My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  “I’m not sure,” I reply, holding up my phone. “Abigail.”

  “Abi?” Kaede says, smiling. He reads the text, and his smile turns into a chuckle. “Any idea as to what this huge favor is? Should I go ahead and alert the PR team to be on standby?”

  “Ha-ha, not funny, asswipe. I have no idea,” I admit, checking the clock. My head throbs. I’ve been busting my ass all day, probably subconsciously trying to prove to myself that I deserve my job and not Dad’s threatened demotion, and now that the sun’s set, I realize I skipped lunch too.

  No wonder I’ve got a headache. I haven’t had a thing to eat since about six thirty this morning. I grab a slice of pizza from the box on the table, thankful that Kaede ordered a pie with loads of meat and veggies so it’s like a complete meal in five bites.

  “Well, regardless of whatever Abi’s got on her mind, you probably need to go. Though you should be careful. Another night on the town is the last thing the board needs to hear about. I don’t think your reputation could withstand another evening of scandal.”

  He’s busting my chops, knowing full well that nothing happened with the pastor’s wife and that I go home to an empty bed more nights than not.

  “Yeah . . . she usually has interesting shit happening, which I’m not sure I need,” I admit. While I gave her plenty of big brother hassles growing up, my little sister’s not that bad. If you put me on the stand, I’d even say she’s pretty cool . . . for a little sister.

  “And you can use a trip to the club to do some scouting,” Kaede points out. When I give him a confused look, he rolls his eyes, sighing. “Fake girlfriend, remember? Get your parents off your ass?”

  “Dude, it’s Club Red. You don’t go to a club to find Miss Right, just Miss Tonight.”

  Kaede shrugs. “And that’s a bad thing this time, why? Remember, short-term, fake?”

  “Okay, okay . . . but only if you’ll be my wingman,” I concede. “This isn’t a purely social trip, so having you there to make sure I don’t do anything stupid is a good safety net.”

  Kaede holds his hand up in the Boy Scout salute. “I swear not a drop of the demon rum shall cross these lips tonight, and I’ll keep you firmly on this side of the respectability line.”

  I snort, shaking my head. “Fine . . . let’s get ready. But I need another slice. I’m so hungry that I could get shitfaced on light beer right now.”

  Kaede winces. “Light beer . . . ugh. Okay, so pizza, mouthwash, club. We can pull it off in an hour.”

  * * *

  It’s actually an hour and ten minutes before we pull up in my supercharged Camaro, my own little rebellion against my parents. In a social class of Beamers, Bentleys, and other Euro-made cars, my all-American muscle car with a blue collar reputation and an engine that rumbles like an earthquake announces me to the Club Red crowd even before I get out.

  Tossing my keys to the valet, I take a moment to look around while Kaede grabs the parking stub. Club Red isn’t the biggest club in the city, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s the club you come to when you’ve got it, and as such, they’re picky about who they let in the door.

  But that’s never a concern for me as an Andrews. Doors magically open with my last name, just like the inner doors of Club Red do tonight. As always, I pause just inside, letting myself adjust to the atmosphere inside.

  It’s not that Club Red’s over the top. If anything, the muted decor and low-key lighting lend a touch of class that elevate Club Red over the grind houses further downtown. Not that the elegance stops the dance floor from being an undulating mass of sexually charged bodies writhing against one another.

  “You see your sister?” Kaede asks as we approach the bar. Sure, Abi said she’d get us a spot in the VIP area, but I always stop at the bar first for a ‘regular’ drink. Just sort of a habit, I guess, to help me get the feel of the place.

  “I’m sure she’s up there,” I assure him, ordering a Rum and Rockstar, my personal weird ass club drink. It’s my personal opinion that everyone’s got one, even if they don’t admit it. “That girl can talk her way into a VIP seat at the White House.”

  I grab my drink and a club soda for Kaede before we head upstairs. The VIP Lounge at Club Red is perfect, with wide, slightly semi-circular couches that allow you to have privacy while at the same time not jamming you in, and the view overlooking the entire rest of the club allows for great visuals too.

