hand through his hair, lost in thought. “But NDA . . . that’s hard. Law-wise, I mean. Once it’s out, you can’t get that cat back in the bag. It has to be someone trustworthy. So, where are we going to find this chick?”

  “She’s out there somewhere,” I mutter, turning to look out the windows at the fading sunset and the city skyline. “We just need to find her.”

  Chapter 3

  Violet

  There are three things for sure in life.

  Death, taxes . . . and people calling you at the worst possible time.

  Like my mom calling me right now to discuss my upcoming nonexistent wedding. But I have to answer. If I don’t, Maria Russo will go full mother-mode and call Archie to track me down. No one, least of all me, gets away from her, and Archie takes my mom’s side more often than mine any time we have even the slightest difference in opinion.

  “Hey, baby girl!” my mom sings as I answer the phone and simultaneously drive to pick up Archie for our big design job meeting. Her voice echoes through my car on the speakerphone, as powerful as she is. My mother is a fifty-four-year-old single woman who’s been through the fire and back raising me, and she’s only too happy to finally see me getting married off. “How’s my soon-to-be-bride feeling this morning? Are you blind from staring at your sparkly engagement ring yet?”

  Her words come out in an excited rush, and if I weren’t so used to her way of speaking, I wouldn’t have understood a word.

  Shit.

  I can’t imagine how she’s going to react when I tell her the wedding isn’t happening. She wants to see me married almost as much as I do.

  I do.

  Irony at its finest, I think tragically, because I won’t be saying that anytime soon.

  But it’s better I head things off now, before she’s too invested in the idea.

  Taking a deep breath, I summon all the courage I can muster and say slowly, “Hey, Mom . . . I have some bad news—”

  There are times when Mom is already running full-steam ahead and hears only what she wants to hear. And unfortunately, this happens to be one of those times. She ignores my slow-roll lead-in.

  “I just got off the phone with your Nana,” Mom says right over me, her mouth going a mile a minute, “and she’s over the moon at the news . . . and the great part about it all is, she’s already invited all of your cousins!”

  “My cousins . . .” I groan, feeling like I just got kneed in the stomach. When I told Mom and Nana my wedding date was scheduled, I didn’t think they’d preemptively invite my whole family before the wedding invitations were even done.

  “Yep!” Mom chirps cheerfully. “Besides your cousins that are here in the US, you have other cousins coming from all over. Italy, France, basically all over Europe. Everyone’s so excited for the next Russo to walk that aisle.”

  “Mom!” I rasp. “I told you not to tell anyone yet! Abi still hasn’t even finished printing the wedding invitations!”

  I put a hand to my forehead, smacking myself at the useless argument, as if spoiling the surprise of an invite is the biggest deal here. As if ‘Hey, there’s actually not going to be a wedding.’ is just a small detail.

  “Vi,” Mom says flippantly, and I can imagine her waving a manicured hand as she rolls her eyes, “everyone knew you were getting married, anyway! Nana was on the phone with people at home as soon as you told her. The grapevine moves fast, baby girl.”

  “But . . . flying in from Europe? What?” I ask in disbelief. I barely remember that I even have cousins all over Europe. I haven’t seen them since . . . the last Russo wedding, I guess.

  “Yes, of course!” my mom growls in exasperation. “You know we have a big family, and everyone wants to celebrate your special day.”

  “But . . . you . . .” I stammer, the thought of all these people ordering pricey plane tickets on my behalf making me want to vomit.

  Still steamrolling, she continues. “Everyone is so happy for you! You should be jumping up and down with joy!” I swear I hear her clapping her hands, and judging by the weird noises coming through the speaker, Mom’s jumping for me.

  “But, Mom—”

  “I can’t wait to see my darling little girl in her wedding dress,” Mom muses as if I’m already standing before her. Her mood changes in an instant, from giddy happiness to sappy tears. “You’re going to look so beautiful. You did find the dress you’ve been looking for, didn’t you?”

  No, I didn’t find a dress, not like it matters. I realize that the only way to get Mom to listen is to talk louder than she is. I’ve got to stop this runaway train before the carnage gets any worse.

  But it’s too late for that because as I’m about to open my mouth to yell out the truth, Mom’s next words hit me like a punch in the gut and set my heart racing.

  “You know this couldn’t have happened at a better time, Vi. Your grandfather isn’t doing too well. I wasn’t sure he was going to get to see this moment, but you did it, Vi.”

  “What’s going on? Did something else happen?” I demand as guilt snakes up my spine. I’d meant to check on Papa yesterday, but I got so caught up with work and the wedding stuff, I forgot. The thought that something horrible could’ve happened to him while I was busy with my own stuff is almost enough to break me out in hives.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Mom says reassuringly. “Hasn’t passed out since a few weeks ago, but the doctor said a few more of these faints . . . and he’s liable to pass out for the last time.” Even though we’ve discussed his mortality, and Papa himself has made all his wishes well-known, it’s still hard to hear anyone talk about him dying.

  My heart twists in my throat at her words, and I curse Colin for his heartlessness. Couldn’t he have waited until we got married to drop me like a hot potato?

  And how ridiculous is that? Even knowing what I now see about Colin, I’m still mostly disappointed that I’m going to disappoint Papa. Hell, I might even chance a short marriage and quickie divorce if I could make the old guy happy one last time and bring some peace to his last days.

  How can I make this right?

  A variety of solutions runs through my mind, one of which is going back to Colin and asking him to reconsider, but I immediately dismiss the idea.

  I’m not crawling back on my hands and knees to someone who took joy in hurting me and cruelly wanted to see me cry. Even if I want to give this to Papa and am so desperate that I’m willing to jump through the hoops I have over the past few months, I’m not going to sell out my own self-worth. It’d be disrespecting Papa.

  “Vi?” Mom asks, bringing me back to the present. She seems to finally notice something is amiss. “Is there something wrong?�
��

  Before, I was ready to tell her the truth, even if it caused her distress. Now, I’m not so sure. I definitely don’t want it to get back to my Papa so soon after his passing out. Yet, at the same time, the people who have booked tickets to fly in need to be told there’ll be no wedding so that they don’t waste their money.

  The stress of having to decide, weighing the truth against my family’s expectations and the shock of this morning’s unexpected twist, has my head aching.

  But what other choice do I have? Honesty is the best policy.

  But maybe I can tell her later? I reason. At the end of the day, after I’ve given it some thought and figured out how to make the news not hurt so much, I can be honest then.

  But right now, the bad news can wait. Archie is standing on the sidewalk just ahead, two coffees already in his hands and his foot tapping, ready to head to our client meeting. Now is definitely not the time for this conversation with Mom.

  Feeling like I’m setting myself up for the biggest letdown of the century, but also feeling like I have no other choice in the moment, I lie. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”

  * * *

  “Joanna Gaines ain’t got shit on me!” I exclaim to Archie as I finish fluffing out an ivory silk throw pillow and setting it down on the sofa for a finishing touch, then throwing my hands out wide as if to fully envelope the cavernous great room we’re standing in. “Ta-da!”

  Archie, who initially said I was batshit insane for making such a cheery design for a client he termed ‘the handmaiden from hell’, gawks in disbelief as he scans the final product. A smile lifts his lips and he offers a quiet golf clap with a head shake.

  “Brava! I don’t know how you do it, but you weren’t lying! It all came together in the end. You are a magician, and I, but your humble assistant. Ta-da, indeed.”

  His accent sounds like some version of fancy British as he compliments me and bows to my greatness.

  “Told ya!” I say with a wink, a surge of satisfaction running through me at a job well done.