My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  “I know!” Abigail suddenly exclaims with a gasp and a snap of her fingers, her eyes going wide in her dramatic fashion that lets me know Abi’s just come up with a crazy idea.

  “Oh, no,” I say, seeing Abi’s face light up as her eyes fall on her brother’s face. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer’s . . . no way.”

  But Abi ignores me, waving at Ross and smiling like she’s so overjoyed to see him before tossing me a mischievous wink.

  “Congratulations, Vi. Looks like we just found your magical solution! You can call me your Fairy Godmother.”

  Horror strikes me at what Abigail is hinting at. Me and Ross? But we basically hate each other. Our entire relationship is built on us torturing each other. Definitely no love lost between us. We barely put up with each other because we both care for Abi.

  Dimly, I hear Archie argue, “If anyone in this room is going to be the Fairy Godmother, it’s damn sure not you. It’s me.”

  Chapter 4

  Violet

  “A fake wedding with my best friend’s brother?” I hiss in disbelief as I watch Ross walk up to the counter and laugh at something Janey says. Abi spilled out some hare-brained scheme faster than I would’ve thought she could, and now I have only seconds to disabuse her of this crazy notion before she calls him over. “The king of all assholes? The guy who made my high school days a living hell, including putting a frog down my blouse in front of the whole football team? Are you crazy?”

  “As a whore in church,” Archie quips.

  “It’s perfect!” Abi squeals excitedly, ignoring the insult or my complaints. “Who else, besides Archie, knows you well enough to pull something like this off on short notice? And no offense, but no one’s going to believe you flipped Archie.”

  He shrugs, knowing she’s right. “I don’t make a very good trade.” He’s constantly having to explain his lingo to me, but that one I know. A trade is a gay guy who can pass as straight because of his masculinity. Actually, Archie could probably do that in his black jeans, random movie reference T-shirts, combat boots, multiple earrings, and tattoo sleeves. If you only saw him posed against a graffitied wall, you’d think he was a badass punk rocker anarchist. Then he’d open his mouth and sarcastic bitchery would pour out in a tone that would make any gaydar sing like a canary.

  Abi’s right. Archie’s not the man for this job.

  Oh, my God, I’m actually considering this. I’ve lost my mind for sure. Hell, I’d even dismissed a fake wedding with Colin as pathetic.

  But as she quickly talks about making Papa happy, having the wedding of my dreams, and then splitting later down the road with no muss, no fuss, it doesn’t sound quite as crazy—if the man knew the score from the get-go and was willing to go along and pretend.

  But I’ve known Ross since I was a little girl, and he’s not exactly someone I picture as marriage material or being able to make a fake relationship believable.

  He’s always treated me like I was one of his little sisters, teasing me and making fun of me. Even when I grew up, his recognition of my adulthood never fully transitioned, and he still sometimes treats me like I’m the same little girl who used to look at him with cookie dough eyes in high school. Okay, so I’ll admit now that some of my pranks were because I might’ve had the teeniest, tiniest crush on Ross. But who didn’t? He was the big man on campus, hotter than any teenager had the right to be, and I’d soaked up any attention from him I could. Except when he embarrassed me in front of the whole school. It was complicated, a love-hate situation that was purely on my younger side.

  All of that’s water under the bridge now, though, and we don’t see each other that often anymore so we’re not as close as we used to be.

  And there’s the simple fact that he probably won’t want to do something as crazy as this.

  “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” I ask, but Abi only notices that I didn’t say no and grins big and wide in a ‘gotcha’ look.

  “You’re in luck. It was never serious, and he broke it off with her months ago. Mom was devastated when she heard because she’s been wanting him to settle down for ages, so this is perfect. Won’t she get a kick when she finds out Ross is marrying Violet Russo, the same little girl who was always over at our house for those insane sleepovers! Though we’ll have to make sure the eventual breakup doesn’t paint either of you in a poor light. I don’t want to mess up my own wedding with Mom thinking you’re some shrew who broke her baby boy’s heart.”

