Faking A Groom (Marital Bliss Book 3)

by DJ Jamison

  “Sure. Do you want me to help, or...?”

  “Just meet me at the car.”

  Rory nodded, and on impulse—or perhaps to take a shot at his dad—Avery leaned in and brushed their lips together. Then he beat a quick retreat before he could see the look on either of their faces.

  He’d always thought that if he kissed Rory again, it would be an explosion of lust and years of repressed desire. But it wasn’t any of those things. It was bittersweet—the taste of what he might have had if he’d stood up to his father ten years ago.

  Rory was shaking with anger when Avery finally stepped out of the gorgeous, coastal mansion with two suitcases and a laptop bag. He looked shell-shocked.

  Even after all this time, Avery really didn’t think it would happen like this, did he?

  “He’s an asshole,” Rory said as he tugged one of the bags from Avery’s hands. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but Rory shouted injustices to the world; he didn’t bottle them up. “He’s trying to control you.”

  Avery blinked hard. “I’ll never be what he wants. Not even close.”

  “Fuck him, then,” Rory said venomously. “You’re doing the right thing. He would have kept you closeted forever, kept repressing you. You deserve better, Avery. You shouldn’t have to live that way. He’s just trying to control you, and—”

  “Okay, I know!” Avery practically shouted, and Rory choked off the rest of his tirade. He had more to say about Senator Kinkaid, a lot more.

  “Sorry,” Avery added, his tone contrite. “Just…I can’t right now.”

  Rory’s rage softened around the edges. He couldn’t imagine how Avery was feeling right now. If their roles were reversed, Rory would probably still be inside, screaming at his father, not leaving in the night, looking raw and hollow. Maybe. Rory didn’t know what it was like not to have support from his family. His mother’s best friend had been queer. His mom had always been very liberal—even for the six months she dated the rich guy who pulled strings to get Rory a scholarship at his old, posh boarding school —so he’d never had to worry about it.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Rory said as they reached his car, a little Hyundai Cube, with a funky wavy design that had caught Rory’s eye. He was never one to choose the cookie-cutter design. His car, his house, his life…he liked to swerve a bit outside straight lines.

  Maybe that was the difference between him and Avery. Avery was a guy who wanted to stay within the lines; he just couldn’t.

  “What about my car?” Avery asked, sounding lost.

  “I’ll bring you back for it another time,” Rory said, opening the back door and sliding Avery’s suitcase inside. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  He didn’t say it, but Avery was in no condition to drive. Thankfully, he didn’t argue, simply handed over his bags when Rory reached for them and climbed into the passenger seat. He had his phone out when Rory got in. “I need to book a hotel.”

  His eyes were glassy, his voice numb. Rory couldn’t drive him to some random hotel and dump him off there.

  “Nah. I’m taking you to my place.”

  Avery’s gaze shot to his. “I can stay with you?”

  “We’re still doing this, right?” Rory checked. “You haven’t changed your mind?”

  Avery looked back to the window, though it was fully dark outside. He wouldn’t see much beyond shadowy shapes and the yellow porch light that had clicked on, but Rory doubted he was seeing much beyond his own swirling thoughts anyway. “I have to do it.”

  “Okay, then. Shit’s about to get real. You might as well stay. It’ll look more legit.”

  Rory’s car started with a quiet whir, and he reversed out of the long drive and turned toward home. Avery remained quiet, but Rory didn’t doubt that his mind was noisy as fuck right then. In an attempt to distract him, Rory asked, “Why don’t you have your own place?”

  “Who the hell knows,” Avery muttered. “The house here is so big and I had my own space. I told myself it didn’t make sense to buy or rent. Plus, Dad wanted me here when I got back from school. Wanted me close. I thought he missed me, was probably lonely in that big house. And then…I don’t know. I just never left.”

  “Makes sense,” Rory said.

  “I almost got a condo once,” Avery added. “Then I started thinking about what I’d do in that condo. I could invite a guy home. Seemed like a bad idea.”