  I spy Abi and Archie, the two of them laughing over some private joke as they lean in toward one another. I’m always watchful about whom Abi dates, but Archie’s pretty much as gay as you can get on the spectrum without involving glitter rainbows. He’s a cool guy and can carry on a conversation about football or music and then turn around and slice and dice you with a well-spoken barb. I like him, and I like Abi being friends with him because I feel like he’d watch out for any assholes who tried to worm their way into my little sister’s pants.

  On the other side of Abi is a girl, her body half turned away as she talks with a waitress. With the dancing strobe lights, I can’t see her face or even her head, really, but from the shoulders down she’s a fucking vision. A tight, voluptuous body is practically poured into a skintight red dress that shows off a set of curves just this side of unbelievable.

  “Fuck me, that’s not an hourglass. That’s a day and a half glass,” Kaede says quietly, seeing the same girl I’m noticing. “Who is she?”

  “Ross!” Abi calls out, seeing me, but before I can answer, I feel like my jaw drops to the floor.

  The girl next to Abi . . . Violet?

  Holy fucking shit on a Ritz. Have I not been paying attention for that long? I literally just saw her hours ago, but I feel like maybe I’ve never really seen her. Not like this.

  “A–Abi,” I stammer, finding my cool again. “Arch.”

  “Hey, Ross . . . and Goose,” Archie jokes, using his nickname for Kaede. “You still haven’t taken me to bed.”

  “Guess I’ve lost you forever then,” Kaede replies as the two bump fists. Kaede’s as straight as I am, but he’s chill as Slurpee with Archie, ever since Arch wing-manned for Kaede one night. I still can’t pry the full story out of Kaede a year later. I just know he walked into work the following Monday looking like he’d had a holy experience.

  “Violet.”

  The word hangs in the throbbing bass-filled air of the club, and I swear Vi blushes a little as she gives me a nod, but more than likely, that’s the pink lights skimming over her skin. “Ross.” She seems completely unaffected by me, which unnerves me for some reason.

  “Anyway . . . what’s the emergency?” I ask as Abi scoots to the side and I find myself wedged beside Violet. Her thigh rubs against mine through my pants, and . . . oh, fuck, it moved.

  This can’t be happening. Violet’s my little sister’s best friend, to the point that I’ve heard all of their stupid little girl giggling from the time she was eight years old. She’s damn near family, which means off limits.

  Nope. Not going to happen.

  I am not allowed to be attracted to Violet.

  Not tonight. Not ever.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  But feeling the warmth of her thigh pressed against my leg and the way her lightly tanned skin contrasts with the blood red of her sexy dress, that shade of red I’ve always thought of as Fuck Me Scarlet, is new, and I’m having to fight my own body’s desires.

  It doesn’t care that Violet is Abi’s BFF.

  It doesn’t care that I’ve known this girl since she had chicken legs.

  It only cares that those legs are long, toned, and leading to a body that’s erotic in every atom of its being.

  It only cares about sheathing myself in one of her body’s tight, velvety crevices and emptying itself inside her.

  She’s a siren calling me to crash on the curves of her shores.

  “Hey, Ross? Earth to Ross!”

  I blink and look over at Abi, who’s giving me a strange look. “What?”
/>   “You drunk already?” Abi asks, grinning. “That’s new for you.”

  “Probably that pizza hasn’t digested enough yet,” Kaede says with a chuckle. “You know, low blood sugar and all. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast.” He’s good at covering for me, but I can see the questions in his eyes.

  What the fuck, man? You okay?

  Kaede reaches his hand across the table toward Violet. “Kaede Warren. Good to see you again. It’s been a while.”

  Violet shakes his hand with a firm grip, no wimpy kiss-it greeting from her, and I have to fight the urge to growl at my best friend for touching her. “Violet Russo. I remember you from school, and I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Kaede offers a flirty smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you too, though it seems not the important things.” His eyes drop down, licking over Vi’s body, and I cough to cover the kick I throw his way under the table. Luckily, I hit my target and not Arch.

  Kaede’s eyes snap to mine, humor dancing in their dark depths. The bastard’s fucking with me.

