“You’re a scheming little chess master, you know that?” I growl, but Abi’s laugh still makes me smile.
“I do what I can,” she says, and I can almost imagine her humbly curtseying at the compliment.
“I can only assume you and Vi talked?”
“Of course.”
In the back of my head, I wonder just how much Violet’s told Abi, and more importantly . . . what’s Abi’s angle on all of this?
I’m not exactly the best fake husband for Violet. I’ve got too much baggage and too public a profile to really play a fake role.
Meanwhile, for me, Violet’s need for the marriage isn’t exactly ideal, either. What would be best would be a six-month, no-stress social thing that never gets too serious. Truly, just regular arm candy for show like Violet said.
So this isn’t a perfect match for either of us. But at the same time, a niggling little voice that’s been going off in my head since I saw her curled up in my bed says it’s totally right, too.
But what is Abi’s role in all of this? She’s the fly in the ointment right now, but I have to trust her somewhat.
“And?” I prompt.
“And what?” she snaps back. “You might not believe me, Ross . . . but I’m doing this for both of you.”
I hum, not sure about that. Abi always has a master plan. I’m just not sure what it is right now. Though I guess covering both her brother’s and her best friend’s asses with this crazy idea might be the entirety of her scheme. Lord knows, it’s not something either Vi or I would’ve come up with on our own.
“Have you told Courtney about this?” I ask, a little worried. I love my youngest sister, but Courtney wants to be the good girl in the family way too much. There’s no way she’d understand what I’m doing or why.
“Hell, no!” Abi says, her opinion of Courtney totally lining up with mine. “You remember the number of times she ratted on me to Mom and Dad when I was in high school? Getting out of the house to go on dates with Danny Reeves was damn near like Prison Break with her around.”
“He was a douche,” I point out, something Abi found out for herself before she went to college. “So, this is just between us? No one else can know, for both Vi’s sake and mine.”
“Already discussed and agreed upon, big brother.”
“So, you’ll be there tonight and help me not blow the whole thing before we even get it started?”
Her chuckle does nothing to soothe my nerves at making this play in front of my family. What if we can’t pull this off? What if they can tell that Violet would rather kick me than kiss me? What if they know we’re not compatible at all, with the constant teasing and bickering?
“Oh, it’s already started, Ross. But I’ll be there. It’ll be fine. Vi’ll be ready. I’ll be ready. Just make sure you’re ready.”
She’s trying to calm me, but something about her words makes it sound like I need to be ready for just about anything. When Abi and Vi get together, I guess that’s usually true, which is terrifying.
“All right, Sis. See you at Mom and Dad’s tonight.”
The click severing the connection feels like a sign of what’s to come. I’m dead, so fucking dead if this goes wrong.
* * *
The Andrews Estate isn’t quite the historical family heirloom that the name implies. My family’s wealth is too new. In fact, I can remember living in an upper middle-class home before my father’s hard work paid off. If anything, those memories are part of why I’m busting my ass so much to prove myself to Dad.
He built the company with his hard work . . . but I’m going to be the one to make it multi-generational. He built a kingdom. I’m going to turn that kingdom into an empire.
But first, I need to get past this hurdle.
The estate is certainly beautiful, an anniversary present from Dad to Mom, and in many ways, it does seem to have a bit of a fairytale castle vibe to it, with its sand-colored stone and big windows that look out over twenty manicured acres. It’s got all the usual toys of the rich, including an Olympic-sized pool, a rose garden, and a lawn roughly the size of a football field.
But in a nod to just how good a set of parents I’ve got, there are a lot of things that you wouldn’t expect. Like a huge wooden playset with slides, swings, and more, and a tree house with chairs in both little girl size and older brother size.
There’s a full gym in one wing of the basement, installed so that a son who wanted to be a high school football player could bring his friends over and make sure his team was fully prepared for the gridiron.
