Real Fake Love

by Pippa Grant

  “You have excellent taste, little guy,” he says thickly.

  He puts the Glow ball in his back pocket and offers Titus a squeezy baseball with Fiery on it instead.

  “I want the dragon!” Tatiana yells.

  “Duck! Duck!” Talia chimes in.

  Luca smiles at my youngest—no, formerly youngest niece—and hands her a ball with Firequacker, then gives the older two each a Fiery ball.

  “That’s so kind of you. Thank you,” Elsa says.

  He shakes his head. “I’m a man with ulterior motives.”

  Still down on his knee, he turns to me. “Henri—”

  My breath catches.

  No.

  No.

  Not again.

  “Wait.” He grabs my hand and squeezes. “Please. Wait.”

  “Luca—”

  “You know him?” Elsa interrupts.

  His face twitches, and it’s so familiar, and so Luca, and suddenly I’m laughing through my tears.

  Why am I doing this?

  Why am I resisting him?

  Could he hurt me? Of course. But is it worth hiding from life to never hurt again, when the trade-off is missing out on all the joy in between?

  He squeezes my hand again, briefly closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he gazes at me like I’m the only thing in his life with meaning. “Henrietta Bacon, will you do me the honor of letting me love you for the rest of my life?”

  My breath leaves me.

  My heart tries to leap out of my chest and into his arms.

  And all I can manage is a whispered, “Oh.”

  “You taught me how to love, Henri. Let me show you. I don’t care what the world calls us. I don’t care about the formalities. I don’t care about anything but having you by my side. Please, Henri. Please let me love you.”

  And there go my eyeballs again as I wrap my arms around his neck and inhale his delicious scent and soak in the warmth of his skin and the strength of his grip while he hugs me back.

  “You—you came here for me?”

  “Losers don’t usually invade maternity wards, but when I finally got one of your friends to break and tell me where you were—”

  “You are not a loser.”

  “I lost you.”

  Oh, Luca. “I’m so sorry I ran away.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you. God, I miss you.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night.”

  “What’s going on?” Elsa asks. “Henri? What is this? Do you know this man?”

  “She said yes!” Francisco hollers in the hallway.

  A dozen people shush him, because babies are sleeping, and new moms are trying to get a few minutes of shut-eye too, and suddenly half the Fireballs are crowding into the hospital room while my sister and her kids gape at all of us.

  “But I didn’t—” I start.

  “You don’t love me?” Luca asks.

  “Oh my gosh, I love you so much it hurts, but I’m not marrying you. You said I didn’t have to. You promised. Wait. Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. If it would make you happy, Luca, I’d plan a thousand weddings to you, even if I said I never wanted—”

  Huh.

  Look at that.

  He does like kissing me to make me be quiet.

  I should talk more.

  I should definitely talk more.

  “You don’t have to talk to encourage me to kiss you,” he says against my lips, because he knows me.

  He knows me, the good parts and the bad parts, and he still wants all of me.

  I pull back enough to bring his beautiful face into focus, and there’s so much hope in the wrinkles in his forehead and the tilt of his mouth and the intensity in his eyes, my heart couldn’t swell bigger if it were blessed with all the magic that I’ve been struggling once again to write about.

  “I love you, Luca. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. Anyone. Ever. And you don’t have to say it back, because you show me. You show me every day.”

  “Then let me show you by telling you too. Henrietta Bacon, I—”

  Titus shoves between us. “An ’Enni, I eat da baw.”

  He holds up the squishy baseball with a bite taken out of Fiery.

  Darren lifts Titus. “I got this.”

  Elsa’s still gaping. “Are these men actual baseball players, Henri?”

  “No. They’re some friends I paid to entertain the kids,” I reply. “Dance, gentlemen. Just like you rehearsed.”

  Francisco, Robinson, and Emilio share a glance, then look at Brooks and Max, who are standing like deer facing down alien spaceships coming from all directions.

  “Hey, Macarena!” Robinson yells, and all five of them start doing different dance moves.

  Talia dives into Elsa’s lap, sobbing, and tries to crawl under the covers.

  “You do it wrong!” Tatiana says, pointing a finger at Max.

  Luca drops his head to my shoulder. His whole body’s shaking with laughter. “Never boring,” he says.

  “Will you have illegitimate children with me too?”

  “Yes.” He lifts his head and cradles my cheek. “A million times, yes.”

  “We’re adopting after what I watched Elsa do last night.”

  “Can we pretend like we’re not in the meantime?”

  “Several times a day, please. I miss you.”

  He rises to his feet, lifts me out of my chair, and tosses me over his shoulder. “Brooks. You’re on kid duty until Nonna gets here. Elsa. Lovely to meet you. If you talk to your parents, tell them Henri’s busy until they learn to send flowers on her release days. Little squirts, we’re gonna spoil you rotten at the holidays. Excuse me. I have a woman to satisfy.”

  He marches me out of Elsa’s room, and I swear my shoulders start relaxing in a way I hadn’t realized they’ve needed, and I don’t know if it’s having Luca back in my life, or if it’s getting distance from my sister, but by the time we reach the elevators, my eyes are leaking again.

