by Lexi Whitlow
“If you’re interested then come on up to the stage over here and we’ll get everyone ready to go. Are you guys excited?” he yells to the crowd.
The crowd screams and cheers as the interested parties migrate to the stage.
“We should do it,” Freya drunkenly encourages. “I mean, it’s not really real. Everyone is wearing plastic flowers.”
I laugh. “What?”
“Yeah. It’s all-inclusive, I can only imagine what food they have.” She grins and pauses. “I’m so hungry,” she whispers.
“It’s not real, is it? Not a real wedding?” I yell up to the emcee, and he shrugs.
“Not much English,” he yells back.
I ask him again in Spanish.
“I speak Catalan,” he yells again. “Ask host—over there!”
The host is yelling at the crowd, rapidly speaking in Spanish. I follow most of it, and I understand that it’s a ceremonial wedding. Or at least I think. I don’t quite get the words, but it’s a simple dancing contest.
“Let’s get the food,” Freya says, laughing.
I want to tell her that we could get better food anytime she wanted but that’s not an option right now, so I simply agree with her. And we’ve had so much liquor that food could only help us at this point.
“Now I see your logic,” I say, smiling at her. “Well, my lady, if it’s a wedding you want then it’s a wedding you get.” With that I whisk her back to the dance floor towards the stage where the contest is being held.
We get a pair of numbers from the DJ as he explains the rules to us. We have to keep dancing—there is no stopping. If we stop then we’re out, and it doesn’t matter how we dance or what style just as long as we’re continuously moving. When it gets down to the final two couples, then the audience will vote for the winner.
“You ready to win this?” I ask her as we find a spot for us.
“Bring it!” She’s smiling and happy and I just want to take a snap shot of this moment.
With that the music begins and we start to move. It’s clear from the beginning that some of the other couples are way better dancers than us but we’re drunk and couldn’t care less. We start of dancing to the beat but by the time the third or fourth song comes on, we’re just dancing like drunken idiots who have our own beat in our heads.
Ten or so couples started the competition but soon it’s down to three. We continue to dance, and my feet are tired by this point because we’ve been at it for so long. Or maybe it hasn’t been that long at all; I’m a little drunk and time is a foreign concept right now.
One of the other couples is disqualified and it’s just down to the two teams left. The DJ makes the announcement to the crowd and we have a dance off, where the audience votes for the winner. The other couple gets a good amount of feedback from the crowd but when it’s our turn they go wild in cheering us on.
Even though we’re probably not the best dancers, they seem to like that part and it worked in our favor because we are crowned the winners and rewarded with the beach wedding.
“Can we redeem it now?” Freya asks the DJ.
“I don’t see why not. Let me find the guy you need to talk to for it to happen.” And with that he disappears.
He reappears a few minutes later with a couple of people. There’s an event planner, and he sets everything up, talking again in rapid Spanish. There isn’t an officiate—just the planner.
“Would you marry me for real? Not just a fake beach wedding?”
“Yes,” she mutters. “If there’s food and drinks and a beach!”
I laugh, and she laughs and tumbles against me. Everyone dances on, and everything is loud and raucous and insane.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Freya admits to me while we’re waiting.
“Then it’s a good thing we’re going to have our wedding feast soon then, huh?”
“You did pretty good out there on the dance floor,” she says as she starts laughing.
“I give all the credit to my super dance partner; I couldn’t have done it without her.”
I raise her hand and plant a kiss on the top. It’s sweet and charming, just like her.
We walk out to the secluded area where everything is set up and it looks perfect. I’m drunk but I know that this setting is romantic and inviting. There are white and blue flowers strung around in artful groupings. There’s a small table set up for two and the candlelight twinkles in the darkness. The stars above reflect off the water behind the table and its perfection. Much like the girl standing next to me.
Freya is silent as she takes in the same view I am.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
She smiles and turns her head to me. “It’s not bad for a free wedding. Not bad at all.”
I grab her hand and we walk to the little table. I pull out her chair and she sets down looking out over the water. I sit down across from her and in this moment there is nowhere else I’d rather be. She’s all I want and she’s right here in front of me.
A waiter comes out and bring us some champagne to celebrate. He pours us each a glass and then sets it in the ice bucket that’s conveniently sitting next to the table. He disappears for a few minutes but returns shortly with our first course.
“This is heaven,” Freya moans as she takes her first bite, then second.
I instantly picture her saying that as she works my cock with her mouth, but there’s always time for that later.
We devour the rest of the appetizer and drink down the first glass or champagne, then pour another. We’re happy and chatting about everything and nothing.
The next course comes out and it smells insanely good. This is supposed to be a ten course meal but I’m not sure I’ll make it that far if I eat every last bite of what’s being set in front of me. I have experience with making it though formal dinners but I want this one to go on forever because Freya’s enjoying herself so much.
I am too though, there’s no question about that.
Our bottle of champagne is replaced again and again as we move through all of the courses.
A couple of hours later, and we’re wasted at this point, but the amazing food did help. It was definitely worth all the dancing we had to do to get it.