And a game room where we actually sat at the table and played cards on rainy nights. It was there I first discovered a love of business when I beat my dad at Monopoly. He’d been proud at my win and encouraged me to learn strategies that I later delved deeper into in business school.
Yeah . . . I owe a lot to my parents.
Which is why I didn’t tell Dad to fuck off with his ultimatum. He’s right to a small degree, as much as I absolutely hate to admit it. He has been a great example for me, as a loving husband and father and as a businessman. But he’s also a lot to live up to.
Which is also why I don’t gun my Camaro’s engine as I pull up out front, parking in the crushed gravel semi-circle driveway. At a glance, I’d say I’m the first to arrive, but it’s all good.
“Mister Ross,” Karl, the butler, says. “How is Geoffrey?”
I swear Karl gets a kick out of my ‘digital assistant,’ or maybe it’s professional jealousy. Either way, he always makes a note to ask. “Currently having dinner with Cortana,” I joke. “He just stole her from some plumber named Mario.”
“Very funny, sir. Your parents should be home soon. Your mother had a charity meeting she needed to clear this afternoon. The caterers are already here, and dinner will be ready promptly at eight.”
“Excellent. Thank you for coordinating dinner tonight on the fly.” He nods deferentially. Leaving the foyer, I make a quick check of the dining room where I see the extra place laid out, then the kitchen, where the caterers are doing fine. I went all out, with Dad’s favorite of beef Wellington, Mom’s favorite Shiraz wine, and sides that reflect everyone’s favorites. I even had Abi send me Violet’s favorite dessert, which of course, is tiramisu.
Everything’s ready.
“Miss Abigail Andrews and Miss Violet Russo,” Karl announces from the foyer, and I turn around, only to stop short when I see Violet.
How can this be? She’s even more beautiful than she was last night, dressed in a midnight blue dress with white accents, slightly demure while still being so sexy that I immediately feel bad about jacking off in the bathroom a few hours ago.
Not because my cock isn’t swelling—it’s already threatening to strain the compression boxers I’m wearing for just this purpose—but because all I can think of is all that wasted cream that could be coating the twin swells of her breasts.
“Violet—” I begin, but before I can say more, the rumble of Dad’s classic Jag comes through the door, and Karl steps out again. “Okay, show time.”
Dad shows up with Mom on his arm, the two of them casually chatting about their day when Karl announces them. “Well now, Ross, I do hope . . . Violet?”
“Hello, Mr. Andrews,” Violet says politely, offering her hand. True to form, Dad ignores the hand to give her a quick but warm embrace before stepping back for Mom to do the same, this time with a kiss on both cheeks.
“Oh, hush with that ‘mister’ stuff,” Mom says, smiling. “You’ve slept over here enough times, and I’ve made you enough cocoa, that you don’t need it. Please, just Morgan and Kimberly?”
“I’ll try . . . Kimberly,” Violet says, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “How are you doing?”
“Just fine, dear. I heard about your newest design success. Apparently, you got through to Lydia Montgomery? She’s been positively raving about you. Well done, dealing with her. She can be a bit of a battle axe . . . sharp and lethal.”
> Violet chuckles, saying conspiratorially, “Good to hear. Although, please don’t call her that. I don’t want to have a slip of the tongue at work.”
“There are much better uses for tongues,” I interject, making Violet blush and Mom and Dad give me withering looks. They probably think I’m trying to make fun of her, and I guess I am . . . but not in the way they expect.
“I must say, Violet, while it has been too long since you’ve been to the house, your coming to dinner is unexpected,” Dad finally says as we all leave the foyer and head toward the living room. “What brings you by?”
“A surprise,” Abi says, saving me with an innocent smile. I swear, she’s looking forward to this . . . which is all the more reason not to trust her.
We settle into the comfortable chairs and sofas that ring the living room, and I spring my first little ‘test’ on Violet. When she goes to sit down next to Abi, I clear my throat and pat my own knee. “Violet?”
