The scream that Nadine releases in inhuman. I cringe, expecting all the windows and glassware in a ten-mile radius to start shattering. Startling the birds, her screech coincides with the arrival of the five-tiered wedding cake on a massive tray, carried by four waiters. The birds flutter and then descend on the cake with surprising ferocity.
“Oh, fuck,” Andrew whispers. I’d nearly forgotten he was there. I’ve watched the chaos unfold with a numb detachment, and now the horror of the situation is starting to hit.
The horror does finally hit home when the flock of doves attacks the cake-bearers, and the massive cake goes toppling to the ground. It’s immediately covered with pink, screeching doves. The four waiters run off in opposite directions, waving their arms above their heads to try to protect themselves from the sharp beaks and claws that attack from the skies.
Nadine’s hair is dripping with bird shit. A trickle of it makes it to her forehead, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, staring straight at me. She lifts a trembling finger, pointing it at the center of my chest.
“You,” she screams. Her anger is all-consuming. I’ve never seen her like this. She takes a step toward me, and it’s all the urging I need. I grab Andrew’s hand and drag him toward the clubhouse.
“We need to go.”
With one final look at the tears and chaos, I slide through the clubhouse door and rush toward the exit.
21
Andrew
I’m in shock. Complete and utter shock. Meg and I had joked about the birds being released to the snack table, but I could never have imagined the scene that I just witnessed.
It would be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying.
Meg’s hand is clammy as she drags me through the clubhouse. She points down a hallway.
“Go out there and get the limo. I need to go grab my purse, I left it upstairs in the dressing room.”
I nod. “Meet you outside in five. Hey, Meg,” I call out as she turns away from me. She pauses, glancing over her shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“It’ll be okay.”
“We need to get out of here.”
I nod and head toward the exit. I’m jogging, and I explode out the door with a bang. The valet jumps and I give him my name.
“Limousine service,” I say, breathless. “Jerry was driving us. I’m Andrew Davis.”
“Mr. Davis,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m a big fan, and—”
“Listen, I’m honored,” I interrupt. I cringe. I wish he’d said this to me before because right now I don’t have time for this. “What’s your name?”
“Mark.”
“Mark, I appreciate your support. I’m in a really big hurry right now. I’m not sure if you heard about the commotion out there.”
He shakes his head.
I nod. “You will. Please, just let Jerry know that we need the car now.” Mark nods and takes off at a trot to go find our limousine. I lean against the wall and let out a big sigh.
When the limo pulls up in front of the wide steps, I breathe a sigh of relief. I wave to Jerry as Mark comes up the steps. I glance behind me, willing Meg to appear. She doesn’t. I slip a hundred-dollar bill to Mark.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk. I usually love talking to my fans. You’ll understand later.”
Mark nods, frowning. He still has no idea what’s going on on the other side of the building. Just as I follow his gaze, the front door whips open and Meg sprints out.
“Go, go, go!” She yells, taking the stairs two at a time as she sprints down toward the limousine. She dives in and I follow her, shutting the door as the bridal party appears through the clubhouse doorway.
“Go, Jerry, go. Damnit, man, drive!” Meg bangs on the seat, her eyes wide as she stares out the window. Jerry doesn’t need to be told twice. He steps on the accelerator and peels out of the driveway. The tires spin on the gravel as we kick up a big cloud of dust.
Both Meg and I turn to see the bridal party chase us out of the country club. They hurl anything and everything after us—bouquets, bits of cake, wine glasses. Their projectiles mostly fall short, littering the driveway with the evidence of our disgrace.
Once we’re off the club grounds, Meg turns back around and lets out a big sigh. She closes her eyes and puts her hand to her forehead, massaging her temples.
I look up to see Jerry watching us in the rear-view mirror. His face is completely blank, but I know he’s dying to ask.
“Bit of a mishap at the wedding,” I explain. Meg snorts, and Jerry nods.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says.
For some reason, that makes Meg chuckle. She drops her hands to her sides and leans against the headrest, laughing harder and harder. I chuckle with her as the images of the chaos replay in my mind. I put my hand on her thigh and she interlaces her fingers in mine as we laugh the stress away.
Finally, wiping the tears from her eyes, she shakes her head.
“Any more champagne in this limo? I feel like I need a drink. And a shower. But mostly a drink.”
“Your wish is my command,” I grin. I produce a bottle of Veuve Cliquot Champagne and pour her a tall glass. She takes a sip with a sigh and then stares out the window.
I pour myself a glass and put the bottle in its holder.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say. “The latch was rusted shut.”
Meg nods. “I know, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll blame me forever. If I wasn’t a pariah before, I’m definitely one now.”
I’m silent for a few seconds. It feels like the wrong time to ask her what happened, even though I want to know. I want her to know that whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. Her family are wrong to make shitty comments to her, and she shouldn’t be ashamed of her past—whatever it is.
Meg finishes her champagne and then glances at me. “Keep it coming.”
“When the Senior Dove Releaser says jump, I say how high,” I answer, tipping more golden liquid into her champagne flute. Meg shoots me a look, grinning. She shakes her head.
