The gown was a sheath that hugged my body from chest all the way to mid-thigh before flaring out ever so slightly the rest of the way to the floor. The thin spaghetti straps were the same creamy satin as the rest of the gown, but it was the layer of delicate see-through lace in a gorgeous ivory that started below the sash at the dip in my waist and traveled all the way down that took the dress from simple to stunning.
“Oh, wow,” I gasped, turning this way and that, admiring the tiny train that pooled on the floor behind me. “It’s . . .”
“Like a magical princess!” Brantley shouted excitedly.
I did look like a magical princess. Farah really had nailed it. This gown was so me in every single way. I couldn’t argue with her on that. I was head over heels for the dress. I never wanted to take it off.
As I stared at my reflection, my gaze went cloudy and I was suddenly overcome with a sense of melancholy that stole the small smile from my lips.
“Poppy, honey, why do you look so sad?”
At Farah’s question, my eyes went back into focus and I slowly trailed my fingers along the patterns in the lace at my belly. “I-I don’t know. I was fine, then I saw myself in this dress and . . .”
From the corner of my eye I saw Shane pass Brantley off to Farah before she stood and moved into my line of sight. “And what, babe?”
“I never really gave much thought to getting married, you know? After my dad walked out on us, I told myself I’d never risk going through that. Then I met Cory and for the first time, I really started considering it. And . . . well, you know how that turned out.”
“God,” Shane snapped. “I’d really like to hunt that guy down and cut off his—” she stopped and shot a look back at her son to find he was watching her with rapt fascination.
“Cut off his what, Mommy? His hair?”
“Yeah, baby. I wanna cut off all his hair for hurting Aunt Poppy’s feelings.”
The little four-year-old’s face scrunched up adorably. “Yeah! Me too! He’s a meanie!”
“Anyway,” I said on a sigh, “after that, I stopped hoping for that special day. But I’m standing here in this dress, and it’s so perfect that now . . .” I trailed off, pressing my hands against my stomach to try and stop the knots that were twisting up.
“Now you’re getting married, and you find yourself wanting that special day again,” Farah finished for me. It was almost as if she could read my mind.
“Yeah,” I whispered to my reflection. “I do.” I dropped my arms to my side and gave my head a shake to dispel the ridiculous notion. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s not like there’s any time to plan something. And this isn’t a real marriage, anyway.”
“Poppy—”
I cut my eyes to Shane, the look on my face silencing whatever she was about to say. “No, it’s fine. Really, I’m being silly. Forget I said anything. The other dress is the right one.”
Her expression remained skeptical. “You sure?”
I wasn’t, but like I’d told them, it didn’t matter. “Positive.” I pasted a smile on my face I was sure looked as fake as it felt as I stepped off the platform. “Give me a second to change, then we’ll ring up that last dress and get out of here. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”
I ignored the pitying looks from my friends as I shut myself back in the dressing room and went about taking off the world’s most perfect dress.
* * *
Jase
“Jase Hyland, you’re an idiot!”
My gaze shot up from my desk just as my sister stomped into my office, her face like thunder. “Farah? What are you doing here?”
She stood just inside the open doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, as she announced, “I’m here to tell you that you’re an idiot.”
“I figured that when you stormed in here stating as much at the top of your lungs.” My attention was pulled from my furious sister when Wynn suddenly slinked inside, bracing her shoulders against the wall. I shot my assistant a look, lifting my brows as I asked, “Something you need?”
“All good here, boss man. Just came in to see the show.” She looked to Farah and waved her hand. “Please, carry on. You were saying . . .?”
“You know, for such a smart man, you really can be so stupid sometimes,” Farah snapped.
I pulled off my glasses and dropped them on the desk with a tired sigh as I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’ve made your thoughts on my intelligence perfectly clear, sis. What you haven’t explained is why you think I’m so stupid. Care to elaborate?”
“Ooh! Ooh! Me, me, me, me!” Wynn cried, raising her hand in the air like an eager child. “I have a whole list!”
My eyes narrowed into slits. “Don’t you have some work to do?”
“Nope.” She popped the P loudly and grinned outright. “All done. I’m just that good. I am tempted to go make some popcorn, but I’m worried I’d miss the good part.”
Dear Lord above, save me from the women in my life.
“You’re an idiot because of Poppy!” Farah clipped, throwing her hands wide.
“Christ,” I grunted, leaning back in my chair. “Sweet pea, you know I love you, but today’s been a day from hell. I’m exhausted, and all I want to do is get back to the inn, so please, spare me the drama and just get to the point, yeah?”
“She wants a wedding, you jackass. A real wedding, with all the bells and whistles. She doesn’t want to tie the knot in some boring, stuffy room with just you, her, and some judge.”
I sat up straight, deep grooves forming between my eyes as I frowned. “Wait. She does?”
“Oh, bless your dumb little man brain,” Wynn lamented. “Of course she does! All women want a real wedding. Even those who say they don’t. It’s common sense. I swear, how you’ve survived this long is beyond me.”
Farah pointed at Wynn and nodded frantically. “Yes, that! What she said.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I grunted, massaging my temples. “Farah, did Poppy actually tell you she wanted a real wedding?”
