My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  “Thanks,” she complains, punching me weakly in the ribs. “You know, this isn’t helping with my pre-wedding jitters.”

  I wrap both my arms around her and lay her back on the sofa, wiggling until I’m wedged in next to her. Reaching up, I stroke her hair out of her eyes, looking at her in awe and worship.

  “You’ve moved heaven and earth to get this done. Your Papa is going to be so happy,” I tell her softly, “and we’ve gotten through it. Sure, it took a team, but something this big always will. It’s going to be fine, honey.”

  The assurance slips out easily, comfortably. She sighs and relaxes into my arms, finding some solace from the world outside that’s going to take over again.

  I want to wake up every morning next to you and go to bed every night with you in my arms. I want to feel you from the inside. I want to feel your heartbeat under my fingertips. I want to . . . I want to have a family with you. I want to be your husband.

  For real.

  The thoughts run through my head in one big continuous wave, and it should terrify me, take me under, but I just feel peace. I look at Violet, unsure whether I should say anything. On one hand, it could make tomorrow so much better. But if she still sees this as something she’s doing for Papa only, and our sex as just a bonus, it’ll make tomorrow and the next six months awkward as fuck. It’s a gamble I’m not willing to take, not because I’m a wuss but because I know how much this means to her and I won’t risk messing it up or making it uncomfortable for her.

  For now, I decide to bite my tongue and just keep doing everything I can for her. Maybe one day, she’ll grow to feel something for me too.

  “I have to go soon,” I whisper to her. “I’m supposed to be at Kaede’s by eight. We’re doing a simple dinner in instead of a bachelor party, I promise.”

  She smiles, and I know that a bachelor party is the least of her worries right now. I soothe the wrinkle between her brows. “You gonna be okay here tonight? You sure you don’t want Abi to come over?”

  Her nod is hesitant. “I’m sure. I just want to take a bath and go to bed. But the bed will feel big without you in it with me.”

  I lean down, meeting her lips with my own. “After tomorrow, you’ll never have to sleep alone, Vi. You’ll be my wife.” It’s as close to a confession as I can get.

  She melts for me, writhing dreamily beneath me. I feel it. This isn’t just sex. Not for me, and I don’t think for her, either.

  As my hands stroke her body and she caresses me back, there’s more to it. My lips write on her skin in passion, but there’s no greediness there.

  This isn’t just ‘frenemies with benefits.’ It hasn’t been for a while.

  “Violet,” I whisper as my hand slides between her thighs and she lifts her leg to rest it on the back of the sofa, “do you want this?”

  I mean so much more than the physical things we are doing to each other, but she doesn’t know that. Can’t know that . . . yet.

  She nods, whimpering in pleasure as my fingers stroke over her panties. My head’s already swimming, and even Violet’s face looks different, more serious somehow. “No sex until tomorrow, though, remember? We agreed.”

  Her whine of disagreement almost makes me forget our plan and just bury myself in her, but I hold steady, finding strength I didn’t know I had.

  “No sex, but I’ll make you feel good,” I tell her gruffly.

  I move between her legs, shoving my shorts down to free my hard cock. Wrapping my fist around it, I press my knuckles along her core. As I stroke myself, I tease her through the soaked fabric of her panties.

  It’s heaven and hell all at once. I want her so badly, but waiting is the right thing to do.

  I kiss her, slow and deep, driving us both higher and hotter.

  I make promises with my mouth—that we can do this, that’s it’s going to be okay, that we’re in this together.

  My hand speeds up, sending sparks through my body, and I bury my mouth in the curve of her neck. I can feel the racing thump of her heartbeat beneath my lips.

  “Vi —” But I stop myself, swallowing down the words that are trying to escape.

  The heat builds between us until I explode, my groan rough in my throat until Violet captures my mouth with hers. Her returning moan is soft, and I taste it greedily as she bucks her hips, guiding my knuckles right where she needs me most. Hot stickiness spurts between us, and I feel her cream on my hand, mixing with my own. I look down to see my seed covering her panties, her belly, and feel like a god claiming what’s his.