  “What’s wrong with inviting a guy home?”

  “A guy in my house, with my mail and other things? He might see I was a Kinkaid. Might decide to out me or blackmail me. It’s not what my father would call ‘discreet.’”

  This conversation probably wasn’t helping Avery feel better, so Rory lapsed into silence. When they got back to Portland and were nearing Rory’s little house, he asked impulsively, “Want to get ice cream? Or…I don’t know…get drunk?”

  He’d caught Avery off guard. He glanced over, eyebrows raised. “Um…”

  “Drinking’s a bad idea,” Rory said with a nod. “Ice cream it is.”

  He swung into the parking lot of a neighborhood market. Avery waited in the car while he dashed in to grab a couple of pints of Ben and Jerry’s. If Avery didn’t eat it, Rory could do with a pick-me-up himself. Tonight had been rough.

  Part of him wanted to sit Avery down and go over the plan. They needed to get photos, update their social media, make sure their story was super solid before going to the media. But realistically, now was not the time. Avery needed to process what had happened, feel whatever he needed to feel.

  He needed time.

  And, possibly, ice cream.

  When they got back to Rory’s place, Avery looked around as if he’d never been there before while Rory pulled off lids and got out spoons. “Here.”

  “Never did get to show you my silver spoon,” Avery remarked. His lips twitched, but he couldn’t quite pull off a smile.

  “Some other time,” Rory said. “I find silver-plated silverware works just as well.”

  Avery jabbed at his ice cream without much enthusiasm. “Thank you for doing this, even after everything that happened in the past.”

  He didn’t have to spell it out. Rory knew he meant the way he’d treated Rory in high school. Hurried hand jobs and messy kisses in the dark, followed by excuses and Avery scurrying off to his elitist friends, ready to behave as if he hated Rory when he saw him in the hallways. But it wouldn’t have happened if Rory hadn’t let it happen. He’d wanted someone, anyone, back then. He’d felt so alone in that preppy school. Even Caleb, who’d been friendly, hadn’t really understood what it was like to be the “scholarship kid.” To have everyone look at him as if he didn’t belong there.

  “We were kids,” Rory said. “And I just met your father, so you’re forgiven.”

  Avery blew out a breath. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t really have me. This is a means to an end.”

  It was important to maintain boundaries, especially when he was feeling so soft and squishy toward Avery. He’d always liked the wounded ones. Avery had been the one exception to that, a brash, confident kid. At least, Rory had always thought so. Maybe there had been a layer of vulnerability Rory had seen and not recognized, even back then. Now? Avery was practically broadcasting it in radio waves.

  “Right,” Avery said quietly. “I know.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound like an asshole. We just need to remember why we’re doing this.”

  “You’re right. As always.” Avery smiled wanly. “So…I guess this means I can’t share your comfy bed?”

  “’Fraid not,” Rory said with a laugh. “The futon is all yours.”

  7

  Avery stood by awkwardly while Rory brought out bedding for the futon, turned out lights, and put food into a cat bowl Avery hadn’t noticed before. In all the time he’d been there, he hadn’t seen a cat.

  “I hope it’s not too uncomfortable,” Rory said.

  “It’ll b
e fine,” Avery said. “Unless you want to change your mind about sharing your bed?”

  His heart wasn’t in the flirtation, even though he didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Sex would be a great distraction, but Rory deserved more than that. God, if Avery got another chance with him—not happening, asshole—he didn’t want it to be like this.

  Rory lifted his hand to Avery’s cheek, and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought he was going to kiss him. Then he patted his face. “You’re cute, but that is so”—smack—"not”—smack—“happening.”

  He kept the slaps light, playful, but the message was clear as day. Rory didn’t want to mess around.

  Avery smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I figured.”

  Rory surprised him by slipping his arms around his neck and hugging him. Avery squeezed him tight for one breathless moment, his emotions too tumultuous to process. Grief and yearning met a flicker of desire as Rory’s body pressed against his own.