  She frowns after a moment, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “Hmm . . . Courtney might be a problem, though,” she mutters, mentioning her feisty younger sister. “But I can handle her if she tries to start trouble.”

  Ugh. Why do I have such crazy friends?

  But Abi has been the best friend a girl could have . . . despite the occasional bouts of insanity.

  “And somehow, you think Ross would agree to something like this?” I demand.

  “Sure, why not?” she says with a trademark Abi grin. “I’m his oldest little sister. I should know. Not to mention, he’s known you for years. Hell, you’re almost just as much his sister as I am. And you’ve also done stuff for him in the past, remember? He’ll have no choice but to agree to our little scheme once we get done with him.”

  “Our little scheme? We?” I ask, still reeling in shock. “I never said I was doing this.”

  Abi smirks. “Sure, you are. I can see it in your eyes.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “Forget it. It won’t work. Besides, we’d end up killing each other before ever making it to the altar.”

  “Nonsense,” Abi says, waving her hand at Ross to get his attention. “Yoo-hoo, Rossy. We’re over here.”

  Ross looks our way and smiles. Then he says something to Janey and moves around the counter, making his way over to us. Even his walk is sexy, confident, and graceful. All things I’m definitely not. I swallow, wishing I could just disappear underneath one of the boutique tables. Or into the center of the Earth to burn up and not have to deal with any of this mess.

  Fuck me . . . he’s an asshole, but he’s a hot asshole. Why are the bad ones always so pretty on the outside?

  “Hey, Abs. Hello, Violet.”

  I school my face before my thoughts betray me. Jesus, I always forget how deep his voice is. And embarrassingly, I imagine what that rumble would feel like against my skin. Once upon a time, I had foolish dreams of Ross being my first kiss. My fantasies now involve a lot more than just kissing, that’s for damn sure. But I’ve never imagined Ross as that fantasy man . . . until now.

  I look up to see Ross standing over me, a fresh batch of stubble shading his chiseled jawline. He’s even more impressive close up, looking like he’s had a hard day’s work, his dress shirt partially opened at the front, his hair slightly disheveled.

  How does he manage to look like such an arrogant bastard and so damn handsome all at the same time?

  The thought comes from an alien place in my mind, and I dismiss it as my being high-strung in the moment. The days of my crushing on Ross Andrews are long gone.

  “What? I don’t get a ‘hi’ too?” Archie pouts. But I can feel his eyes watching the interaction between Ross and me with new interest.

  “Hello, Ross,” I reply cordially, ignoring Archie’s lame attempt for attention. “Nice to see you.”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Chickie. How’ve you been?”

  Ugh. Remind me why I always want to slap you, why don’t you?

  I used to have chicken legs when I was in middle school, legit pencils attached to a hinge. Ross used to tease me about them relentlessly to the point that I spent a whole summer exercising my ass on in order to stop the jokes. And while it stopped all of his chuckleheaded buddies from doing it, Ross still references that first taunt from time to time.

  I think it’s partly out of habit and partly to annoy me.

  “I’m just fine,” I say through gritted teeth, biting down on the urge to call him Dumb Ogre, my favorite nickname
for him growing up. It’s weak, but my middle school brain hadn’t been capable of much more than a typical dumb jock joke to bestow a nickname on him. “You?”

  Ross grins, noting my irritation. “Peachy.” He looks past me to the stacks of peach-colored cardstock.

  Abigail gestures at the table. “I just got done making these invitations for Violet’s wedding. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Amazing,” Ross says, barely giving the invitations a lookover, instead looking over at me. “How’s the engagement coming along, Vi?”

  I’m not sure, but I think I detect an undercurrent of intensity to his words.

  “Uh . . . um . . . it’s going . . . okay,” I say, not having the guts to tell him I was dumped. But Ross always leaves me this way, with the verbal IQ of a potato when I need to be on my A game around him.

  Very frustrating.

  Ross’s expression is unreadable. “Really? So, you guys have it all figured out?”