  Deep inside me, my heart unlocks, and I collapse onto her as I wrap her in my arms, not wanting to go.

  Across the room, her phone begins to play a tune. After a second, I recognize it—Going to the Chapel.

  I lift up, looking at her questioningly. “That’s my alarm. You have to go so you make it to Kaede’s on time and I have the evening to relax and get ready.”

  “That’s my girl, always thinking ahead and planning for everything, even this,” I say, lifting my chin toward the sexy mess we’ve made. “Don’t move.”

  I get up and silence her phone before heading to the bathroom. I wet a towel and wipe away the evidence of what we’ve been up to, then get dressed. I turn the hot water on and fill the tub for her, throwing in some bubble bath that turns the water pink below a froth of bubbles.

  In the living room, I pick Violet up from the couch, her body soft and pliant in my arms. I pull her ruined panties down and ease her into the hot water, and she moans out a breathy sigh. “Dio Mio, this is perfect.”

  I press a kiss to her forehead. “Violet, I . . .”

  Weak. I am so fucking weak as the words try to sneak out again. She opens her eyes, and beneath her heavy lids, I can see her hopefulness. But I’m too scared that if I say them, I’ll be jinxing things.

  So I punt. “I’ll be the guy at the end of the aisle tomorrow. I’ll be your husband.”

  Once upon a time, those words would’ve terrified me, sent me running for the hills screaming faster than a defensive lineman chasing me down the field. Tonight, I can’t wait for tomorrow.

  Chapter 22

  Violet—Saturday—Wedding Day!

  The sound outside the choir room is just short of chaos, a cacophony of voices talking and string music playing. Okay, so the orchestra is here. I guess I’d kind of hoped they’d just forget to show up or something. That probably means the news crew is here too.

  I lean against the wall, alone for just a moment after all the hair and makeup fuss I’ve been pampered with today. I know it makes me sound ungrateful, but I really just wish I could sit down or breathe fully. For some reason, doing some yoga stretches sounds like a brilliant idea, except I’ve never done yoga in my life and starting doesn’t seem prudent when I’m in a dress that fits me like a glove.

  So yoga’s out, but I think I could actually sit down and not pop a seam or cut off the circulation to my lower half. Maybe it’s the lack of food, though I may never eat an egg again in my lifetime, or that I haven’t anything but coffee and water since this morning, or that the shapewear’s elastic has given up on the losing battle of holding me in. Whatever it is, a chair sounds like bliss, and isn’t that the simplest pleasure?

  But before I can attempt sitting, the door opens and Abi comes in, looking like she just crawled her way through a frat party. “How’s it going out there?”

  “Let’s see . . . your triplet cousins have been hit on by half a dozen men, two of whom may or may not be your cousins from Europe, your Aunt Sofia is defending the front pew of the church with a rolled up umbrella and a look that makes me think your ancestors fought in the Colosseum, and the camera crew looks scared to even approach her. On my family’s side of the church, my father still looks like he’d rather be getting a salt ‘n vinegar enema than be here. You’ve heard a mullet described as business in the front, party in the back?” She grins, the giggle already coming. “It’s like that out there too . . . business on the right with D
ad’s stuffed shirt friends, and party on the left with all of your crazy family. But other than that, your wedding plan’s going off just as you wanted, perfectly!”

  “Plan,” I chuckle ruefully, sighing. “You know, I had the perfect plan? But somehow, all this craziness seems apropos, don’t you think? Does the wedding planner need anything?”

  Abi shakes her head. “Nope, that’s not for you today. She’s top-notch, not scared of anyone, my family or yours, and has everything prepped, ready, and decorated. I’ll remember her to refer brides to at the flower shop for sure.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and a shaky voice on the other side calls out, “Violet? Are you decent, baby?”

  My eyes go wide, and I’m grateful when Abi tosses me a blue choir robe that I can pull on quickly without messing up my hair or makeup. “Come in, Papa!”

  Papa opens the door, and his smile when he sees me makes this all worth it. “Oh, my dear, you look beautiful.”

  I look down at the shapeless blue robe, laughing a little. “Papa, you can’t even see my dress.”