  Next to me, I can feel Violet fidget, a sort of nervous energy almost vibrating off her body. “So, Abi, what—”

  Suddenly, the music changes, and Archie jumps up, grinning like a fool. “Bitches!”

  I blink, stunned. “Huh?”

  “This is my jam!” Archie says, grabbing Abi by the hand. “Come on, Abs. You too, K-dawg. Abigail’s gonna need a dance partner while I find one of my own! Unless you’re volunteering to be the meat in the sandwich tonight?” He laughs, not remotely serious, but he is pulling Abigail and Kaede out of the booth.

  Kaede gives me a raised eyebrow, but I give him a slight tilt of my chin. He’s a good guy, and I know he’ll be polite enough with my sister that I can trust him. Besides, while he’s out on the dance floor, he’ll probably be scanning the crowd looking for potential candidates for me.

  Knowing him, he’ll probably come back upstairs with at least two or three.

  The three of them head downstairs, Archie using an intimidating glare and his long arms to make room on the dance floor before breaking out moves that just might put Simone Biles to shame.

  “Look at him go.”

  The quiet words, barely audible over the music, pull my attention back to the person next to me, and I turn to look Violet in the face. I can’t decipher her expression . . . shy? Nervous? Pissed? Maybe all of the above at the same time, for some reason?

  “He’s . . . flexible,” I admit. Violet’s eyes narrow some, and she looks angrier for some reason. “What’s up?”

  “Why are you here?” she suddenly asks, and it feels like she’s changing the subject. “Did Abi tell you?”

  I find myself off-kilter almost instantly. She’s the only one who’s ever been able to set me off with so few words.

  And tonight, firstly, I don’t know what Violet’s talking about.

  Secondly, though . . . she’s hot when she’s angry.

  I never noticed that before. Hot like fire might shoot from her eyes at any moment and burn me up, her frenetic energy surrounding us in a bubble of her making.

  “Tell me what?” I ask, sipping my drink to try and regain my composure. I’m starting to wonder if Abi is up to something. But what?

  “Don’t play stupid,” Violet hisses. “She told you, didn’t she?”

  “I have no idea,” I answer honestly. “As in no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” I can’t help the smirk that crosses my face at seeing Violet so worked up. I really don’t know what’s got her riled up, but I like it. I always do.

  But she misreads my smile, thinking I have some insight to whatever she’s upset about. “Yeah, she did,” Violet says, her fists clenching in her lap. “Goddammit, I’m gonna kick her perky little ass!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I reply, holding up a hand. “First, I don’t want to know anyone’s opinion of my sister’s ass. Second, I swear to you, I really don’t know what’s going on. Look, here’s what Abi sent me.”

  I reach into my coat pocket and pull out my phone, showing her the text from Abi. “As you can see, I didn’t have time after that to hear anything. So, what’s going on?”

  “You swear?” Violet asks, her lips trembling, and there’s a glitter of tears in her eyes. Jesus, she’s really shaken up. What’s happened to spin her from mad to sad in a blink? “She didn’t say anything at her boutique?”

  “I don’t know anything,” I swear. “Vi, I came into the shop to sign the card for my parents’ anniversary flowers and told Abi about the old man being an ass lately and making some demands of me that I don’t like. That’s it. She barely got a word in edgewise about anything else.”

  “So, you’ve got problems?” Violet asks, a bit bitchy. “I’m surprised Mr. Perfect does anything but shit gold nuggets.”

  Ouch. But this Violet I know. Cutting, funny, ready to battle and put me in my place. I know this one, like this one. The upset, crying version of Violet does odd things to my gut, and I don’t like that. But if any time has been the right time to have an actual conversation with Vi, it’s now when she’s obviously hiding behind our usual status quo.

  “Okay, I’ve done some shit, Vi. But right now, it seems that you’ve got more on your mind. Come on, what’s going on?”

  Violet purses her lips for a moment, studying me with an intensity that is actually a little intimidating. Has she always been this way, this . . . intensely magnetic?

  Have I not been paying attention at all?