  “Henri.” Luca sets me down, takes one look at me, and as the doors slide shut, he wraps me in his arms. “Beautiful angel, don’t cry.”

  “I’m never beautiful during the good moments,” I sniffle.

  “You are to me.”

  “Luca—”

  “I love you, Henri. All of you. All of your moods. All of your characters. All of your heart. And all of your cat’s various personalities too.”

  I’m still laughing and smiling as he loads me up in Fluffy Maple in the parking garage, pausing to kiss me many, many times before he finally turns the key in the ignition.

  His car sputters once, sputters twice, and then a cloud of black smoke rolls out from behind us.

  We both turn and stare, then simultaneously look back at each other.

  “Um, Luca?”

  “Let me guess. That’s Confucius’s sign that he approves?”

  I crack up and kiss him again.

  I’ve always known life wasn’t boring.

  You can’t have five failed engagements and not know it.

  But I have this crazy feeling that not-boring is about to exist on an entirely new plane.

  And I can’t wait to share my life—and all my love—with this man who couldn’t be more imperfectly perfect, and exactly right for me.

  Epilogue

  Henri

  Three months after Luca came riding into Elsa’s maternity ward like my knight in baseball armor, we’re on a private island in the Caribbean, taking a break from our families, whom we love dearly but sometimes need to be away from, because no one’s perfect.

  But we’re not here on vacation.

  We’re here to celebrate some of our very best friends as they formalize their own forever.

  Marisol and Emilio’s wedding takes place at sunset on the beach, with the entire Fireballs team and most of the coaches in attendance, plus the bride and groom’s extensive families, old friends, and former teammates too. They kiss under an arch of tro
pical flowers with their feet in the wet sand at the edge of the water while the sun lights up the sky in a burst of pinks and oranges, and it’s such a beautiful setting for two people who deserve all the happiness in the world that my eyes are leaking.

  Luca kisses my hair as he passes me his handkerchief. I didn’t bother with mascara today, because I knew it would dribble all over my cheeks between the wedding tears and the humidity before this moment.

  Okay, fine.

  It’s also the third handkerchief he’s handed me, and I know he has at least four more stuffed in his pockets.

  This man knows me very, very well.

  I’ve gotten to know him pretty well too, and I’m very comfortable saying that this wedding is easier on him than it would’ve been a year ago.

  I like seeing my friends find their happiness, he told me last night while we were walking on the far side of the island. And I like having my own happiness right here. I don’t care what we call it, Henri, so long as I can call you mine.

  He is the absolute sweetest man ever.

  He’s also shiny in the eyeballs as Marisol and Emilio walk down the aisle as husband and wife, both of their smiles so brilliantly happy, they look like they might take flight.

  Their smiles, I mean. Which would be weird, but seriously, I don’t know how a body can contain that much joy and not radiate some of it up to the heavens.

  Luca slides a glance at me and starts to smile too, like he knows there are weird thoughts going on in my brain, and I tip my head back and laugh.

  “Only you,” he murmurs.

  “It wasn’t that weird. Comparatively, I mean.”

  He’s laughing now too as he pulls me to follow the crowd to the patio outside the mansion where so many guests are staying. We scored a private bungalow on the beach not far from Brooks and Mackenzie’s private bungalow, and we’re staying for a few more days, unlike the newlyweds, who’ll be off for their honeymoon—not to be confused with the month they already spent in Thailand for the holidays—before we all have to be back in Copper Valley for Fireballs Con. Soon after, we’ll head to Florida for spring training.

  We dance. Marisol and Emilio cut their cake and then start a cake fight partly for fun, partly to horrify their parents. I eat chocolate-covered strawberries until my stomach hurts, but only from the table clearly labeled ALCOHOL-FREE FRUIT.

  Not that there’s any fruit soaked in vodka at this party, but Marisol was kind enough to think of me when she arranged catering.

  The party’s winding down when Marisol suddenly shrieks, “My garter!”

  “Shit, yeah!” Emilio yells. “Let me under that skirt!”

  Pretty sure that’s also meant to horrify their parents, but the next thing I know, I’m being shoved into the center of the dance floor, surrounded by all the single women, while Marisol skips to the edge of the patio with her bouquet.

  Seriously?

  “Excuse me,” I murmur to Marisol’s cousin.

  She glances at my ringless hand, then lifts a brow at me as she blocks me from leaving the dance floor. “You’re single. You have to be here.”

  “I’m in a very committed relationship. Luca and I have a pending common-law marriage.”

  Emilio’s grandmother, a lovely widowed woman who promised to teach Luca and me how to make the best empanadas tomorrow, snorts in my direction. “Pending. You stay.”

  As if I’m going to steal the bouquet from another woman who would appreciate the thought that she’d be the next woman to get married.

  I make the “I give up, I’ll stay,” gesture for the sake of the women around me—also, is it weird to anyone else that they’d want more competition?—and formulate my escape route.

  It’s simple, really.

  The crowd starts counting down from three as Marisol warms up to throw her bouquet over her shoulder.

  I wait until everyone yells one!, and then I squat to the ground.