  Then he was gone, halfway across the room before Avery could see straight. “Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”

  Would they, though? Avery had detonated a bomb in his life and he was feeling wounded. That was to be expected when your father hurled a grenade in your face.

  Way to be dramatic. He didn’t kick you out, you left. He didn’t call you a sinner or scream derogatory slurs at you. It could be so much worse.

  But it could also be better. His father would never throw him out, but he’d also keep Avery so confined he would never have a life of his own.

  Avery quickly spread a sheet over the futon mattress, then stripped down to his underwear. He wore silk boxers, the closest he could come to wearing what he wanted most days. The fabric slid against his skin, caressed him in teasing reminders throughout the day. He’d packed some nice things in one of his bags, not that he ever wore them except when he was alone and imagining a different kind of life.

  He’d packed a shabby-chic lacy top he could wear on a special occasion, which gave teasing glimpses of skin without being tacky; some silky, clingy T-shirts and button-downs in colors that he’d never dare wear as a closeted man; makeup; and a few other pretty underthings. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be brave enough to walk outdoors in any of them, but he liked to imagine being self-possessed enough to be true to himself.

  Rory wouldn’t be afraid to walk around in silk and lace.

  He got caught up for a minute trying to picture that but found that it didn’t do much for him. He wanted to wear pretty things, not see them on another man. Besides, Rory was perfect as he was. He was slender, with gorgeous cheekbones and lips, and that long hair—so handsome he made Avery crave things he couldn’t have. Not just sex, but honest sex. A kind Avery had never managed, yet.

  A thump near his feet startled him. It was followed by a soft meow.

  “There you are,” he whispered.

  Eyes shone at him in the dark. The cat stepped onto his leg and walked up his body, bold as could be. Avery could see it was a tabby, with a squashed face and a chunk missing from one ear.

  “Are you a stray too?” Avery murmured, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “I bet Rory takes in all kinds of stays, huh? He probably won’t keep me though.”

  His heart clenched.

  No one would be keeping him now. Not Rory, not his father. He was alone in the world in a way he never had been. He’d been angry and hurt and tired of his father’s manipulation, but what good had come of forcing his hand? Was Avery really going to turn his dad into a villain, throw his only strong family relationship away?

  The cat nudged at his hand. Avery had failed in his petting duties while moping. He resumed stroking the silky fur, chest warming at the approving rumble of a purr that resulted. Maybe he could get a pet. For his cold, lonely apartment.

  You can fill that apartment with all the men you want. You can get laid again.

  He sighed, wishing his mind would shut down. The notion of unlimited sex didn’t excite him as much he might have thought on the nights when he was desperate for someone else’s hand on his cock. It wasn’t just sex he wanted, but intimacy.

  He heard a door squeak as it opened. Then Rory called out, “Psst. Ricardo. Kitty-kitty!”

  With a mrr, Avery’s guest abandoned him without a second thought.

  Rory showered and made coffee, casting a concerned eye on Avery, who seemed to be willing himself to stay asleep. His face was too tense for sleep and his breathing not even enough.

  Rory figured he wasn’t in a place to talk about what happened the night before. So, he quietly drank his coffee and ate a piece of toast smeared with raspberry preserves. Before grabbing his jacket, he poured a second cup and placed it on the coffee table next to Avery.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m heading to work.”

  Avery didn’t open his eyes.

  “Feel free to stay here today,” Rory added. “But lock up if you leave.”

  Avery’s eyes flew open. “Shit, I’m sorry. I can go if you want.”

  Rory shook his head, smiling down at Avery. “Stay. It’s fine. You don’t have to go to work?”

  Avery scrunched his face. “I know you think I’m an entitled asshole, and I’m about to prove you right.” He shrugged. “Gonna skip work today.”

  “Will he be there?” Rory asked, as close to broaching the subject of Avery’s father as he would come.

  “Probably not. Even when the Legislature isn’t in session he rarely goes in. I’m just not in the right frame of mind to be of any use to anyone.”