I love the way her eyes flash fire, her tanned skin flushing just a little as I basically silently order her to perch on my knee, something I know she’d never do willingly. I’m on edge, so curious whether she’s going to obey. Mom and Dad both give us confused looks while Abi looks about ready to spit nails at me.
Violet debates internally, her eyes scanning me, and I know I’m going to pay for this. Funny thing is, I’m looking forward to it. Seeing what she can come up with to keep me on my toes is an exciting change of pace from my work-sleep-fuck-repeat life cycle.
Finally, she tosses her head, flipping her hair in a dark ebony wave over her shoulder before starting to sit down . . . only to slide past my knee and onto the cushion of the loveseat next to me. Her smile is pure saccharin.
Ooh . . . so close. That was a good one, leading me to think she was going to actually obey and then doing exactly whatever the fuck she wants at the last second.
The funny thing is, I like this attitude from Violet. If I were actually looking for a wife, I’d want one who could match me strength for strength, who’ll give as good as she gets.
The thought is unsettling, something I’ve never really considered in my work-focused life. A wife, a marriage, and especially a family, have always seemed like far-off, long-term goals. Not something to worry about now. And even if I had imagined it late at night, I’d always pictured being married to a debutante-socialite type. Not because that’s my preference but because they’re easy and everyone knows the score. Keep them well-kept and go on with life while they go on with theirs. But that’s not a marriage. It’s a contract.
Somehow, this arrangement with Violet already seems more personal than a gold-digging wife ever would be, though.
“Why, thank you, Ross,” Violet says, resting her hand on my thigh just a little higher than is friendly.
“Violet? Ross?” Dad asks as Mom looks on with equal parts surprise, hope, and glee in her eyes. “Is there something going on?”
“You know we should wait until dinner, Dad,” I reply. “You taught me that lesson. You don’t strike until the right moment.” It sounds like a compliment, but my gaze is hard. I respect him, look up to him—hell, I love him—but that doesn’t mean that I’m not still furious with him for throwing his weight around, threatening me, and putting us all in this position.
“Well,” Mom says, trying to interrupt the tension, “how are things with Colin, Violet? The last I heard from Abigail, you were going to get married soon?” She asks it lightly, but her eyes are definitely laser-locked on where Violet’s hand rests on my thigh. To make a point, I lay my own hand over Violet’s, interweaving our fingers.
I swear my mother is going to have a conniption fit. Only her years of keeping up appearances hold her back from peppering us with the questions I know she has.
Violet tries to remove her hand, but I hold her steady, and she blushes, a pink tone that I want to see flushing her entire body as I bring her to the edge of coming and then make her wait for my command to fall into the pleasure. I mentally smack the shit out of myself. Seriously, what is it about Violet the past twenty-four hours that has me as horny as a fourteen-year-old boy seeing tits for the first time?
“Miss Courtney Andrews,” Karl announces, and Court comes in, looking like a million bucks. I swear, if she wasn’t intent on making her own path in the family corporation, she’d be able to pull seven figures as a fashion model.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” she asks, smiling when she sees Violet. Violet stands and gives Court a quick hello hug. “Hey, Vi. How’s the wedding prep?”
“Uhm . . .” Violet says, glancing at me to take the lead on this one as she sits back down at my side.
Courtney’s looking from Violet to me, and I can see in her expression that she saw the newspaper article about Vi and me this morning. Dad might’ve missed it if he had a busy day, but Court always reads the gossip pages first.
“I’m not with Colin anymore,” Violet blurts out.
Courtney and Mom gasp, and I can see that Mom wants to comfort Vi as she tuts out, “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry.” But Violet doesn’t need comforting. She’s fine—more than fine—at the loss of an ass like Colin. Especially now that she has me, I think cockily.
“What?” Courtney says. She knows Colin’s family better than I do. One of her sorority sisters in college actually dated Colin’s brother, so I can see she feels a little closer to this. “What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I reply, holding out my hand to Violet, thankful when she takes it easily. “Last night, Violet and I met up, and well . . . one thing led to another, and we realized something we should’ve realized a long time ago.”
