My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  With him laid back and unaware, I can’t help but take advantage and look down to the thick cock lying between his legs. Even now, soft in his sleep, I can’t believe he was able to fit it all inside me. Oh, yes . . . yes, he did, and if my lust-clouded memory serves me correctly, I gave as good as I got. I pushed back into him and begged him to pound me harder by the end.

  Now we’ve crossed a line I never, ever thought I’d cross with Ross. And while, yeah, teenage me is jumping up and down for ticking the biggest box off her bucket list, adult me is drowning in doubt.

  I just slept with my best friend’s big brother. The tormentor I hated. The boy I lusted after before I even really knew what desire was. The fake fiancé that I’m going to marry.

  So I just jumped pussy-first into a whole new world of trouble. This was supposed to be a business arrangement only, not a ‘tear a hole in the sofa cushion with your fingernails as he sends the third orgasm exploding through your body while you fake being in love’ sort of arrangement. That’s just cray-cray.

  But the craziest thing of all? I like it. I like it a lot.

  It’s like before this wasn’t serious, but now it’s gotten real. Very real.

  For me, at least. And isn’t that the million-dollar question? I’m not a casual sex person, usually, but with at least six months with Ross looming on the horizon, I wonder if I can be. Can I have sex, fake being in love, get married, and then walk away when the time is right without being broken? Can he?

  Though questions are still rolling through my head, my bladder is telling me that regardless of any moral boundaries I might have obliterated, I’ve got some physical needs to take care of. I quietly slip off the sofa and hurry to the bathroom, where I freshen up.

  “Good morning,” Ross says quietly behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my neck. I arch my back, pushing my bare ass back against another part of him that’s woken up as he slides his right hand up to cup my breast and pinch my nipple lightly. “Mmm . . . so that wasn’t a ridiculously vivid sex dream last night.”

  “No,” I say with a small smile, turning my head to look up into his eyes. “But thanks for confessing that you wanted me first.” I can’t help the tease as it slips from my tongue.

  With a grin, I tell him, “We can’t right now . . . I’ve got an early client, and it’s just luck I woke up in time.”

  Part of me, a big part of me, wants Ross to ignore what I just said and bend me over the sink so we can watch in the mirror as he gives me a very big good morning. And though I hate to admit it, I want him to make me say ‘please’ again because damn if he didn’t make it worth it.

  But instead, he pulls back, a smirk on his face as he nods and heads over to the toilet cubicle, closing the frosted glass door behind him. It’s a nice customization and allows us to both be in the bathroom without actually having to watch anyone ‘do their business’. A little mystery is a good thing, especially when I’m not sure what side of the real-fake line we’re leaning toward.

  “You know, I never really thought this would happen,” Ross says, broaching the subject while I start washing my face. “You know, us . . . sleeping together. I figured we had better odds of killing each other.”

  I chuckle, though some small gash in my teenage heart heals a little bit at the longed-for recognition, and then we’re both quiet for a moment, our eyes locked on one another in the mirror as he stands behind me.

  Ross laughs, and a moment later, the toilet flushes and he comes out and washes his hands. “Okay, point taken. But you’re Abi’s best friend, the same girl I taunted for years.” Seems his thoughts this morning are in line with my own. I wonder if they diverge from my wishy-washy uncertainty, though.

  “That you did.”

  Ross hums, then quickly bends down and literally kisses my ass. “Well, those chicken legs of yours have become finger lickin’ good!” His finger traces up the back of my thigh.

  I shiver, gasping when he smacks my ass playfully. “Bastard! Do you know how much I hated that? You were the sole reason I learned how to do a proper squat and lunge. I did supersets every night for years.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Ross says, stepping back, his smile fading a little. But then the teasing light comes back, though a little dimmer. “I’d say I’m sorry, but have you seen your ass? Whatever you did worked and was worth it, honey.”

  I chuckle, and then we’re both quiet for a moment, our eyes locked on one another in the mirror as he stands behind me.

  “I don’t regret what we did.” His voice is rough, like he’s talking over gravel.