  “No need. You’re always beautiful to me,” Papa reassures me.

  He looks so handsome in his black suit, strong and healthy for the first time in a long time. I know it’s the excitement, but he looks . . . alive again. “It’s not the dress, or the church, or any of that that makes this day for me. Violet, it’s you. To see you happy, the love in your eyes, the honor of walking you down the aisle. Honey, you’ve given me the gift of a lifetime. Thank you.”

  I smile, trying to find words, but my throat’s closed up, and Papa leans forward, kissing me with feathery light kisses on both cheeks. And suddenly, all the craziness is worth it. I’m this close to making his dream come true. I can handle a little extra fanfare if it’s for Papa.

  “Now, I’ll get out of your way. You need to get ready, and you’re going to cry and ruin your makeup if I stay here any longer. Your grandmother would skin me alive if I did that!”

  “Oh, Papa, stop!” I laugh, still wanting to cry but smiling through it. “I’ll be ready on time.”

  “You’d better be. As handsome as Ross looks, if you’re late, there’s going to be a stampede of young women trying to get up there to marry him in your place!” Papa teases as he walks out the door.

  In the silence that follows, I look over to see Abi wiping carefully at her eyes. “What?” she asks when she sees me looking. “There’s a reason I didn’t go for smoky eyes today. I knew I’d end up looking like a raccoon if I did. I went straight for the dramatic fake lashes, so I’m good. Now, let’s finish getting you ready before one of your cousins steals Ross right out from underneath you, literally. What’s left?”

  I laugh and smack her arm at the dirty joke. “Why’s it gotta be my cousins?” I ask before realizing the point. “Oh . . . your family. Yeah, that’d be weird.”

  I go through my checklist, reading down the paper the wedding planner taped to the mirror for me. Hair and veil—check. Makeup and teeth brushed—check. Dress—check. Garter and lingerie—check. One glass of champagne—I decided to skip that one, so check.

  “Hey, Abi? There’s just one thing left on my list and I’m definitely gonna need some help with it,” I say haltingly.

  “What?” she says, reading over my shoulder.

  “I need to pee,” I say.

  Like the good friend and trooper she is, Abi straightens her back. “Okay, let’s get to it.”

  I never thought bathroom stalls were particularly small. Apparently, that’s because I’ve never been inside one with another person plus what seems to be one hundred yards of white fabric. We giggle a lot, I almost pull a hamstring, and ultimately, we end up in some configuration that has me sitting backward on the toilet as I hold the front of the dress and Abi holds the back.

  I say a literal prayer of thanks for snap-crotch shapewear, choosing not to think about Abi having to help me re-snap.

  We’re close, but not that close. Until today apparently.

  I close my eyes, trying to pretend that she’s not actually looking at my ass and that I don’t have an audience so that my shy bladder will do its damn job. But it’s not working.

  Abi shuffles my dress to one hand and pulls her phone out with the other.

  “Are you taking a picture of my butt?” I scream.

  Her eye roll is epic. “No, I’m calling in reinforcements. Yeah, it’s me. Women’s bathroom in the choir room.”

  A moment later, the door opens, and I flinch, afraid someone else is going to see my ass. I hiss, “Abi, for fuck’s sake, cover me up. It might be the videographer!”

  Archie sighs dramatically. “If only. That would be hilarious.” I don’t kill him because he’s obviously being sarcastic, and you know, I’m currently stuck on a toilet.

  “Turn on the water and you can go,” Abi orders him.

  I hear all three sinks start gushing water and am struck with inspiration, my bladder finally deciding to perform.

  As the door opens once again, I hear Archie call back, “I want a raise, boss lady. A good one, effective two minutes ago.”

  I think I hum some agreement, but I can’t be sure over the sound of all the streaming, both the sinks and me.

  * * *

  This is utter madness.

  Leaving the choir room, I have to walk around the outside of the church in order to get to the back. Yesterday, I walked it in my jeans in a minute, with half of that being Father O’Flannigan talking through the ceremony and slowing me down. The only creature that saw me was a single chipmunk that chittered at us from the big maple in the middle of the church courtyard and a couple of birds flying overhead. It was peaceful and I’d thought it’d be a nice nature break to catch my breath before the ceremony began.