“She didn’t have to tell me,” my sister insisted with an attitude. “She’s one of my best friends. I just know.”
I felt a smug grin turn my lips up at the corners. Farah might be her friend, but I’d gotten to know my future bride pretty damn well over the past couple weeks. “No offense, but I think you’re off on this one.”
She gave me an evil smirk. “Is that so? Then explain to my why, when we went shopping for a dress today, she got all wistful and melancholy when Shane and I all but forced her to try on a real wedding dress.”
Shit.
“But she’s the one who mention going to the JP in the first place. She’s never once said anything about a real wedding.”
“Of course she hasn’t,” Wynn said with a roll of her eyes. “Because it’s not technically a real marriage, and she didn’t want to seem greedy.”
At that, my grin fell. Wynn and Poppy didn’t know each other that well, but we’d had her over for dinner since she moved down here, and the two of them had hit it off spectacularly. Wynn had always been spot on when it came to reading people, and I’d learned over the years to trust her judgement.
The lunch I’d had earlier that day was suddenly sitting in my stomach like a rock. “You really think so?”
“Look, boss, I know I’ve only met her once, but I’m telling you, that woman’s as laid back and easy going as they come. She’s not going to throw out the idea of a big, fancy ordeal when the marriage itself is a sham.”
My neck grew stiff, and I bristled at her calling the wedding a sham. My first instinct was to argue that she was wrong, that the marriage wasn’t fake. But I couldn’t.
The past few weeks with Poppy had been some of the best in my whole life. Even though I was busier than I’d ever been at work, I found myself packing up at five on the dot just so I could see her face. There was never a dull moment when we were together. No matter what we were doing, I enjoyed every second of it. Just
listening to her talk made me smile. Then there was the physical attraction.
No matter how hard I fought it, my desire for her grew every single day. It had gotten to the point where I’d search for any and every excuse I could find to touch her in some way. And no matter how often I did that, it still wasn’t enough.
Every time I felt that smooth skin or silky hair, the craving grew stronger. I was feening for her.
I’d gotten myself into this mess, and I didn’t have the first fucking clue how to get out of it. And what was more, I didn’t want to.
“Fuck,” I hissed, raking my hands through my hair before regarding the two women still standing inside my office, staring at me like I was the biggest jackass on the planet . . . because I was. “What the hell am I supposed to do, huh? We’re getting married in a few days. I can’t throw a wedding together that fast.”
“You’re loaded, Jase,” Wynn said. “Anything’s possible when the right number of zeros are tacked on to the end of it.”
“And besides,” Farah added, “you might not be able to do it, but I most certainly can.”
The ball of tension that was forming in my gut began to get smaller as I looked between Wynn and Farah. “You really think this is what she’d want?”
“Absolutely,” my sister stated emphatically.
“And you can pull it off?”
“If you lend me your assistant for a few days, definitely.”
Wynn lifted a finger in the air. “And lucky for you, I already have all your banking info, so we can get started ASAP.”
Setting the two of them off together could possibly be the biggest mistake ever, but if they were right and this was really what Poppy wanted, then it was a risk I was going to have to take.
Because I was quickly coming to discover there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make that woman happy.
Chapter Twelve
Poppy
Elle King was blaring through my earbuds, crooning about Ex’s and Oh’s while I sang along and danced my way through the kitchen, preparing dinner.
My relationship with Jase might have been fake, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t taking advantage of a few of the perks that came with it. And cooking was one of them. I’d always loved to cook and bake. My grandmother had taught my mom, and in turn, my mom taught me. However, I wasn’t a fan of cooking for one, and all the dishes I knew how to make were strictly stick-to-your-ribs comfort food, meant to be enjoyed by many. I always ended up with too many leftovers, and couldn’t stand how much food got wasted, so I eventually stopped.
The kitchen was my favorite room in the entire house. I liked to spend most of my free time in there, but since I’d been single for so long, I hadn’t gotten to put my culinary skills to use nearly as often as I wanted.
Cory used to complain that my cooking was making him fat. Of course, it hadn’t been true. He’d had a swimmer’s build since hitting puberty, but I’d tamped down my love of hearty meals and started cooking healthier anyway. That had taken a lot of the fun out of it, and it started to feel more like a chore than anything else.
Now things were different. In the two weeks Jase and I had been living under the same roof, I’d gone back to cooking how I was taught, and every night he’d go on and on about how good everything tasted as he cleaned his plate.
It felt nice to have someone to cook for again, really nice. And it was even better when that someone showed as much appreciation as Jase did.
I was in the middle of whisking the contents of the saucepan on the stove and belting out the lyrics to the song when the earbuds were suddenly plucked from my ears, giving me a start. I jumped and whipped around to find Jase standing only a few inches away, his face shining with humor.
“Gah!” Reaching up, I smacked him in his broad chest. “You scared the hell out of me, you jerk!”
“Sorry about that,” he said with a chuckle. “Wasn’t my intention, but I’ve been standing in the doorway for a full five minutes, waiting for you to notice me.”