  “I don’t, either,” I reply, grabbing my toothbrush and green Colgate toothpaste. I prep my brush, then look up at him. “Look, we’ve crossed that bridge, and it was nice, ten out of ten, would ride that ride again. But I know the drill. Fake marriage, fake relationship, no strings attached. But there’s nothing wrong with us getting a little something extra out of the deal, I guess.”

  “Rebel, you’re breaking your own rules,” he says, but instead of a tease, it sounds like a compliment. The way his eyes trace over the reflection of my naked body feels like a compliment too. Then he straightens, everything I just said apparently hitting him on delay. “Did you just say that last night was ‘nice’?”

  I smirk, giving him a version of his own cocky grin, and nod. “Yep,” I say, popping the P.

  “I’ll show you nice,” he growls, turning me to lean my ass against the cold marble and dropping to his knees.

  I try to protest, really, I do. “Ross, I have to go to work. I’m going to be late.”

  He looks up at me, feral and possessive. “Brush your teeth. I’ll make this pussy come before you’re even done.”

  And though it was his own words, he gets to it and I can almost hear the ‘challenge accepted’ resonating in his mind.

  He licks me fast and hard, fluttering his tongue over my clit as he slips two fingers inside my already wet slit. His other hand jacks himself in tempo with his thrusts. It’s the slowest tooth-brushing session of my life. It’s the fastest orgasm I’ve ever had. He’s lucky I don’t choke on the toothpaste.

  As I float back to Earth, white foam running down my chin, he grins at me from the V of my legs, evidence of his own orgasm on the floor beneath him. “Was that nice, Vi?”

  I purse my lips. “Okay, it was better than nice. It was good.” And with a squeal, I jump up and make a run for the bedroom closet. He chases me and pins me up against the wall, handing me a towel to wipe my mouth on. “I really do have to get ready for work.”

  “I know, but we deserve better than nice or good. Seems like we’ve got some work to do.”

  He knows as well as I do that nothing about last night or this morning was ho-hum ‘good’. It was mind-blowing, life-altering epicness. But he’s letting me hide, letting our teasing game continue, and I appreciate that. I need that buffer for my heart to remember who he is, who I am, and that this is fake and casual.

  He smacks my ass and presses a kiss to my still overly minty mouth. “Go to work, Chickie.”

  * * *

  YOU ARE LOVINGLY INVITED

  Together with their families,

  Ross Andrews & Violet Russo

  Request the honor of your presence at the celebration of their love

  At St. Luke’s Church of the Hills

  Saturday, June twenty-sixth, at six in the evening

  Reception To Follow

  “It’s gorgeous,” I whisper as tears spring to my eyes. They’re beautiful, the same peach and white embossed paper that she bought for my wedding with Colin, but now that it’s printed out with Ross’s name next to mine, there’s a hitch in my throat.

  She also added some subtle metallic glitter or something so the whole thing feels dreamy.

  “How did you do that?” I ask, tilting the paper one way and then another.

  “Shimmer spray,” she answers with a shrug. “I’ll lay them out and do them in batches. Dries instantly, so it’
ll be quick, but I think it adds a little something extra.”

  It absolutely does.

  “So this is the prototype. Do I have your approval?” Abi asks.

  I nod. “Of course. Absolutely. They’re everything. Too bad they’re for a wedding that’s—”

  She cuts me off. “A wedding I’ve been looking forward to since we were about ten years old and I saw you go gaga over Ross,” Abi says, hugging me. “However it’s come about, it’s happening. My best friend is marrying my best brother. I’m happy about that, regardless of the circumstances. Which you can thank me for later.”

  “Abi, he’s your only brother,” I point out, but I still smile a little.

  “So everyone keeps saying, but I keep surprising them,” Abi says with a grin, giving me another squeeze before stepping back. “So, let me punch in the print order here . . . and by the time you get done telling me about work and the wedding preparations, everything will be ready to go to the mailroom clerk.”

  “How’d you know about that?” I ask.