  “It’s . . . it’s about Colin,” she finally says, and it takes me a minute to place the name. Oh, yeah . . . Colin Radcliffe. We run in the same circles. His family’s got enough money that we don’t even really need to measure bank accounts.

  When you reach a certain level of wealth, the dollars don’t really matter compared to other yardsticks. And the Radcliffe name carries weight.

  Still, the little I know about Colin, he’s always struck me as a bit of a prick. I guess all young businessmen need to have a healthy dose of asshole in them to be successful, but Colin always seemed to have a bit too much, in my opinion.

  “What about him?” I ask, my eyes cutting to Violet’s hands. Her fingers are empty, and even before she answers, I know what she’s going to say. “Oh, shit. Who broke it off with whom?”

  “He . . . he did,” Violet says quietly. “This morning.”

  I snort, shaking my head. “What a dick. I’m sorry, Violet.”

  Maybe it’s the sincerity in my words, or maybe it’s that I called her by her given name, something I don’t do all that frequently, I realize. But a torrent of words unleashes from Violet.

  In a stumbling, somewhat confusing stream of consciousness rant that lasts all the way through two club remixes, she tells me everything.

  Her Papa.

  His health.

  Her going into a relationship with blinders on because of it.

  Her family going just a little insane.

  Everything.

  “So . . . I know it’s crazy, my wanting to get married just for Papa,” she says finally, tossing back the last of my Rum and Rockstar to wet her throat, “but it wasn’t until Colin was breaking it off that I realized that’s all I was doing. Colin was waiting for this big breakdown and I was just ‘meh’ about it.” She shrugs like getting dumped was no big deal, but I know it had to sting a bit. “I was ‘meh’ about him.” She sounds sincere, not like a woman bereft after a painful loss.

  Not that Colin is much of a catch, anyway.

  “But it would have meant so much to Papa. And then, when I told Abi, she said that I should have a fake wedding, a fake husband . . . at least until after Papa’s passed away.”

  Violet rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t see her own brain on the top of the roll, and it hits me.

  Abi planned this. She didn’t tell Vi anything about my problem, and vice versa.

  But Abi’s smart, and she put two and two together.

  “She even said I should
ask you,” Violet says, laughing lightly. “How insane is that? We’d kill each other. Probably literally.”

  I take a deep breath and catch the attention of a passing waitress. “You aren’t going to believe this,” I tell her, leaning back, “but not all that insane at all.”

  “What?”

  I nod, swallowing. “Order yourself another drink. You just might need it.”

  Chapter 6

  Ross

  I keep my silence until the waitress returns with a mimosa for Violet, who downs half of it in a single gulp. “Whoa,” I counsel her as she immediately orders another. “Slow down. It’s a long night.”

  She ticks off on her fingers, emphasizing each point. “My fiancé dumped me, my best friend seems intent on hooking me up with you, of all people, and I’m wearing the most daring dress I own.” Pointing directly at me and daring me to disagree, she finishes with, “I’m gonna drink what I wanna drink.” I’m reminded that despite her soft amber eyes, she’s definitely half Italian.

  So, if she wants to toss back mimosas like Powerade . . . she’s gonna toss back mimosas like Powerade. Since I don’t really know how well she handles her alcohol, I can’t criticize her. Besides, they’re mostly juice, right?

  “Okay,” I concede. “So . . . you’ve got a problem. And Abi thinks I can help you.”

  “Which is insane,” she interrupts.

  I tilt my head, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Violet is fiery and has taken me to my knees more than once. If she does that this time because I go in too hard, it could be to both of our detriment.

  “Have you been keeping your eye on the news?” I ask, and Violet shrugs, not questioning the random direction I’m leading us in. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I read the style section to keep up,” Violet admits. “But if you want to ask me who’s in first place in the National League, I couldn’t even tell you the teams.”

  “Fair enough,” I reply, silently admitting to myself that I’ve never read the style section of the news. “Let’s just say I’ve had a few scandals. I told Abi that Dad’s throwing his weight around, and it would help me personally and professionally to have a . . . steady plus one.”