I turned back to the stove with a roll of my eyes and resumed whisking. The more I got to know Jase, the easier he was to be around. I no longer got as flustered as I used to. Sure, I still blushed pretty regularly, but the nerves weren’t nearly as bad as they once were, and the stammering and stuttering was all but gone.
“You could’ve made your presence known instead of sneaking up on me. I swear to God, it’s like you’re a ninja.”
“And miss the show? No way in hell.”
And cue the blush.
I looked at him over my shoulder and scrunched my nose. That only made him smile bigger.
“So, what are you making me for dinner?”
“Nothing if you don’t quit making fun of me,” I answered with a wink.
He moved then, coming up behind me so close I could feel the heat of him on my back as that intoxicating scent of cedarwood and suede filled my lungs. “I would never make fun of you, Flower,” he stated. “There’s not much you do that I don’t find cute.” His tone was light, there was something else in it that made it feel like he was dead serious. I pulled in a sharp breath when his hands landed on my hips and his chin brushed against my ear as he peered over my shoulder. He’d been doing that a lot lately, coming up from behind and touching me, tucking my hair behind my ear or giving it a little tug. Even with no one around to see it, the affection was damn near constant. The other night when we were watching TV—something I forced him to do regularly—he went so far as to grab my feet and pull them onto his lap. He proceeded to massage them as he watched the show in silence, never taking his eyes from the screen, almost like it was an unconscious action.
“Not sure what you’re cooking, but it smells like heaven in here.” His voice was a sexy rasp as he looked at the stove.
“Oh, uh . . .” I cleared my throat and forced down the butterflies suddenly swarming in my belly at his close proximity. “I’m making steaks, roasted herb new potatoes, and grilled asparagus with hollandaise sauce.”
A low, appreciative rumble came from deep within his chest as he leaned in farther, pressing fully against my back as his fingers gripped my hips tighter. “Sounds amazing. Anything I can do to help?”
You could keep touching me like this and never ever stop.
Of course I didn’t say that out loud, because that would just be all kinds of stupid, but every time he touched me, the need for more grew stronger.
“Could you, uh, grab some plates and silverware? It’ll be ready soon.”
He did that finger press again, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
As soon as he released me, I stepped away from the stove, moving to the half bath tucked beneath the stairs. “Shit,” I whispered as I stared at my flushed complexion in the mirror. “Shit, shit, shit!” This was not good.
We weren’t even married, and already I was having insanely inappropriate thoughts about my fake husband-to-be.
I hadn’t had sex in way too freaking long, and my body was suddenly making its displeasure at the lack of action known.
I was starting to think maybe I’d made a huge mistake in agreeing to be someone’s fake wife.
Especially when that someone was Jase Hyland.
* * *
“Damn.” Jase leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “As usual, that was fucking fantastic. Probably one of the best steaks I’ve ever eaten.”
My cheeks pinched from how big I smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. The trick is to marinate them for most of the day.” I stood from my chair and reached across the table to take his plate, but he moved faster, snatching it out of my grasp. “Uh uh, sweetheart. You know the rules. I’ve got this.” He took my plate from in front of me and headed into the kitchen, calling back, “You go cue up the DVR.”
We’d gotten into a habit over the past several days. On the nights I cooked—which were most of them simply because I enjoyed it so much—he cleaned. He loaded and unloaded the dishwas
her, packed up leftovers—which there weren’t much of—and even wiped down all the counters. It was something he started doing on his own, and it ramped up his hotness by about a million points, making him harder to resist, when it was already damn near impossible.
After dinner, we’d spend the rest of the night relaxing in front of the TV, where I’d introduced him to some of my favorite shows. However, most of the time we were so caught up talking, we didn’t pay attention to anything happening on the screen.
Once exhaustion set in, I’d reluctantly climb the stairs, sad that our night was coming to an end, and head for my big bed all by myself, something I was quickly coming to resent.
I was pulled from the pathetic state of my thoughts when Jase came into the living room holding two glasses of bourbon, one on rocks, the other neat. After he passed me the glass with ice, he hooked a hand under my legs that were stretched out along the couch, sat down, and rested my feet in his lap.
“So how was your day?” he asked after taking a sip of his own drink.
A whole hell of a lot better now, I thought. But instead, I said, “It was good. One of the girls on the day shift at Bad Alibi called in sick. Shane had to go in and cover for her, so I offered to watch Brantley for a few hours. It was nice having something to do for a change, but that kid has more energy than I know what to do with.”
He let out sympathetic hum and gave my foot a squeeze. “Speaking of having something to do, has Clay given you an update on when the inn will be back up and running?”
I instantly perked up. “Yeah. He said everything will be functional by Monday. So after the wedding Saturday, it’ll be good to go, which is perfect, because I’ve already had three calls about reservations for next week.”
That hand gave my foot another squeeze, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and tender in a way that made my heart race. “That’s great, Pop. I’m happy for you.”
“Me too,” I said, snuggling deeper into the couch so I could rest my head on the arm. “You have no idea how stir-crazy I’ve been. I’m used to constantly being on the move, so it’ll be nice to actually have a reason to wake up so damn early.”
Crazy Beautiful: a Redemption novel Page 9