My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  I laugh a bit. “A tad bit more than five and a lot less than five hundred, I’m sure.” He makes a face, but I think he’s kidding. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell with him.

  The wedding planner, Sarah, sticks her head out. “Mother of the bride?”

  Over her shoulder, as Mom slips through, I get my first peek of the crowd.

  “It’s . . . insane,” I whisper, fear gripping me tightly as I squeeze my beautiful bouquet when I see the new mass of humanity. The church is designed to hold five hundred, and I figured that would be way more than enough. My family is ridiculously large, but Ross only invited a few college friends, his immediate family, and the people at work.

  Now, the church, which was plenty big enough in my plan, is swollen to overflowing. Folding chairs have been set up on the end of every pew, and I get a glance of men standing along the walls in suits of every shade of grey.

  “That’s not a wedding crowd. That’s a convention!”

  Abi glances over, smiling a little acidly. “Sorry. Mom invited basically everyone we know from every social club and circle she’s ever been in, and no one at the office was willing to piss Dad off with the way he’s been acting, according to Courtney, so the entire company is here. From the mailroom to the board. And with your family . . . guess it’s gotten pretty big.”

  “Fire Marshall’s gonna shut us down,” Archie whispers, but before I can fully freak out, the music changes again and I can hear the triplets singing a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria with harmonies that blend perfectly. At least that’s going well. “Our turn. Let’s go, Abi. She’ll be fine.” Archie glares at me, daring me to prove him wrong. Abi pats my hand and smiles.

  They go in, Michael and Anna leading the way, and leave me alone in the hallway. It’s then that I hear it. The Wedding March.

  My throat tightens up, and as the double doors of the church swing open for me, all the worry drops away. Papa’s right where he’s supposed to be, standing next to the second pew to take my arm and walk me down the aisle, and as he kisses my hand lovingly, I know this has all been worth it.

  Ross stands at the altar, with Kaede and Courtney next to him.

  I have a vague impression of lush greenery surrounding the altar, but my eyes are locked on Ross. He’s standing tall, like a prince, my knight in saving armor. Except . . . wait . . . is his tuxedo green? I smile, delighted that he’d do something so unique and surprising.

  It’s perfect.

  It’s my wedding day.

  But I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t what it looks like. This is a charade, a performance . . . it’s not real. Except to the man already standing by my side.

  I look at Papa, my reason for all of this. He’s openly crying, smiling so broadly that I feel better. All of this stress and drama were worth it.

  “Violet, my beautiful one, you make this old man happy,” Papa whispers as we reach the end of the aisle and I turn to him, exchanging cheek kisses.

  Turning to Ross, Papa gives him my hand. “Protect and love her the way I’ve loved her, young man. And you’ll never go wrong.”

  “I will, sir,” Ross says, taking my hand, and Papa steps forward to kiss Ross on both cheeks too. He surprises Ross, and there are a few laughs from the audience, but it’s perfect for today, and as Papa sits, I’m struck with how perfect everything’s been.

  Sure, there’s been stress and craziness.

  But the orchestra has been lovely so far, the triplets sound beautiful, the video crew is discretely moving about the room, our families are here, and Papa walked me down the aisle just like I wanted.

  I’m going to ignore that Giovianna had to drag her kids to the pew to sit them down because I don’t want to know what they were doing before I walked in with Papa. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the smile on Papa’s face.

  But then I see the smile on Ross’s face and my own blooms. His smile. That’s important too.

  Father O’Flannigan clears his throat, and we start the ceremony. After our first hymn, he launches into his opening comments, and I’m shocked at the emotion and power pouring from his words. I can barely keep up with everything he’s saying. I’m still in so much shock, but this isn’t the cookie cutter speech I was expecting.

