Faking A Groom (Marital Bliss Book 3)

by DJ Jamison

  “Monique, what have we said about knocking?” he said as he stepped forward, still buttoning his shirt over a very large, very sexy chest.

  Avery threw a desperate look to Rory, who only grinned and waggled his brows as if to say, See? Told you he was hot.

  “Sorry, Ty,” Rory said casually. “Didn’t realize you were in here, or I would have slowed this beautician’s roll. We’re very anxious to get our beauty on.”

  Rory tossed his hair over his shoulder and fluttered his lashes. Avery’s stomach clenched as he watched this imposing man’s face for a sign of trouble. He just grinned and said, “Well, don’t let me keep you from your important work.” Then he turned toward Avery, extending a hand. “I’m Tyrone, man of the house and vastly outnumbered.”

  “Or at least outclassed,” Rory joked.

  “Now, that’s the truth,” Tyrone said with a rumbling chuckle.

  Avery shook his hand, introducing himself, and was surprised when he saw sparkly, purple nail polish on Tyrone’s large, blunt-shaped fingers.

  Tyrone noticed him looking. “Monique doesn’t always have such sophisticated clientele for her work.” He winked. “Sometimes Dad has to stand in.”

  Avery smiled dumbly, unsure what to say, even as his stomach unclenched a little. Tyrone seemed mild-mannered and unruffled by Monique’s desire to pretty up men. He could only hope that extended to men who enjoyed being prettied up, and not just those who patiently indulged a little girl’s hobby. But he saw no sign of animosity toward Rory, who was now facing the mirror while Monique brushed his hair out.

  “Hmm. What are we thinking today?”

  Rory appeared to ponder that. “You’re the expert. Just make me beautiful!”

  Tyrone excused himself from the room, clapping Rory on the shoulder as he passed in a friendly gesture. Once they were alone, Avery edged closer, watching Monique attempt a French braid. Rory’s hair was thick, and it was clear from the way her fingers worked that she was no stranger to braiding hair. Still, she was a perfectionist, and stopped and started a few times.

  “Your hair isn’t quite long enough to do what I wanted,” she said. “You need to keep growing it out.”

  Avery met Rory’s twinkling gaze in the mirror. “Is that okay, Avery? If I have even longer hair?”

  Avery thought of all that hair draping over him as they made love, the silky slide of it. He had to suppress a shudder. “Fine by me.”

  Monique worked on Rory’s hair, pulling back just the top half of his hair into a braid and leaving the rest loose. It actually didn’t look too bad on him. Rory could probably pull off anything, though. He was effortlessly gorgeous and secure in his masculinity.

  But when Monique announced it was time for makeup, he was quick to get off the stool. “Avery’s turn.”

  “What?” Avery’s stomach fluttered, caught between temptation and discomfort. It was just playtime, he knew that. Rory had played along, and now he could too. But he could still remember playing with his mother’s makeup as a young child, of his father’s words to his mother afterward. Stop trying to turn that boy into a girl. You want him to turn out gay?

  Rory spoke to Monique. “What do you think? Avery could be very pretty with some lip gloss on.”

  Monique pursed her lips, looking up at him, and Avery suddenly felt all his insecurity flare. Rory would obviously look much prettier. He had the kind of look that made sense, not Avery with his conservative haircut. “It’s okay, I—”

  “Oooh, yes,” Monique said, nodding her head emphatically. “Sit, Avery. Your skin looks so smooth. Do you use moisturizer?”

  Avery found himself sitting, reeling a little at how easily he’d been maneuvered into the hot seat by Rory. “Uh, yes, I do.”

  Monique glanced at Rory. “You should take notes.”

  “Ouch,” Rory said, stroking his own cheek. “My skin is nice.” He glanced at Avery. “Isn’t it?”

  Avery bit his bottom lip, feeling the urge to laugh. “Very nice.”

  Monique began to set out makeup, a lot of makeup. Lipsticks, foundations, blush, eye shadow, mascara. While she worked, Rory squatted down to be eye level with him and said quietly, “If you’d rather not do this, it’s okay.”