  “Well, my one and best brother might have spilled a little bit of his plans to make this whole thing easier on you when he stopped by for roses. Did you like them? They’re a special heirloom variety with a Dutch history going back centuries.” She smiles like I know what she’s talking about, but I have no idea beyond roses are pretty and smell good.

  “I loved them,” I tell her honestly. I do remember to leave out the part where Ross tore the fancy flowers down to their petals for my bath, but I can feel my face heat at the memory of last night.

  Abi grins big and wide, wolfishly devouring my reaction. “That look right there,” she says, pointing to my cheeks. “What’s that all about? You’re blushing, Vi, which means something happened. Spill it, girl!”

  “Nothing. The flowers were just a really nice surprise, and he offered to help with a lot of the wedding prep that’s stressing me out.” Even to my own ears, it’s a weak explanation of the continually growing redness, which is creeping down to my chest now.

  Abi narrows her eyes, searching mine. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  My heart stutters and then stops. “I’m so sorry, Abi. You know I would never do anything to risk our friendship. We just got carried away and . . .”

  My tumble of words dies out as she bursts out in laughter. “Fina-fucking-ly. Took you long enough. I figured you two would’ve boned that night after Club Red, but then you got pretty sloshed, so maybe my brother’s not a total Neanderthal, after all.”

  My face blanks. “You’re . . . not mad? Isn’t that like some red-line girl-code thing? You shall not pass?” I intone.

  Her quirked brow communicates quite easily that she thinks I’m a dolt. Droll and sarcastic, she summarizes, “Yeah, Vi. I totally hooked you up with my brother, the one I know you had a schoolgirl crush on for years . . . and the guy who quickly gets bored of vapid bank account chasers . . . for a fake wedding and at least a six-month relationship where you live together twenty-four seven . . . and thought you two would never bump uglies.”

  She rolls her eyes. “What kind of moron do you think I am? More importantly, what took you so long? Is he still being an asshole to you? I’ll kill him if he is because he needs to get his head out of his ass and wake up to the awesomeness that is you staring him right in the face and figure out how to make you love him for real, forever, so we can actually be sisters.”

  That’s a lot to process. Abi’s not mad. She assumed we’d have sex. She wants us to get together? For real?

  Oh, my God. She is such a schemer!

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I stammer.

  Abi is having no such tongue-tied problems, though. “So, are we talking casual, no-strings sex, or are we talking ‘I love you, you’re my sun and moon’ sex? What step are we at so I can advise accordingly?”

  “Casual?” I say it as a question even though it’s what Ross and I agreed on just hours ago. What step? She thinks there are steps from casual to sun-and-moon? “That’s all this is, Abs. There’s nothing serious between us, I mean, other than the fake marriage. This is still Ross and me.”

  As if that’s explanation enough.

  She smiles knowingly. “Yeah, but you’ve been living together for days now, have already weathered battles against both of your families, and are planning the event of the season in less than two weeks now. And you know what?” She pauses and I shrug. “You haven’t killed each other. Oh, wait, unless you killed him with sex. Did you fuck my brother to death, Violet Russo?” she accuses.

  I can’t. I don’t know what to do with her. She’s acting like this is no big deal. And that’s putting ideas in my head. Ones I don’t know what to do with, like how his smoothies are just the right blend for my sweet tooth, how he stopped at the store and picked up an industrial-sized bottle of my favorite conditioner ‘just because’, and a dozen other little things. And last night, the bath and nerf war silliness that I didn’t even know I needed. And the way he knows how to hug me, or to kiss me, or . . .

  “Oh, God, Abi. I’m falling for Ross Andrews,” I say, horror-stricken.

  She smiles victoriously and does a little shimmy shake of happiness. “Okay, so now that my work there is done . . .” She reaches behind herself, literally patting herself on the back. “Let’s talk wedding preparation. Hit me.”

  My mind is running in a thousand different directions. How in the fuck did this happen? How do I stop it? I cannot allow my heart to get tangled up in this mess, especially when we agreed hours ago to be cool and casual. We’re basically fuck-buddy roommates with some messy paperwork attached, but it’s not supposed to be emotional.