  Today, it’s like a prize fighter pushing their way to the ring. Somehow, whether it’s the news coverage, social media, or something I just totally don’t understand, the entire courtyard is crowded with people. At least a hundred people line the concrete walkway, though I can tell someone has worked to keep them back from the actual sidewalk so I can pass safely. But among the faces in the sea of humanity, I only recognize maybe a quarter of them. Why in the world are these people here? They’re not even invited, not going to get inside for the ceremony or the reception. People are so weird sometimes.

  The news crew takes the lead, staying several yards ahead and somehow easily walking backward as they film our trek. Of our group, Abi takes the front, plowing her way through the congratulatory hands that want to reach out to touch me, either in genuine affection or to have their momentary brush with temporary celebrity. They call out questions and congratulations and I try to smile, but I’m sure it looks more like I’m baring my teeth.

  “Okay, okay, outta the way!” Abi growls as two random strangers pop out to snap photos. “No photos or I’m going to shove that iPhone so deep you’ll need some angelic help to get it out!”

  Even from behind her, I hear the news group say, “Did you get that?” Great, way to go, Abi. That’s going to be on the evening news. Delilah assured us the crew would film for our personal memories only, but I have no faith that anything particularly interesting won’t end up on the Sunday Local Wrap-Up first thing in the morning.

  The foyer of the church is nearly as bad, but at least the camera crew disappears to go set up in the chapel. Mom is talking to Vanessa, Marissa, and Estella while Archie and Courtney look on uncomfortably. Michael and Anna are sitting off to the side on a small bench, but even from here, I can see that they’re poking and pinching each other while simultaneously trying not to get caught misbehaving.

  As I walk up with Abi, I can hear Vanessa’s too-loud whisper. “Ooh, did you see that redhead? I’m telling you, that was a Harvard ring I saw on his finger!”

  “And?” Marissa giggles. “Mine’s got a big Marine Corps tattoo on his shoulder.”

  “Wait, how’d you see John’s tattoo?” Courtney asks, sucked into the conversation. “Or do I want
to ask?”

  “Not in a church you don’t,” Estella says before blushing as she looks at Father O’Flannigan.

  “I’d hand out Hail Marys, but I doubt they’d be useful,” Father O’Flannigan says with a smile. “Perhaps you ladies would like to head up to the choir loft and prepare? Ah, Violet, there you are.”

  “Where’s Papa?” I ask worriedly, and Mom waves me down.

  “Papa was getting a bit hot, so he’s sitting down just inside the sanctuary,” Mom says. “He’ll take your arm as you step in . . . kinda like Kate Middleton, right?”

  I sigh in relief and turn to Abi. “Okay, what now?”

  She smiles sweetly, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Now, you go marry my brother and have your happily ever after, one way or another. You deserve this, Vi.”

  I know what she’s saying. She’s probably known for longer than I have, but I need to say the words to someone, even if I can’t say them to Ross. “I love him, Abs.”

  She nods. “I know you do. You always have. And he loves you too. He’s just a bit slow on the uptake. Sorry about that, but no take-backsies. He’s your problem now.”

  If only that were true.

  She takes a big breath and switches into boss mode. “Okay, ladies, you heard Father, get upstairs. Ave Maria and then the wedding march. Courtney, head around to Ross’s room and tell him to line up at the front. Father, you know what to do. Ms. Russo, you’ll walk in first, then the kids, Archie, and me. Last, but certainly not least, Violet with Papa.” We all nod along after receiving our assignments. “And break! I’ve always wanted to say that,” she says with a chuckle.

  I hear the music change, something slow and driving, and through the doors, I hear the crowd die down. I didn’t realize how loud it was until it got quiet. “How many people are in there?”

  Archie pats my hand. “It’ll be fine, Vi. Hold your head up and slow march yourself down there. It doesn’t matter if there are five or five hundred. The only one that matters is the hottie at the front.”