  Avery felt his heart squeeze at Rory’s obvious awareness of his inner battles. He wanted to get beyond them, but he wasn’t sure how. But letting a little girl play beauty salon with him. Surely, he could do that. Part of him was even eager for the excuse to see himself made up, even if it turned out garish and over the top. He had no idea what this little girl might consider beautiful.

  “It’s fine. It’s all in fun, right?”

  Rory smiled. “Absolutely. And this is nothing new. Monique has gotten to us all at one time or another.”

  Avery chuckled, trying to imagine Tyrone’s face, complete with gray-flecked facial hair, accented with blush and lipstick. It wasn’t a terrible image.

  “Then I’m happy to go through my initiation to be one of you.”

  Rory stole a quick kiss, eliciting a protest from Monique. “Hey, no kissing until I’m done! And no ruining his lipstick when I’m done, either!”

  Rory lifted his hands in surrender as he straightened up and took a step back. “I’ll give you some room to work.”

  Rory left Monique and Avery, still grinning at the shocked but hopeful expression on Avery’s face when he realized he had permission to wear makeup. If Rory had his way, Avery would feel comfortable wearing makeup—or anything else he wanted—by the time they left for Portland. He was counting on his family to put Avery at ease, but it would take time. They’d only just arrived, and Avery’s real battle was with himself, not with any of them.

  He returned to the bedroom and finished unpacking, changing from his travel clothes, sweats and a wrinkled T, into jeans and a navy blue sweater. It was nearly threadbare from its many wears, which made it incredibly soft. He wondered if that might be a good compromise for Avery, something that felt delicate and soft but still looked mundane enough it wouldn’t draw attention. Perhaps he had an idea for a Christmas gift after all.

  Once dressed, Rory went to the kitchen. His mother was there, with a glass of sweet red wine for him. She was once a single, poor mom who could only afford cheap box stuff. Now, comfortably settled in a middle-class life, she continued to buy it, saying she couldn’t stand the so-called “good” wines.

  Rory accepted the drink and the smack on the rump she gave him, expecting no less. “Rory Benjamin Fisher! When were you going to tell your mother you were in love? Huh?”

  He took a healthy swallow of wine. Glancing around to be sure they were alone, he said, “You know the engagement isn’t real.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say anything about an engagement.”

  Touche. Rory merely shook his head. “We interacted for two minutes. How could you possibly know?”

  She smiled triumphantly. “A mother always knows.”

  Rory snorted, and she swatted him again. “Do you question my maternal instincts?”

  He chuckled into the wine. “No.”

  “So, admit it. You love that man.”

  Rory set his wineglass on the counter, heart accelerating as he met his mother’s direct gaze. He’d never said it out loud, how he felt about Avery. “I haven’t told him.”

  “Well, that’s your first mistake.”

  “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled.

  “Don’t hold these things inside, Rory. Avery needs love. I read those articles you sent me. I talked to him on the phone. He’s hurting.”

  “I know.” She didn’t know the half of Avery’s struggle. It wasn’t Rory’s place to tell her, either. “I’ll tell him soon, I’m sure. I don’t see how I can keep it in. The words are right there every time I look at him.”

  She smiled suddenly, hugging him. “I’m so happy for you. Love suits you.”

  The back door opened, and Rory pulled away as Tyrone entered the kitchen with a plate of meat. They kept a massive gril
l out back, and Tyrone used it year-round despite the cold weather in the winter. The plate was piled high with venison steaks. Rory’s mouth immediately began to water as the aroma drifted through the kitchen.

  “Meat’s done,” he announced matter-of-factly.

  His mother turned to check on a pot simmering on the stove filled with maple baked beans. In the oven, Rory already knew she’d have a dish of baked mac and cheese for the girls. It was their favorite. Rory only hoped he could score some gravy fries before heading home. He’d never had them anywhere but here, and he loved them.

  “I’m good here,” his mom said. “Rory, do you want to go get Avery and the girls?”

  “In a minute.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, Ty, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

  Tyrone looked curious. “Oh? What’s up?”

