by Aubrey Irons
“Hi, honey!”
“Hey, Mom. What are you doing in Beverly Hills?”
Mom usually avoids driving anywhere in LA. Actually, she’s not a big fan of leaving her West Hollywood neighborhood at all.
“Oh, I’m with Natalie, honey.”
I raise a brow. “What?”
“Well we’re just doin’ a little bit of girl shopping, that’s all!”
My mom sounds out of her mind happy on the phone, and there’s a pang of guilt that lances through me. It’s knowing this is fake, and knowing that Natalie is probably feeling the same thing. Not to mention the state we’re in right now having not spoken since “the collector’s” phone call the other morning and my subsequently shit handling of the situation.
“Austin honey, if I haven’t said it enough,” Mom’s voice lowers, still full of glee. “She is the just the sweetest thing, you know!” She chuckles. “You did real good, honey.”
Fuck, this fake divorce is going to be rougher on my mom than either Nat or me.
Maybe.
I shake my head. “Lunch sounds good, Mom.”
I frown as I hang up. Will it be worse on my mom? It’s a weird thought, but it’s like having Natalie in my life has become natural. She fits into every facet and in ways I never saw coming.
And she’s making me a better man, there’s no denying that.
I groan as I rub my temples, trying to remind myself why this whole thing is “fake.”
Money.
Fucking money ruins everything. That’s not what you think about when you’re coming up broke as fuck in nowhere Texas. But when you have it, and see it, you know its true.
Money fucked up her family, what with her dad. And money is fucking up any chance I have of seeing what this could be. Because that ship has sailed. The whole impetus for this girl even being around me is that I offered to pay her.
I have a hard time seeing how that might transition into “lets see where this may go” or anything stupid like that.
And anyways, I’m Austin Taylor - relationships? Being tied down? Nah, that’s not me anyways.
Right?
Six months. Six months more and then this little experiment will be over, and I can go back to the way things were. Meaningless, casual flings with terrible and trashy girls.
I scowl as I grab my keys and head out the door, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me and why that plan sounds like the worst.
I pull up on a side street in Beverly Hills near the address my mom eventually figured out how to text me where she and Natalie are. Looking around, I see Mom’s car outside this little nondescript shop half a block up the street, which means they’re probably still shopping.
I shrug as I jog across the street and walk over to the place. Nat and I haven’t spoken more than the bare minimum to each other in two days, but I push that aside.
Just get in, see where they’re at, and then go have lunch.
No big deal.
I’m surrounded by white the second I walk into the place.
Aw, shit.
A bridal shop; of course, in the middle of my swirling mind-fuck of emotions and conflicting thoughts about Nat and what this all is, I walk in to her and my mom at a damn bridal shop.
My brow furrows as I walk past racks of white frills and lace, past elegant, high-necked faceless mannequins modeling shit straight out of a damn Disney movie. I shake my head.
What the fuck are you doing in-
The sound of laughter and my mother’s boisterous voice filters out from the back of the store.
It feels fake that they’re here, doing this. Because whatever fucked-up thoughts I’m having how Natalie’s making me want to be a better man, or however confused I am about the way I feel about her…
She’s not really my wife - not in principle, at least. She’s just a girl I’m paying to play pretend.
It’s a dark thought.
I sigh and head towards the sound of them, pushing some sort of poofy pink thing out of the way, ducking past a rack of what look like padded bras, and pulling at the curtain that leads to the back of the shop.
Shit.
And right then, every grumbling thought, every confused notion, and every single worry I have just fades away as the breath leaves my body. Hell, the fucking world stops spinning for a moment and time stops as my eyes lock onto the utter vision standing in front of me.
She’s head-to-toe in white and lace, standing up on a pedestal in front of a trifold mirror. She doesn’t see me, and I move back a little, peering though a small slit in the curtain.
God she’s beautiful.
She’s stunning actually, a damn vision that takes my fucking breath away, standing there in silk and lace.
She looks so damn happy, and so damn perfect up there on the pedestal - the perfect wife. She laughs at something my mom says, blushing in the mirror and turning to glance at the back of it. My mom beams at her, fanning herself dramatically as she tells Natalie how wonderful this whole thing is and how gorgeous she looks.
I couldn’t possible agree more.
Mom says something I don’t catch to the shop woman, and the two of them leave the back room out through a side door. I open the curtain wider before I can stop myself, drinking in the pure beauty of this woman standing before me.
Natalie looks up as she steps from the pedestal, and suddenly sees me in the mirror. She gasps, whirling with a hand on her chest and her cheeks flushing bright red.
“You’re not supposed to see me,” she says quietly, blushing and smiling shyly.
“I thought that was before the wedding,” I say with a grin, stepping into the room and letting my eyes roam over her.
“Same thing,” she says primly, biting her lip.
I shake my head. “Nat, you look-”
“Goofy, right?” She makes a face.