  The words tugged at Rory’s heartstrings. Avery’s father had let him down horribly. He couldn’t expect him to go right back to his life—and their plan—as if nothing had changed. He knew that, for Avery, the core of the plan had been about changing his father’s mind. As anxious as Rory felt about moving forward, he needed to give Avery time to remember all the other reasons they’d decided to do this.

  Rory dropped his hand to Avery’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “Take your time. I’ll see you after work.”

  Avery nodded, eyes slipping shut as Rory turned away.

  Rory returned that evening with take-out, and Avery realized he hadn’t showered all day. He excused himself to clean up but dressed in plaid pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. He wasn’t ready to hang out in silk boxers, and it was a little chilly in the house, but Avery wasn’t about to complain. He could go to a hotel. Probably should. But he couldn’t stand the idea of sleeping alone in some sterile, bland room.

  At least here, even when Rory wasn’t home, he was surrounded by his things. It felt cozy and familiar. And real. More real than his father’s house or his room in the carriage house where he’d slept, if he were honest with himself. He’d lived there his whole life, and yet he hadn’t felt free to be his full self. If he had, he might have had makeup scattered across his bathroom vanity, like Rory had hair products. He might have had a whole drawer devoted to silks and laces, instead of one or two outfits carefully hidden away. But beyond that, he might have had some sort of style of his own. Maybe more color, bright and vibrant. Who knew? He grew up in a sterile, impersonal house that was professionally decorated to look like a magazine spread. He didn’t know the first thing about decorating for himself, about expressing himself.

  He only knew he liked Rory’s place. He liked his mismatched furniture. The ruby-red futon mattress next to the sky-blue recliner, and an orange upholstered footstool that served as seating on the other side of the coffee table. He liked that the coffee table was a repurposed door. So cool. He liked that Rory had fabric draped on one wall for no discernible purpose, though the splash of color warmed the room.

  Even the old, chipping Formica countertop seemed infused with character that his fancy house lacked.

  When he returned from the shower, Rory pulled out cartons of spicy, savory smelling food. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  Avery realized he was starved. “Yeah, thanks. Let me know what I owe you.”
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  Rory gave him a strange look. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Avery took a seat beside him on the futon. Rory had returned it to couch formation while Avery was out of the room, and he felt guilty for making no effort.

  “Sorry for today,” Avery said. “I’ll buy dinner tomorrow. If it’s okay to stay another night?”

  Rory dumped rice and chicken and brown sauce on his plate. The heavy scent of peanut wafted through the air, making Avery’s stomach growl. “You’re asking now?” Rory teased.

  Avery felt himself flush. “Yeah, sorry.”

  Rory nudged his shoulder. “Stop apologizing. It feels so unnatural.” He laughed at Avery’s expression, which must have been aghast. Was he really such an asshole? “My fiancé can stay with me as long as he likes.”

  Avery exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Then, needing some levity, he said, “As long as I want, huh? So, I can just move in?”

  “As long as you’re my fiancé,” Rory said, clearly seeking some affirmation.

  “Right,” Avery nodded. “Yes. I am.”

  Rory held out a carton of food to Avery, allowing him to serve himself generous portions. Once they’d both filled their plates, Rory said tentatively, “It makes sense for you to stay here while we’re doing this. It makes it more believable.”

  Avery kept his eyes on his plate. “We’re not believable, though. My father didn’t really buy my story.”

  “So we’ll just have to work to be more convincing.”

  Avery shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Avery, this is about more than your dad. We need to start thinking about the big picture. We can still do this.”

  “I know, but I can’t talk about this right now.” Avery’s food was sitting like a rock in his stomach. “Can we not? For now?”

  Rory sighed. Avery hated that he’d dragged him into this and was now having second thoughts. He’d believed he was ready to call his dad on his shit. But now he realized it wasn’t a game. This would change his life. Some might say for the better. But there was plenty of worse tucked in there too.