  While Rory and Tyrone had a good relationship, they didn’t have a lot of heart-to-hearts. Rory was grown before his mother met Tyrone, so he didn’t really think of him as a father. Not his father, at any rate. But he did love how happy he made his mother. After a tough life as a single mother, who’d had a string of men who’d let her down over the years, she deserved every bit of happiness that Tyrone gave her.

  “Avery has some…issues with his father. You’ve probably heard.”

  Tyrone nodded, looking serious. “Damn shame that parents can’t love their children the way they should.”

  It wasn’t just an empty platitude, not from Tyrone. And that’s why Rory wanted to speak with him. “I, uh, think Avery is a little nervous about being accepted. I told him that all of you accept me, and would accept him too, but his concerns run a little deeper than mine. I don’t want to explain it all, sufficed to say that Avery has a lot of toxic junk in his head.”

  “What can we do?” Tyrone asked. “I’d be happy to talk to him, if you think that would help.”

  Rory shook his head. He had a feeling that would merely make Avery uncomfortable. “No, I just wanted to ask you if I could tell him about Michael. It’s a very personal story, and I didn’t want to share it without your okay.”

  “Of course you can,” Tyrone said, his voice sounding gruff. Rory knew it wasn’t anger, but emotion tightening is throat. “Any time Michael’s story can help someone…”

  Rory’s mother wrapped her arm around Tyrone’s waist, leaning in to embrace him from the side. “It’s the best way to honor Michael’s memory,” she said. “Ty wants that.”

  “Okay, thank you.” Rory could tell Tyrone needed a minute to regain his composure. He’d lost his brother years ago, but it still cut him deeply. “I’ll go get Avery and the girls then.”

  His mother nodded. “You do that. Tell Keisha to set the table. We’ll be out shortly.”

  Rory left the kitchen, chest tightening as he wondered if he did the wrong thing, bringing up Michael. It was always a source of pain for Tyrone, but he knew that Ty regularly confronted that pain to help others. He only hoped it did help. It wasn’t a happy story, but it would reassure Avery that this family would always be in his corner.

  Avery had planned to wash off the makeup, but Monique looked devastated at the thought. “You have to wear it to dinner. Please?!”

  How could he refuse her? The makeup wasn’t exactly to his style. She’d gone a little heavy on the blush, and she’d done his eyelids in gold, and his lips in a wine color that was almost purple. It was…different. A little over the top. But even so, Avery felt strangely happy to wear it. He felt pretty, in a ridiculous sort of way. The makeup had softened his features, and even with the colors that didn’t entirely complement him, his blue eyes looked vivid against the darker mascara she’d applied.

  Rory grinned when he found Avery changing for dinner. He wasn’t about to wear track pants to his first meal with Rory’s family. But he wasn’t entirely sure what to wear, either. What went with gold eye shadow?

  “Look at you,” Rory said. “Beautiful.”

  “Shut up,” Avery grumbled. “Gold is not my color.”

  Rory approached, grasping Avery’s chin to tip his face up, down, and side to side. “It’s a dramatic look, but you pull it off.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay for me to wear it to dinner?” Avery asked, feeling a little flutter of unease. Tyrone had worn sparkly nail polish, but this was a whole other level.

  “Of course,” Rory said. “In fact, wear something pretty to go with it, if you want.”

  Avery hesitated. Did Rory mean…

  “Maybe not too revealing,” Rory joked. “It’s a family dinner.”

  Avery’s heart beat hard as he thought about the items in his bag. He’d bought a few things in a fit of anger one day, determined to wear them out to a club. But he’d chickened out. Most of them were a bit too sexy for family dinner. But he did have one form-fitting button-down in a thin linen material that was a pale pink color with a subtle floral pattern. He’d unpacked while Rory was with his family, so he went to the closet now and hesitantly withdrew it. “Is this too much?”

  Rory took the hanger from him, holding the shirt up to Avery’s chest. “It’ll look great. Wear it.”

  Avery started to bite his lip, felt the texture of lipstick beneath his teeth, and stopped. His heart beat hard. “You’re sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  Rory certainly looked sure. Avery wished he could feel as confident. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. One step at a time, right? He wanted to push past his boundaries. He was already going to dinner in makeup. What was a pink shirt in comparison?