A pregnant pause stretches out, and I rub at Violet’s bare finger, suddenly wanting my ring there as a sign that we’re doing this, that we’re in this thing together. I can’t wait until dinner, don’t want to play the strategy game with Dad. I need to mark her somehow, if only a little.
“Hey, Abs, a little help here?” I raise a brow at her and her mouth opens into an O before she jumps up and runs to the foyer.
She reappears a moment later with a small velvet box in her hand. “Here you go, Ross,” she says at volume. Under her breath, I swear she whispers, “Don’t fuck this up.” But her face is frozen in a sweet smile so maybe I imagined that.
Courtney, Mom, and Dad all look like they just got dropped into one of those off the wall British sitcoms that Mom used to watch on BBC America.
“N–F–W,” Courtney says, pronouncing each letter out loud as I open the box and reveal Violet’s ring. “No effin’ way!”
“Way,” I reply, taking the ring and getting down on a knee. “It took me too long to see what I should’ve seen all along, and for that I’m sorry. But I promise, if you’ll let me, I’ll make it up to you each and every day for the rest of our lives. Violet Russo, will you marry me?”
Chapter 9
Violet
I stare at the ring, the entire world slowing to a stop.
I know I shouldn’t be reacting this way . . . I mean, we just went shopping for this ring fewer than eight hours ago. But looking down at the band of platinum and diamond with pink rubies dotted around it, I can barely breathe.
It’s gorgeous, but more important is the look in Ross’s eyes.
I was so ready to smack him when he patted his knee earlier, silently ordering me to sit like some obedient little Barbie doll. And I could tell he was enjoying the uncomfortable silence as Abi fetched the ring, the cocky smirk on his lips making me sweat bullets while his parents and Courtney stared at us like goldfish in a bowl.
But now, there’s no laughter in his eyes. There’s no teasing, no deception. He’s looking into my eyes, just me and him as the rest of the room disappears. And in this instant, I can almost imagine that this charade is real, that I’m actually marrying the boy I had a crush on a decade ago.
I’m so in shock that I can’t think, and silence stretches, my heart pounding like a war hammer. I only remember myself when Ross nudges
me with his thumb on my kneecap and the world starts up again.
“Yes!” I shriek, forcing the word out, and them more quietly, “Yes.”
Ross’s smile is genuine again as he slips the big rock on my finger, and the way his eyes twinkle in the light of the living room makes my head swim. His handsome face is filled with emotion, forcing my heart into a double-twisting triple-backflip.
Real. This feels real, and that’s weird and dangerous as fuck.
He surges toward me, standing to clasp a powerful hand on each side of my face, and then we’re kissing again, his mouth powerful and claiming me with a single touch. I give in to him, kissing him back just as hard, and this time, I’m the one pressing on his lips to wrap my tongue around his, invading his mouth and claiming him right back.
In just a second, we’ve gone from a polite post-yes kiss to full-on tonsil hockey mouth snogging, and it’s only our need for oxygen that forces us to pull back. He presses his forehead to mine, his eyes gleaming as they fill my field of vision. His cheeks puff up as he grins, and suddenly, I’m reminded of that same grin ten years ago.
My stomach drops. This isn’t real. No matter how much of a roller coaster ride this has been in the last twenty-four hours, it’s all a front.
He’s not like Colin, not at all, but Ross is all about the image, at least right now. The image I just helped him present.
And the real Ross is triumphantly laughing inside, maybe not at me but at his own family, at Morgan and Kimberly and Courtney. Hell, maybe even at Abi some, although she’s obviously a partner in all of this.
Ross is still the same asshole you’ve always known.
There’s an audible dramatic gasp from Courtney, followed by momentary shocked silence. Morgan and Kimberly both look absolutely gobsmacked, the first time I’ve legitimately been able to use that word since reading it back in junior high school. They all look back and forth at each other with wide eyes and open mouths.
My Big Fat Fake Wedding Page 11