“Incredible,” I say, feeling my heart hammering in my chest, somehow unable to tear my eyes away from her. “You look fucking incredible.”
Her cheeks go dark as she drops her eyes to the floor. “Thank you.”
“Honestly, it looks amazing on you.”
She looks up with a little grin on her face “Well, you’re paying for it.”
I laugh.
“Seriously though, you shouldn’t see me.”
“You know.” I lock eyes with her, stepping closer. “You keep saying that.” I reach out without saying another word and trail my hand over her silk-draped hip and up her side before trailing my fingers back down her bare arm.
“Your mother is right outside,” she whispers, staring at me with hooded eyes.
I step closer, my lips inches from hers as I lock eyes with her. And all the pent up passion, all the things I’ve wanted to say to her, and do to her for the last few says burning right into her.
Her face says the same damn thing.
“I think you should be done shopping for the day.”
She nods quickly. “I think so too.”
I duck back out through the curtain before my mom and the shopkeeper come back with some new shoes or something for Natalie to try on. I turn back and glance through the slit in the curtain once more to see her standing there in white.
And something inside of me breaks.
It’s the push and the pull, the wanting her, but not wanting to get close because I know it’ll be harder when this is all over. Because this does have an expiration date, and for the first time, I realize just how much that sucks.
38
Austin
I’m thinking about it the whole way home with her, after making up some excuse to my mom about a last minute business meeting I have with Derek.
At some point, I realize Natalie is looking at me from the passenger seat.
“What?” I glance at her.
“You’ve got this look on your face.”
I shrug. “Just thinking about practice this week.”
I can’t tell her. I mean what, tell her that I’ve having s
econd thoughts about the “fake” part of our relationship? That she’s making me better, and making me feel things I’ve never felt before?
Yeah, right. I can’t tell her that. I have to remember what this is - an arrangement, a business transaction
It can’t be more than that, because I can’t let it be more than that. We can’t keep mixing business and pleasure. God, I want her, but I have to put a stop to this. I can’t keep touching her, and tasting her, and letting her in deep like this.
That part has to end.
The car stops in the driveway, and I follow Natalie into the house, my mind a blur.
We’ll pose for pictures, we’ll do the media thing for the cameras and the interviews. Derek will be happy, my mom will be happy, and the goddamn endorsement people will be happy.
I steel myself as I turn to close the front door and hang my keys next to it. We’ll do the dog and pony show, we’ll make everyone happy, and then we’ll walk away from this.
I’m putting a stop to this right-
“Austin?”
I turn, and I instantly forget every single morose, dark thought running though my head.
She’s naked - a hungry look on her face and her sundress pooled at her feet along with her panties.
“I believe I cut my shopping trip early?”
I groan, even as the grin spreads across my face and as my cock rapidly grows inside my pants.
Fuck.
And right then, I know I’m wrong. Right then, I know every single thing I just decided in my head is utter bullshit.
I’m not putting a stop to anything right now. I’m not walking away from this - hell, I wouldn’t even know how.
She gasps when I snatch her up into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as I grab her ass and kiss her like a man possessed. There’s no floor, or couch, or kitchen this time.
This time, I want her in my bed, and I want to take my damn time.
I carry her up the stairs like that, hardly even looking where I’m going I’m so lost in those lips. I ease her down onto my bed, pulling my clothes off and crawling in after her.
I use my mouth on every goddamn inch of her, starting at her toes and moving to her lips - teasing her along the way. She squirms and gasps, vainly trying to arch her hips or her chest towards my mouth as I wickedly pass just shy of the good parts.
But that’s exactly how I want her - moaning, begging, whimpering. Craving my touch.
And when I do move down between her legs, it’s like touching her with a live-wire. Her whole body jumps off the bed as I slip my tongue along her seam, dragging it through her sweetness and lapping up every drop of her cream.
And then we make love - really, actually make love. It’s confusing and consuming, like some sort of damned drug. It’s like I’m high off of her, lost in her, drowning in those eyes and those lips.
I drive in deep, grinding into her and feeling her legs tighten around my waist, her nails dragging down my back. There’s this new fiery side to her - this powerful new part that’s opening up to me.
“Yes, yes, yes…”
Her moans are like a sweet song in my ears as she throws her head back and shatters beneath me. Her orgasm seizes through her as she holds me tightly, and she’s never looked so fucking beautiful than how she does when she comes right there and then.
I’m letting go, coming with her and gasping as I explode into her.
And this is fucking perfect.
39
Natalie
“Honey, I found the sweetest little veil you ever did see when you come out of there!”
Bernadette’s voice is muffled through the bathroom door, and I nod, if only for myself.
“Okay, thanks!”
“You sure you don’t need any help with that dress in there honey?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” My voice is distant, but I can’t help that.
Two weeks after the first visit, Austin’s mom and I are back at the dress shop, putting the finishing touches on the dress ensemble - what she’s been calling the “icing on the pie.”