  “A lot of people think that being a priest for weddings is easy. Stand up here, don’t mess up the vows, read from a book, and bam, seal it with a kiss. And my work is done. But it’s so much more than that. It’s helping couples find their way to the altar in a manner that will create not just a wedding, but a marriage. Creating a life together, a love together, two truly becoming one. Some say that takes time, as if there is some hourglass of sand and a particular number of grains have to fall before you’re ‘ready’, whatever that means. And I could have politely said that this couple standing in front of you today hasn’t done enough to ‘prove’ their relationship to satisfy the church.”

  “But then I thought a little harder, and I’ve watched how this young woman and young man have jumped through every hoop the world’s put in their way to get to today. I’ve watched as they’ve become unwitting celebrities and how they’ve endured the scrutiny, and yes, the occasional doubt from those around them.”

  Damn, if that isn’t Father O’Flannigan bitch slapping Morgan Andrews, I don’t know what is.

  “But yet, they’ve persisted, sacrificed, and shown an utter devotion to each another. Their love has stood steady, resolute against those who would put their union asunder before it is even blessed, as I intend to do today.”

  “Though stories and movies tell us otherwise, love is not a fire. Sure, it flares up, and yes, it can have passions that don’t get talked about a lot within the walls of a church. But there are also tough times, and low times, and sad times. Love is about walking through the fires together, withstanding the rain together, breathing in the present together, and creating a foundation for the future together. And that takes hard work.”

  “Work that Ross and Violet have already shown they are capable of tackling, and I have faith they will continue to do so. As we begin the ceremony that will unite you in marriage, I praise you both. May your commitment be a shining beacon to everyone about what love actually is.”

  I blink, stunned by the words from the normally calm Father O’Flannigan. Beside me, Abi sniffs, and I see her wipe away a tear. I can hear people sniffing behind me, but before I can check to see if they’re crying or if it’s just really, really dusty in the church, O’Flannigan starts in on the ceremony.

  I let myself be carried away by the rehearsed words, caught up in my own thoughts. Devotion? My stomach twists as I think about what he just said and how I could be making a mockery of his praise.

  My worry increases when Ross reaches out, taking my hand, and I can feel him tremble for the first time. He’s nervous too, probably just waiting for someone to jump up and call us out right here and now.

  FAKE!

  FRAUD!

  LIAR!

  I expect all of these words to be brought up, but instead, there’s nothing but soft, happy murmurs as O’Flannigan says, “If anyone should have reason for these two to not be wed, may they speak now or forever hold their peace.”

  Nothing. Well, Papa and Nana are now openly crying, and Mom’s sniffing like a coke fiend, but nobody objects.

  “May we have the rings?”

  Giovianna releases Michael, doing the two-finger thing between her eyes and his that says ‘I’m watching you, mister,’ and he solemnly walks the pillow of rings toward us. Ross unties the rings and hands them to Father O’Flannigan as Michael runs back to sit beside his mother.

  The vows feel like bitter sawdust on my lips as I look up into Ross’s smiling face. Not because I don’t mean them but because I can’t shake the feeling that we’re lying to everyone.

  But I don’t want to lie.

  I want him.

  I want to be his wife.

  And maybe that’s the biggest lie of all . . . the one I
’m telling Ross by not telling him the truth. That I love him. That I mean every word I’m saying, every vow I’m making.

  Suddenly, it’s time.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Ross leans in, and for a moment, I feel my fear rise up. I want to pull back, to plead forgiveness and go running down the aisle, away from all of this madness.

  And then I want to walk back down for real and marry Ross. But that’s even crazier.

  But then his lips touch mine, and magic blooms. In his kiss, I can feel him, his heart, and I respond with my whole heart, kissing him back until Father O’Flannigan has to clear his throat. “Save some for the honeymoon, folks?”

  We pull back, both of us chuckling. “Sorry, not sorry,” Ross whispers to Father O’Flannigan, who smiles knowingly.

  We did it.

  As we walk down the aisle and the entire church breaks into applause, each clap is a fresh wave of relief.

  But the reason this whole crazy idea even started is wiping fresh tears from his own eyes. Papa, standing with Nana, gives me a nod, pride and happiness in his teary smile.