“Too soon, Andrew. Too soon.”
“It’s never too soon.” I nod to Jerry. “Take a left up here, Jerry. We’re going to go to a little bar I like.”
Meg glances at me, her eyebrow raised. She glances at her bag, and then smacks her forehead with her palm. “I forgot my black dress,” she sighs. She looks down at the awful pink dress she’s wearing, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“You want to go back to the hotel to change?”
With a deep breath, she shakes her head. “No, I want to go and get ridiculously drunk somewhere that’s loud and dark and where the floors are slightly sticky with stale beer. There’s no time to change. If I go back to a quiet hotel room, I think I might start crying.” She glances at me. “As long as you don’t mind being seen with me like this.”
I grin. “I would never mind being seen with you. You’ll love this bar, it’s pretty much exactly what you described, with the added bonus of having topless bartenders.” I pause. “Male and female… If you’re okay with that.”
She glances at me for a moment with an eyebrow raised. My heart starts thumping. What if she’s not into that at all? Is she insulted right now?
My mind whirrs until Meg chuckles, shrugging. “Fuck it. Why not? It’s not like this day could get any worse.”
“Personally, I think this day turned out pretty good. I got to see you in this outfit, which in my books is a win. I got to see four waiters run away from a bunch of angry pink birds, dropping the biggest wedding cake I’ve ever seen in my life. I also got to see those same pink birds attack a bridal party. All in all, I’d say the day has been a great success.”
Meg laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not quite there yet.” She looks at me and sticks out her tongue. “Andy.”
22
Meghan
I’m glad Andrew is here. Otherwise, I’m not sure I would have survived the quick
exit we had to make from the country club. I can still picture Nadine seething in her white wedding dress, pointing at me from across the dance floor. I can still see that dribble of bird poo making its way down the side of her face.
I’ll probably have nightmares about it.
But those are nightmares for another time, because right now, I just want to forget about it all.
Andrew helps me out of the limo and my eyebrows shoot up when I see our destination.
“Tops Off Bottoms Up?” I say, reading the flashing neon sign outside the derelict-looking building. Andrew chuckles and takes my hand.
“Classiest joint in the city.”
“Clearly. One second.”
I reach up under my skirt and rip off the thousands of petticoats that make it so poofy. I toss them back into the limo, smoothing the dress down and taking a deep breath.
“That’s better. I don’t look like a duvet anymore.”
“No, you just look like a duvet cover.”
I smack his chest, laughing. “You’re on thin ice, mister. Let’s go.”
When we step inside, I’m expecting to be met with a room full of stale beer and desperation. Instead, I’m greeted with a sleek, modern-looking bar with exceptionally good-looking staff. My eyes linger on the topless men and women serving drinks, and a zip of heat travels down my spine.
The patrons aren’t wretched, lonely-looking men. They’re young, and lively, and seeming to be here for other reasons than the views from behind the bar.
It almost feels like a regular bar, but with a current of energy running through it. Andrew tugs on my hand, nodding to a booth in the back corner.
“Here,” he says. “I think we’ll do well with a bit of privacy.”
I nod, silently relieved. When the waitress appears to take our order, a flash of jealousy runs through me, until I realize Andrew is staring at the menu.
“I’ll have your lager,” he says, and then turns to me and smiles. “You?”
“Vodka soda, please,” I say. “And two shots of tequila.”
Andrew’s eyebrows twitch up toward his hairline and he glances at the waitress, grinning. His hand slides over my thigh as he looks back at me.
“I’m impressed you didn’t look at that woman’s breasts,” I say, grinning at him.
“Why stare at those when I can stare at these?” He brushes his hand across my chest and warmth blooms in my stomach. It feels like both of us have completely forgotten about our arrangement to keep things ‘professional’, and I’m okay with it. His hand drifts over my chest again. The corset is tight against my chest, and it makes every touch a thousand times more sensitive.
We must stare at each other for a few minutes, because a male waiter appears with our drinks. He glances at my dress and then to Andrew’s tux. Andrew’s bowtie is hanging around his neck, and his hair is ruffled. I know my hair and makeup probably look a little worse for wear.
The waiter places our drinks down and smiles. “You guys celebrating something?”
“A wedding,” I reply.
“Congratulations!” He exclaims, smiling. Before I can correct him, Andrew’s hand is on my thigh, squeezing it to stop me.
“Thanks, buddy,” he says. “She’s a special one.” He hands the waiter his card, asking to open a tab. When the waiter disappears, I grin at Andrew.
“Now we’re married?”
“What happens in Vegas…”
I laugh. “It’s easier than telling people I ruined my sister’s wedding, I guess.”
“Personally, I think you made her wedding better.”
“I’m not sure she sees it that way.”
Andrew laughs and then drapes his arm across my shoulders. I pick up my glass and touch it to his before taking a sip. His fingers stroke back and forth on my shoulder, and delicious little tingles dance down my spine. He pushes a shot glass toward me and I groan.