  It’s not supposed to be real.

  Abigail snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Okay, you’re panicking, so I’ll go. Archie and I went shopping last night while you were doing dinner with the fam. I picked out my dress and he got a matching suit, so your bridesmaids are ready to go. Wanna see?”

  I blink at least three times but nod. She grabs her phone, flipping through pictures until she finds the one she wants. She’s posing on a pedestal at Ride or Die Bride in a frothy peach chiffon dress with the tiniest spaghetti straps, a cinched-in waist, and a flowy bottom that swirls around her calves. She looks gorgeous, slightly vintage but modern at the same time. “It matches the invitations and the flowers I’ve ordered, so it’ll all look seamless. I think I’m going to do nude heels, something bare, with just a couple of skinny straps.”

  I’m still nodding mindlessly, only part of what she’s saying sinking in. “Archie actually found a suit in the same peach color, too. I was afraid it’d look like a 1970s prom picture with him standing next to me, but it was actually divine against his dark skin. He did say that he’s wearing a black shirt, no tie, and his combat boots with it, if you’re okay with that? The black will go with the groom and groomsmen tuxedos, but it’s still Archie, you know? He’s not going to get all monkey-suited up unless you make him, and I’ll admit, he looked pretty cool. The edge kinda toned down the peachiness a bit.”

  “That’s fine. Sounds great,” I reply, having no idea what I just agreed to. But if Abi and Archie think it’ll look good, right now, I’ll take their expertise as gospel. Because my brain is a bowlful of Jell-O mush.

  Ross. Me. Ross. Me.

  The loop plays on, images superimposed over one another from our misspent childhood antics to just this morning. But not in a continuous line. Oh, no. The pictures in my mind are mixed up, old and new taking on unexpected meanings with every flip through my mental scrapbook.

  Abi plows on as if I’m not a zombie in the middle of an existential crisis. “Okay, so we’re doing great. Invites and flowers are spectacular, courtesy of moi. Venue is all set. Kaede told me he called today to update their info and direct everything to him. And he is meeting with Luciano’s owner this afternoon.” She looks at her watch and amends, “Right now, to get the food squared away. Bridesmaid outfits are done, and Ross and Kaede have tu
xedoes. I sent Kaede a color swatch so he can do ties and handkerchiefs to match me and Archie. We do need to decide who else Ross is going to have stand with him so that it’s balanced, two on your side and two on Ross’s.”

  “Does Luciano’s make cake?” I ask woodenly. I don’t know why that stuck out in the laundry list she just rattled off, especially when I couldn’t tell you half of what she said. But I forgot the cake, even when I was talking to Ross last night.

  Who forgets the cake at a wedding? See, this is doomed from the start.

  “They do, Italian cream, if I remember correctly.”

  Well, I guess that’s one problem solved at least.

  “My dress. I still don’t have a dress. Do you know what he did?” I ask, not needing to specify who ‘he’ is.

  Abi shakes her head, hope on her face now that I’m reasonably coherent.

  “He sent gowns to my office,” I say quietly, the shock of seeing racks of white gowns returning anew as I tell Abi. “Archie was at Bitch-ella’s.” I sigh, getting my haywire brain to focus. “I mean, Archie was at Mrs. Montgomery’s, working on her ballroom. It’s coming along quickly since it’s designed to be a mostly empty space, good for event-specific setup. He’s supervising the painters today.” I shake my head again, focused but completely off track from where I’d intended to go with what I’m telling Abi.

  “Archie was gone, and the office door opened. I went out to greet the visitor, and there was a bridal shop associate there. With a rack of gowns for me to try on right then and there. She said my fiancé made it clear how busy I was, so she was ready to help me try on the ones that interested me quickly so I could return to my schedule.” My eyes bug out as I look at Abi. “Who does that?”

  Her smile is pure triumph. “Ross does, apparently, though I’ve never known him to make even a fraction of this effort for anyone before.”

  Her words give me pause, and hope tries to bloom. Maybe he’s feeling some of what I’m feeling too? Could it be?