  It’s going to be okay. Nobody knows our secret. Nobody called us out. Nobody is going to wreck this.

  It’s time to celebrate successfully giving the sweetest, most loving man I’ve ever known his dying wish. “Thank you,” I whisper . . . to Ross, to Papa, to the universe for giving me enough time with him for this dream to come true.

  Chapter 23

  Ross

  “Ross, I can’t believe you actually went through with shackling that ball and chain on,” Vincent Van Johnson, one of the executives from the company says as I wait for Violet to be ready for our entrance. Really, he shouldn’t even be out here, but I haven’t found a semi-polite way to tell him to head on into the reception. “Though she makes my ex-wife look like dog food, so there’s that. Am I right?” he says, laughing and holding up a palm for a high-five, which I merely raise a brow at.

  “Calling her dog food might be why you’re divorced, VJ,” Kaede says, steering Van Johnson away from me and directing him toward the main room of the reception. When he comes back, he’s shaking his head. “Don’t mean to talk ill of your family—”

  “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

  “But your dad’s idea to invite the whole company blows chunks,” Kaede finishes. “Devious, but sucky.”

  He’s dead right, but right now, I don’t care. I mean, I just had a hell of a wedding, and seeing Violet’s smile is all I really need.

  The door to her ‘refreshing’ room opens, and she comes out. I know I just saw her a little bit ago for the ceremony, but now, something’s different.

  Now, she’s my wife. And damned if that doesn’t mean something real, I think as my heart swells to bursting just from the sight of her.

  “Hi,” I say softly, the smile breaking across my face instantly.

  “Hi,” she says back.

  Okay, so maybe we’re both in a little bit of shock. But she’s smiling too, so maybe it’s a good kind of shock.

  Kaede pats me on the back, grinning. “You two are too cute. I’ll be waiting inside.”

  Kaede leaves, and I lean back, marveling at everything’s that’s happened today. From the moment Violet walked into the church, looking like a total vision of beauty, to the moment our lips touched and we were officially married, I was nothing but a mass of nerves.

  But she was so steady and sure, my rock in the eye of the storm. The craziness continues. The main room of the hotel ballroom we’ve booked for the reception sounds like Comic Con is going on, but with her by my side, I don’t mind. I don’t even notice.

  I only see her. I only hear her. I only feel her. I just want Violet to be happy.

  Because she’s mine.

  Okay, I’m being a bit of a caveman, and maybe it’s all fake . . . but the paper in my coat pocket isn’t. Yeah, we still have to go down to the county clerk’s office to file it to make it legal, but in my heart, I know it’s the truth.

  “You take my breath away,” I murmur, pulling her close and kissing her. In seconds, we’re entangled with each other, Violet pushed against the doorway as our tongues twist around each other and her body yields to me.

  We’re this close to opening the door and making our first dance as man and wife a private affair when there’s a cough and soft laugh behind us. “Excuse me, big brother, but if you don’t mind . . . Violet, your cousins would like to sing? Like now. They’re literally bouncing around, and half the office is watching their boobs jiggle like it’s a peep show about to happen in three . . . two . . . one.”

  I press my forehead to Violet’s, catching my breath, and then glance over to see Abi, her arms crossed over her chest, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “What are you smiling about?”

  “You two,” she says, her grin growing as she sing-songs. “You know the old adage. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Rossy with the baby carriage.”

  “Abigail,” Violet says with a warning in her voice. I rarely hear anyone call my sister by her full name, least of all Violet. She points, directing Abi back into the reception. “We’ll be there in a second.”

  Abi turns and leaves, giving Violet and me a moment of peace. “Violet, about that—”

  “We can talk all about it on our honeymoon,” Violet says, her eyes promising me so much. Maybe, just maybe, we are thinking the same thing, and the isolation and privacy of Hawaii will help us get past our own doubts and the unusual start to this marriage. “For now, point that thing down your leg if you don’t want everyone to comment on the tent you’ve got in your pants.” She raises her brow and grinds against me slightly, torturing me deliciously.