“Why did I order these?”
“Because you want to forget about the past eight hours,” he grins.
“Not all of it.”
I stare at Andrew’s face. His eyes glimmer in the low light of the bar as his jaw clenches. I watch him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat. His fingers press into my shoulder a tiny bit harder, and his eyes drop to my lips.
If there’s one thing that I don’t regret about today, it’s my time with him. For the first time in months, I feel alive. The disaster at the wedding seems like it made him actually like me more. I can’t imagine that anyone would find me attractive when I look like this, but Andrew’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew’s voice is low. I open my eyes and chuckle. My fingers drift to his cheek, stroking it gently as I shake my head.
“Nothing. I was just picturing you naked.”
“That makes two of us.”
My heart thumps and my mouth starts to water. My breath is shallow, and suddenly my corset feels tighter.
I’ve wanted to kiss this man since the moment I met him. Every time he speaks, or eats, or drinks, or licks his lips, a flame ignites in the pit of my stomach. I’m drawn to him in a way that I can hardly explain.
The fact that we haven’t kissed yet has been torture. A torture that I brought upon myself, but still—torture.
And now, in a topless bar in the outskirts of Las Vegas, he’s staring at me as if I’m the only woman in the world. His hand drifts up my leg until it reaches the apex of my thighs. I close my eyes and sigh. I wish there wasn’t any fabric separating those broad hands from my skin.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” I whisper. His hand drifts over to my hip, and I open my eyes up to see him staring at me.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.” His voice is a low, primal growl. Fire flames to life in my core as my heart thumps a little bit harder.
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait much longer, Meg,” he says. His fingers sink into my hip. I put my hand on his chest, curling my fingers into his shirt.
“So don’t.”
To say his kiss was worth the wait is an understatement. As soon as his lips crush against mine, I’m diving head first into oblivion. His hands pull me closer as he moans into my mouth. When I inhale, I can only smell him. I can only taste him. I can only see him.
He tangles his fingers into my hair and pulls me closer as a moan escapes my lips. He answers by curling his fingers into my hair and kissing me as if the world is ending around us.
I completely lose myself in his kiss until someone clears their throat. The waiter has reappeared with two fancy-looking cocktails.
“Compliments of the house. Congratulations on the wedding,” he says, grinning. He nods to Andrew. “You’re a lucky man. Oh… and good luck next season, Mr. Davis”
Andrew thanks him, and I start chuckling as soon as the waiter walks away.
“So much for anonymity.” I turn to the multitude of drinks on the table and pick up one of the shots of tequila. “Screw it,” I grin. I knock the shot back and motion to the waiter, gesturing at my empty shot glass.
I don’t know if it’s the kiss, or the disaster at the wedding, or my own nerves, but I need something to take the edge off.
Andrew grins, takes his shot and starts laughing.
“I guess we’re married now,” he says. “Let’s get another round to celebrate.”
I laugh. “You read my mind.”
23
Andrew
I wake up to the sound of retching. I blink, frowning as I stare at the ceiling. It spins above me for a few seconds and I close my eyes again. I turn my head and pain explodes across my forehead. I groan.
The retching starts up again, and I frown. It takes me a second to remember where I am, but then I see my clothes scattered across the floor. I spot Meg’s big pink dress crumpled in the corner, and memories start flooding my brain
.
Shots, shots, and more shots.
Why would we do that? I never do shots. We drank so much and ate nothing. I remember kissing her—God, that kiss was insane. We made out in that booth and told everyone we’d just gotten married. Somehow, that morphed into talking about actually getting married.
My eyes widen, and I glance down at my hand.
“Oh, fuck…”
A gold band is on my ring finger, and I distinctly remember going to a little chapel on the Strip. I remember saying ‘I Do’ and I remember kissing Meg again and again until they kicked us out of the chapel.
I frown. Did that really happen? I stare at the ring for a few more seconds and my heart starts to thump.
I’m married.
I hear Meg cough in the bathroom and I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Dizziness hits me like a brick wall, and I cling to the edge of the bed. I take long, slow breaths as I wait for the nausea to pass.
When I feel like I can stand, I haul myself up to my feet. My stomach turns, and I grimace. My mouth tastes like old tequila. Tequila tastes even worse the second time around, which is hard to believe. It’s tastes pretty terrible the first time, too.
I take a tentative step and waver on my feet, leaning on the wall to balance myself. When my body is accustomed to standing, I take another step toward the bathroom.
When I open the door, my heart drops. Meg is curled up with her arms on the toilet seat. Her hair, still so full of hairspray, looks like a crazy lion’s mane. Her makeup is streaked, and she’s breathing heavily.
“You want some water?” My voice is scratchy, and I clear my throat. I know I want some water right now.
Meg spits once more into the toilet and flushes it before turning toward me. She looks up at me with wide eyes. Even in this state, she’s so beautiful it takes my breath away. I crouch down and brush the hair off her forehead. Her skin is clammy and damp. She must feel awful.
Mr. Right: The Complete Fake Engagement Series Page 43