  “This is a safe space, Avery,” Rory said. “Just like Bliss Island.”

  Avery didn’t have another man pushing the envelope, making him feel safe. But he trusted Rory. He knew that he wouldn’t lie to him. Feeling as if he were standing on the edge of a tall building with Rory whispering, “Jump, I’ll catch you,” in his ear, he pulled on the shirt, feeling the soft slide of material over his arms and shoulders.

  With trembling fingers, he began to button it up. Rory stopped him, taking over. Button by button, he closed Avery’s shirt. Then smoothed his hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. But even if you did…”

  Avery could hardly breathe. “What?”

  “I’d kick the ass of anyone who ever tried to hurt you. That includes my own mother.”

  Avery snorted a laugh. “And the little girls?”

  “Them too.”

  “What about Tyrone?”

  Rory’s lips quirked. His eyes were filled with humor, which set Avery at ease. He truly wasn’t worried. “Okay, I can’t lie. I’d have to sucker punch him, then run like hell. Lucky for me, it won’t come to that.”

  “Lucky,” Avery murmured.

  Rory held out his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman, and Avery linked arms with him, feeling silly but delighted. Together, they walked down the hall and toward the dining room. And when they arrived, the girls were already seated. Monique bounced up and down in her chair. “Isn’t he pretty? Didn’t I do a good job with the makeup, Katie?”

  Katie smiled indulgently. “It’s very striking.”

  Avery could feel himself flushing, but the zealous blush Monique had applied was sure to hide it. His eyes went to Tyrone, the person who most intimidated him. The man was focused on placing steaks onto plates, but he glanced up casually. “He is pretty, baby girl. Good job.” He grinned, his teeth bright. “Rory caught himself a looker, didn’t he? Looks like he leveled up.”

  “Hey now, I’m pretty too,” Rory protested gamely.

  There were some giggles around the table, and Avery felt himself relax. No one commented on his clothing, only the makeup, which they all attributed to Monique. It was a cop-out, maybe, to claim this as a victory. For all Tyrone knew, Avery was just playing along to please his daughter. But Rory had assured him they were accepting, and for now, it appeared to be true. With a sigh of relief, he began to eat, feeling a little sad when he wiped his mouth with a napkin and
saw his lipstick rubbing away with it.

  Monique had given him a gift she didn’t even realize. But what about tomorrow, and the next day? He couldn’t always count on a little girl playing beauty salon with him. Avery would have to find the courage to apply his own makeup, to wear it with pride.

  He wasn’t there yet. The very idea of the judgmental stares of strangers made him feel sick to his stomach. But maybe…maybe he could find a way to be himself with the man he loved, if nothing else. Maybe he could let go of a bit of shame and truly embrace that dressing in soft fabrics and colors, wearing makeup, made him feel more like himself than wearing a suit ever could.

  That night, as they got ready for bed, Avery said, “Tyrone seemed very accepting at dinner tonight.”

  After the girls excused themselves, they’d all had coffee and talked about the farm. Tyrone told them that his ancestors had once worked these lands after leaving the deep South in search of more opportunity. After his father became the first member of the family to go to college and find success as an engineer, he’d bought the farm and begun to restore it. By then, much of the land had been sold off piecemeal. It was no longer a working farm; just a farmhouse with twenty acres attached. Still, Tyrone’s voice had been filled with pride. “My father believed in education, and he had to work hard to get it. It just felt natural for me to become an educator myself. He instilled that love in me.” His eyes had grown shadowed, and he’d made a cryptic statement. “I only wish he’d learned to be more tolerant while he was at it.”

  “Yeah, Tyrone’s great,” Rory said. “I wasn’t so sure when my mother told me she’d met a man, online no less, and wanted to marry him. She’d had so many asshole boyfriends that I was pretty skeptical. He won me over in the end, though. Told me that he would always honor and cherish my mother, and I believed him. He also told me that he would always honor and cherish me, as well, as her son, and that he would never stand between us. That sold me more than anything else.”