  I make a show of adjusting my cock while Violet watches before offering her my arm, and we head into the ballroom. The applause is overwhelming, especially when partnered with the DJ blaring air horns in some pattern that vaguely reminds me of S-O-S in Morse code.

  Holy shit, there are so many people, and while I agree with Kaede that Dad’s invitation of everyone and their brother is sort of a dick move . . . it has its benefits. This is going to be a party, a celebration of Violet and me, and maybe the start of something greater than either of us had ever dreamed.

  On stage, the triplets are ready, and as the DJ throws it over to the orchestra, they kick into their first number. Maybe they’re trying to have fun, maybe it’s just part of the collaboration, maybe they’re trying to respect the fast-paced public nature of our engagement, but as they launch into a jazzed-up version of the eighties classic Making Love Out of Nothing At All, I feel a little chill down my spine.

  Really, girls? Sure, they change the lyrics, and I’ll give them credit for personalizing it, changing lines like “I know just how to fake it, I know just how to lie,” to “I know I can’t keep fakin’ it, I can’t keep up this lie,” in a way to play up our public story that Violet and I have been in love since childhood and only recently came to our senses.

  As I spin Violet around the dance floor, I can’t help but think of the original and can only pray that what Estella, Vanessa and Marissa have done to the song will stick with us. I want that happy ending they’re singing the hell out of. I want it desperately, with Violet.

  The crowd eats it up, ahhing as I dip Violet and giving the girls thunderous applause as they blow us kisses when they’re done. “Okay, Ross, now that you’ve given us this big stage, we wanted one more before we let the DJ take over. If that’s okay?”

  “Only if you give me a liner credit when your album drops!” I toss back, earning a laugh from everyone. Violet laughs along with them, leaning into me as the music starts and then the triplets start singing in Italian.

  “Oh, no, I forgot to warn you! It’s the Tarantella!” she says suddenly.

  I look at her, confused as my brows jump together. Did she say tarantula? No, that’s not it, but I have no idea what Italian word sounds like tarantula or what it might mean.

  But the Russo family
is getting up en masse and virtually sprinting for the dance floor, yelling loudly. I have no idea what’s going on and have a split-second fear that I’m about to be thrown over someone’s shoulder and carted out of here for a ritual initiation into the family.

  “Just go with it,” Violet calls out to me, but I have no idea what she’s talking about until someone catches my elbow with theirs and spins me. As I start to ask what’s happening, my other elbow is snared and I’m spinning with someone else.

  Soon, we have two circles, the men in one and the women in the other. I’m doing this weird elbow thing that vaguely reminds me of square dancing in elementary school, and then we join hands and march around counterclockwise and then reverse to go clockwise. Every once in a while, by some cue I can’t discern, we all shuffle to the middle and back out.

  It’s a loud, wild celebratory dance.

  I look to the other circle and see Violet’s face beaming with happiness, which lifts my spirits even more. As we dance, even apart, I can feel her. She’s a part of me.

  The circles surge and become one, and someone pushes me into the center. I have that middle-school fear of being in the spotlight at the school dance and freeze a bit. But Violet hooks her elbow in mine and spins me, and I relax. This I can do.

  Her whole family surrounds us, and even some of the people from my side of the aisle get up to join the fun, all encircling us with joy and love and celebration. The music gets faster and faster, and we spin wildly. Every once in a while, the whole circle comes in close and I can hear their outbursts of congratulations before they spread back out to move around us once again.

  It’s amazing, and all for us.

  The triplets hold a long note, and the music stops with sharp freeze, and the whole group cheers and claps.

  “Wow,” I say too loudly into Violet’s ear, but she smiles anyway.

  “So, that’s the Tarantella, an Italian wedding dance.” Her laughter is bright and bubbly, music even more beautiful to my ears than the triplets’ singing. Even when she snorts, and chokes out, “You should’ve seen your face! What did you think I said?”