The location is hardly the place where I should be doing this, but I’ve had to pee all day, even if I’ve been too scared to. I’ve been too nervous to make myself do it, but it cannot wait anymore
This is just nerves, or stress.
It’s the fortieth time I’ve said those words to myself, like some sort of TV drama cliché.
But honestly, what else do you tell yourself when you’re a week late on your period?
Yeah…that.
My hands are literally shaking as I pull open the package and take the little stick out. My pulse hammers against my chest as I pull up the elaborate white dress and crouch.
Holding the stick.
Shaking.
Nerves, that’s it.
I count breaths with my eyes closed while I let the timer on my phone count down the two longest minutes of my life. In my head, if I don’t look, it won’t be real. As long as I’ve got them tightly shut, I don’t have to see what happens next.
I won’t have to see it when my world turns upside down.
The timer dings quietly, and I slowly peel my eyes open and stare at the stick on the edge of the sink.
I can pee again.
I can definitely pee again.
I can feel the color draining from my face as I shakily unwrap a second test.
“You okay in there, honey?” Bernadette’s voice through the door scare the living daylights out of me in my focused state, almost making me drop the test.
“Yep!” I suck in a lungful of air. “Just, uh…cramps.”
God do I wish it was cramps.
A minute later, I’ve got my eyes closed all over again, the second test sitting on the sink. And I’m not a praying person, but I’m whispering to whoever the hell will listen as I wait for that timer to go off.
This can’t happen. This can’t happen, this can’t-
The timer chimes.
And, there sitting on the periwinkle blue porcelain sink, is another plus sign.
I sit, and I stare.
I’m wondering what the odds are of two false tests when the knock comes again.
“Sure I can’t get you anything sweetheart? Got some Tylenol in my bag in case you need it.”
Bernadette’s voice pulls me out of my trance. I’m suddenly moving on autopilot as I quickly flush the toilet, and wrap ten layers of toilet paper around the tests before I stuff them into the trashcan.
I look at my white-dressed reflection in the bathroom mirror.
This doesn’t mean anything.
Nothing.
I’ll go to a real doctor, and get a real test. These take-home ones are bullshit anyways.
I say it twice more before I open the door.
Wow.
Back in the dress shop, and back on top of that little pedestal by the mirror, I look like something out of a Disney movie.
White dress, glittering heels, gossamer white veil shrouding my face, just like something out of the end of Cinderella or The Little Mermaid.
Except, you know, pregnant.
I frown behind my veil at the thought. I don’t think they go there in the cartoon kid’s movies.
Bernadette is fawning all around me right alongside the shop owner. She’s bustling around clutching her hands and beaming at me, like she may actually be more excited about this than I am.
Of course, I know it’s false.
It makes me cringe, because she’s so damn sweet, and so happy that I’m married to her son.
Maybe we can stay friends after this all goes to hell.
Just think of the money. Think of why you’re doing this.
The thought makes me cringe, because it suddenly makes me think of Virginity’s whole stupid thing about “locking my man down.”
The dressing room suddenly goes a little quiet. I look up in the mirror to see the shop owner and her two assistants - who up until now haven’t been able to tell me enough how
luck I am to me married to Austin - suddenly murmuring amongst themselves in hushed tones as they shoot me furtive looks.
What?
“Oh, Nancy?” Bernadette hasn’t noticed the silence as she fusses with the trim of my gown. She turns at the lack of response and frowns. “What’s that?”
Nancy’s assistant quickly shoves the magazine behind her back. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
Nancy herself turns to me, her face white as she plasters a fake smile across it. “It’s nothing, honey, just garbage.”
I frown. “Wait, what is it?”
“Just…tabloid stuff.” Nancy turns and shoots a look at the other assistant who mumbles it out.
It’s about me.
I know from the looks on their faces that it is. It’s the same look I got from people who knew me when my dad was being hauled out of his Wall Street office and into custody.
“Oh, now this is silly! Give it here.” Bernadette deftly snatches the magazine out from the girl’s hand lets her eyes move across the cover.
Her face goes pale.
“Oh Lord Jesus.”
I can feel the chill creeping up my spine as I start to step down from the pedestal.
“Bernadette, what is it?”
She looks up at me quickly and shakes her head. “No, honey, it ain’t nothing for you to worry about. This is just garbage, it’s just lies and slander and-”
I snatch the tabloid magazine out of her hands and drop my eyes to the front.
My first thought is that of confusion as to how Tina - the catty girl from Austin’s driveway - ended up on the cover of a national tabloid magazine.
And then my eyes drop to the headline, and the bottom drops out.
“DNA Tests Confirm Football Father!”
I read it a second, and then a third time, the knife twisting a little deeper with every pass. Because the girl who’s been “lying” about Austin getting her pregnant hasn’t been lying at all.
He has.
Austin’s having a baby with another woman.
And right then, it doesn’t matter that this is fake. It doesn’t matter that we’re only “pretend” married.
What matters is the sick dread, and the pain inside.