  Great . . . trapped. I have no idea where to go with this one. “Um we’re sort . . . of working on it . . . but I—”

  “Have something to ask you,” Abi finishes for me cheerfully, elbowing me sharply in the side.

  I shoot her murderous look. “Uh, no, I don’t.”

  “Uh, yes, you do,” she mimics back.

  Ross looks back and forth between us, frowning. “I’m confused.”

  “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” Archie interjects, bumping Ross’s shoulder in a move that would scream ‘bro’ if anyone but him did it, but I can see it for the flirtation it is and I can’t help but grin a little. Archie’s on my side in the ongoing war with Ross and does what he can to set Ross off-kilter. “Bitches be crazy.” He says it solemnly, like it’s some great insight shared between the males of the human species. “Of course, there’s one way to mitigate their impact . . .” He trails off pointedly, his subtlety that of a rampaging wildebeest.

  “Vi needs you to marry—ow!” Abi exclaims as I stomp on her foot.

  Ross gives us a look like we’re all crazy. “The hell’s going on over here?”

  “Nothing. Didn’t you say you needed Ross to stop by for something?” I ask pointedly, glaring murder at Abi.

  “Oh, yeah, our parents’ anniversary gift. This way, Ross.”

  Abi takes her brother off to the side where there’s a beautiful multi-colored bouquet of flowers sitting on the table, handing him a pen to sign a card.

  When he’s done signing, they talk for a moment, but I’m close enough to hear that it’s not about Abi trying to set up her crazy plan but rather just family drama with the company, before they return.

  “Not sure what shenanigans you two girls are up to,” Ross says suspiciously, “but we’ll talk about it later. Bye, Archie.” He winks at me. “Catch you later, Chickie.”

  Bastard.

  He walks back over to the front, says something to Janey, then walks out.

  I let out a big sigh of relief when he’s gone

  “Shiiiit, Abi,” Archie says longingly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your brother is one tall glass of water! I could drink from that spigot allllll day.” He makes a glug-glug noise that turns into more of a choked gluck and I can’t help but laugh at what he’s implying. The outrageous things he says are funny enough, but when you add his dry delivery, it really sends it over the top.

  But my humor dries up when I think about what Abi almost did to me. “You crazy bitch! I can’t believe you were about to ask him that!” I hiss angrily, turning on her.

  “What?” Abi pouts. “I’m just trying to help. And I already know I’m right.” She places a hand to her chest. “Archie already knows I’m right.” He nods, though it’s with a grimace. “And deep down, you know it too. You were this close to agreeing before he came over and gave you a hard time, so just admit it and let’s get this deal happening. I don’t want you ending up on some therapist’s couch crying about your shoulda-coulda-wouldas.”

  “Gee, thanks for your concern, Mother Teresa,” I reply acidly. “But it’s not going to work. Even if he did agree to your crazy plan, we’d end up killing each other long before any wedding. You just heard him call me Chickie . . . again. You know how much I hate that!”

  Abi waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, stop it. You guys love each other. You’re both just too damn stubborn to admit it,” she says, holding up a hand when I go to protest. “And, there’s no one better for the job and you know it. You either get fake married to Ross ASAP or kiss having the memory of the most important man in your life at your wedding goodbye.”

  Abi’s words hit me like a slug to the stomach.

  Damn it. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.

  At this point, if I want to get married fast so my Papa has a chance to walk me down the aisle . . . it’s either Ross or no one.

  But I can’t bring myself to ask him something so off the wall.

  He’d probably laugh right in my face, right before calling me Chickie, or Chicken Little, or Colonel . . . that one took me awhile to figure out.

  Archie grabs my shoulders, making me face him. “Okay, here’s the facts, girl. He’s single, you’re single. He’s hot, you’re hot. You’ve gotten along without death or dismemberment for a long time already, so odds are in your favor. He’ll probably do it just to have something to tease you about, but weigh that against what I imagine to be some damn good fucking with no strings attached. Sorry, not sorry, for talking about your brother’s dick, Abi.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Abi hold her hands out wide, not offended in the least about the way Arch is talking about her brother.