  I’ll probably get trampled, but Luca’s watching, and I know it’ll only be a moment before he dives over the mass of women lunging for the bouquet to drag me to safety.

  Probably.

  Unless he’s getting ribbed by his buddies about me being out here when we’ve told everyone that we’re in a committed relationship without the mess of formalities that are completely unnecessary for both of us. I know he’s not actually fretting that I’d catch the bouquet, nor is he fretting that I’d suddenly want a wedding if I did.

  Everyone above me moves in a giant human wave, and I duck walk backwards as everyone’s leaping up to reach for the flying bouquet. I turn to glide into the open spaces between the women—as much as I can, anyway, with everyone bumping around me—and that’s the only explanation I have for not seeing what’s coming.

  Specifically, Marisol’s giant bouquet.

  It crashes down on my head, throwing me just off-balance enough that I end up tumbling forward on the concrete and I’m very, very grateful that this was a barefoot wedding, because I don’t want to know what would happen if everyone around me was in stilettos.

  “It’s mine!” someone yells.

  “No, I got it!”

  “MINE!”

  “ALL ME!”

  I’m buried under thirty-four bodies. I’m the tight end tackled by the entire opposing team at the goal line. I’m the base of the cheerleader pyramid that fell apart.

  And I’m squishing the bouquet.

  The pressure on my body relaxes as, I assume, people are pulling the other women off the pile of bouquet wanna-be owners, until a familiar chuckle hits my ears and familiar hands grip me under the armpits and lift.

  Luca’s face is contorting into eighty-nine different emotions, ranging from worry to horror to absolute, utter hilarity.

  His green eyes sweep up and down, then catch on the ground as he asks, “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Think so,” I pant. I suck in a full breath, verify nothing’s broken, and I nod as I glance down at what he’s staring at.

  It’s Marisol’s bouquet.

  I crushed the ever-loving duck out of Marisol’s bouquet.

  “Oh,” someone murmurs to my right.

  “I don’t think I want that now,” someone else murmurs to my left.

  “Is it cursed?”

  “She’s wearing it. She has to keep it.”

  Luca’s shoulders are shaking, and while his head is ducked, he’s taller than me, which makes it easy for me to bend over and stare him in the face. “Are you laughing?”

  “No.”

  “I can see you laughing.”

  “But I’m trying very hard not to.”

  We both look at my dress, which is smeared with tropical bouquet flower guts.

  I pinch my lips together, which makes my laugh come out my nose, which is not attractive.

  Luca’s managing to not snort, but I know that won’t last much longer.

  “Oh my god, Henri! Are you okay? Who made you get out there? Who did this to my friend?” Marisol stomps a foot and turns to glare at all of her friends and family, who all back up.

  She snorts as she bends to grab the bouquet.

  Everyone who wanted it so badly just a moment ago takes another step back.

  “I’ll keep it,” I tell Marisol.

  “We will,” Luca agrees. He coughs, snickers, and tries to school his features into something of a neutral smile, and fails miserably. “We’re the keepers of relics of weddings gone wrong.”

  I giggle.

  Luca visibly stifles another laugh.

  Marisol hesitates, then hands me the trampled bouquet with a shrug and a laugh. “Only you two could appreciate this.”

  Luca folds me into his arms and buries his face in my neck. It tickles as he laughs. “My life was so boring before I met you.”

  “I know. You’re welcome.”

  He laughs again, and we spend the rest of the reception cracking up every time we look at each other.

  This man.

  He gets me. I love him more than
I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.

  He is my heart.

  And I’ll never let go.

  Bonus Epilogue

  Luca Rossi, aka a guy who almost forgot to tell you this part of the story, which happened a few months before Emilio and Marisol’s wedding

  Exactly one week after we’re knocked out of the playoffs, six days after I finally found my Henri and convinced her to come home with me forever, we’re all back at Duggan Field.

  It’s the day.

  The day.

  The only day that matters in the rest of this baseball season.

  Mascot Day.

  My teammates and I are all in uniform, and our families are with us on the field. Considering everything Mackenzie and the Lady Fireballs have done to support the team and the city, of course they’re invited.

  Everyone’s families were added because we are family.

  All of us.

  I don’t know if my father will be in the stands—probably not, since we lost in the playoffs—but Henri and my mom and Nonna are by my side, and that’s what matters.

  Jerry’s here too, which is its own kind of weird, but other than him stammering when I asked what his intentions were toward my mother, and then me growling at him when he got within touching distance of Henri, who’s taking this way better than I am, it’s not bad.

  It’s weird, for sure, but Mom’s acting like a teenager, which is moderately adorable, so I can handle this.

  Also, it’s the first time in almost a week that I’ve gone more than two hours without hearing babies or toddlers or preschoolers who need something, and while my respect for mothers has gone up a thousand-fold, it’s nice to have a small break from Elsa and her family.

  It’s possible Henri’s sister is growing on me now that she’s letting her guard down to show her less-than-perfect side.

  It’s possible she’s growing on Henri too, though Henri’s so patient with everyone, you’d barely know when she’s frustrated or tired.

  I know, though.

  And I’m glad she has a break today too. Especially a break that comes with seeing her Lady Fireballs friends for the first time in a week.