  “Marry him for you and your whole wedding-crazy family, and then fuck him for me and tell me all about it. Slowly and in detail. You owe me that, Violet.” He points a finger in my face and I smirk.

  “I owe you sex stories?” Why I’m stuck on having sex with Ross when the idea of a fake marriage is on the table is something I’ll analyze later. When I’m alone . . . maybe with a vibrator.

  Arch crosses his arms over his chest and scowls, looking every bit the rebellious rocker who would rage against the machine of the patriarchy. “I dip-dyed silk by hand for Bitch-ella’s curtains. You owe me a lifetime of sex stories. Good ones, filthy ones, Ross-pressing-you-up-against-a-door-and-fucking-your-brains-out ones.”

  “You’re out of your dirty mind.” Archie’s sinful thoughts are making me feel uncomfortable . . . if only because they’re summoning some very raunchy images of Ross and me together in my head. I’ve never been fucked against a door, and that’s seeming like a shame all of a sudden.

  “He will do it, Vi, I’m telling you,” Abi presses. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? Nothing. It’s a win-win situation either way you look at it. My mom can stop harping on Ross to settle down, and your grandpa gets to walk you down the aisle.”

  “Let me think about it,” I say slowly, trying to think of a way to get Abi off my back. As much as I want to please Papa and have the wedding, a fake relationship with Ross . . . is just too crazy. “I think I’m going to head home. It’s been a long day, a really long day.”

  All of the weirdness hits me at once. Just this morning, a short twelve hours ago, I was happily engaged and dreaming about a life of wedded bliss. Now, I’m alone and considering asking my childhood nightmare to do me a huge solid and pretend to marry me. Whose life is this?

  “Veto!” Abi and Archie say in unison, bringing me back out of the hole I’m trying to crawl into.

  “You’re not going home alone to wallow in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s about a douchewaffle like Colin. We’re going out. We’ll celebrate that near-miss, talk about your new fiancé, Ross, and dance the night away.”

  I start to shake my head, noticing the bit about Ross she tried to sneak in there, but Archie jumps in.

  “Hell, yeah!” Archie chirps, swaying back and forth and air-smacking an imaginary ass in front of him. “I am so down for that! Well, I’m pretty m
uch down for anything, literally anything, but a night at the club sounds like just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Hmm,” I say, not being able to believe that I’m actually considering the idea—of going out and of asking Ross to be my fake husband. It’s all too much, and an escape does sound perfect. Maybe instead of that ice cream I was already thinking of—damn it, Abi, for knowing me so well—I can drown my confusion, frustration, and aggression in a few shots of tequila. “Okay, let’s get drunk and dance the night away.”

  “Yay!” Abi rejoices, rubbing her hands together excitedly.

  “But don’t let me regret this,” I warn. “And don’t mention anything about this to Ross. It’s none of his business.”

  “I won’t,” Abi promises.

  “Abi . . .” I give her my best glare, threatening every bad thing I can think of.

  “Trust me, your secret is safe with me.”

  I nod, still not sure I believe her, but I let her and Arch lead me out to the curb where a driver is already pulling up. Archie really is a great assistant when he’s not demanding the dirty details of my sex life.

  Chapter 5

  Ross—15 Days Until the Wedding

  S.O.S.—GIRL IN DISTRESS.

  I need a HUGE favor.

  Meet me at Club Red in one hour . . . we’ll have a VIP table ready to discuss.

  Looking at the text from Abigail, I can feel my eyebrows start to knit themselves together semi-permanently. She’s a bit of a wild card, always rebelling against what Mom and Dad think an Andrews should do, and while it doesn’t upset me, her choice of venues doesn’t exactly inspire good cheer in my gut.

  “What’s up?” Kaede asks as he sets his drink on the coffee table. After work, we switched gears from our boss-assistant gig and are just hanging out as friends, watching the fight on pay-per-view at my place. Somehow, we always manage to navigate back and forth without it being weird, a testimony to our longstanding friendship.