This was by far the best fake wedding ever. We even did fake vows with the event planner. Fake rings and fake flowers too.
The gold is already peeling off of my ring when we stumble away from the beach.
We get in a cab with streamers and cans tied to it and head back to the villa to celebrate our fake marriage but when we arrive all we do it pass out in my bed. Still clothed and dead tired.
11
Freya
I wake up feeling like my whole world is spinning. I close my eyes again trying to stop the spinning and I groan when it doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m lying in Andreas’ arms. We’re spooning, and I can feel his hardness against my backside. He’s still asleep but I can’t resist a moment to mess with him, which is even more pressing since I’m leaving today.
I slowly wiggle my hips, making sure not to move too fast since my head hurts. I keep moving, rocking back and forth until I feel Andreas’ hand grip my ribs. He nuzzles my neck and runs his hand up to my breast.
Neither one of us speaks, too hung over from the night before but it’s clear that our bodies still hunger for each other.
His hand moves down to my center and he strokes me slowly with his fingers until I’m ready for him. I lift my ass just enough and he takes the hint, placing his cock right at my entrance. He pulls my face to his and kisses me as he enters me, giving me every inch of him.
He rocks himself slowly into me, and then out, and it’s like we’re both savoring this moment where it’s just us. The rest of the world doesn’t matter, all that matters is the way he fills me completely and makes me his.
His hands grip my hips harder and I pull his head down and run my fingers in his hair, grabbing tight when he hits just the right spot. We come together at
the same time and collapse on the bed in a sweaty tangled mess.
Andreas falls back to sleep quickly, and I know that if I stay in bed with him there’s a chance that I might never leave. So, I place a quick kiss on his forehead and get up to take a shower.
It takes me a while to walk the short distance to the oversized shower stall, but I make it and turn the water on hot, hoping that will help my hangover. I’m yawning because I’m so tired but at least I will be able to get some sleep on the plane ride back to Scotland. I’m counting on it.
The water planes over my skin and it feels divine. I look down and my feet are so dirty and grimy that the water is brown as it washes away the sand and salt.
“We were at the beach,” I murmur. “And we drank. Oh my God, we drank so much.” I laugh a little, but it hurts my head.
I take my time in the shower and even use Andreas’ body wash so that I’ll smell like him when I get home. It was either that or steal one of his shirts which I don’t think he’d be too happy about.
I finally turn off the water and dry myself off with the fluffiest towel ever. I think I might steal it too but decide against it. I get dressed and notice that my phone has gone off. It was sitting on the counter the whole time, but I didn’t hear it go off.
Thinking that it’s Ally, I’m surprised when I see that it’s from Kirk the Jerk instead. I don’t even bother to look at them because I’ve had the best time with Andreas and I don’t want Kirk to interfere with that. I place it in my back pocket and leave the bathroom.
Andreas is up when I walk back into the bedroom. He’s guzzling a glass of water and holding a bottle of what looks like Spanish ibuprofen. “Want some?” he asks.
“Absolutely.” I grab the bottle and place a few pain relievers in my hand. I drink them down and Andreas says that he’s going to take a shower too.
I sit down on the bed and close my eyes, listening to the water running. It’s calming but I can’t stop thinking about what that idiot jerk might want. I sigh as I pull out my phone and open the messages.
I have to read the entire message a few times before I can comprehend what he’s saying. Basically, he’s apologizing for his behavior, taking the blame for the mess he created, and that he still wants to get married and have the perfect life that we’d had planned. Oh yeah—and he’s coming to Scotland to see me so that we can discuss this face to face.
Fucking Kirk… Why now???
Kirk coming to Scotland is the last thing I want to happen and I want to call him right now and tell him to stay at home where he belongs but then I would have to tell Andreas what was wrong and I don’t want to spoil our remaining time together clouded by issues with Kirk.
Kirk can wait until I get back and if he comes all the way to Scotland for nothing then that’s his fault not mine. He’s the one that cheated on me in the first place so maybe its karma working in my favor.
The water shuts off and I put my phone away.
Andreas comes out in just a towel and Kirk is that farthest thing from my mind. He sees me staring at him and he comes over and wraps me up in his arms.
“This isn’t the end, Frey,” he assures me as he kisses me. “Anything but. Our time isn’t over just yet.”
I don’t answer him because I'm afraid if I open my mouth then I’ll start to cry, and I don’t want him to see me so vulnerable. He rubs my hair and I kiss him with every feeling that I have for him. It’s a goodbye kiss and it’s bittersweet.
“I finally have your number,” he says.
“You can use it,” I mutter softly.
But really, I’m not sure I expect him to.
When I’m sitting on the plane a couple of hours later, I’m still not sure what to do about anything. However, there is one thing that is blindingly clear to me. Kirk is no longer an option. Andreas has made me feel more in a short time than Kirk ever did in the entirety of our relationship. Plus, Andreas never cheated on me and sent me the picture.
Sighing, I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, wishing that I was in Andreas’ arms instead.
Beside me, Ally is already lightly snoring.
She hasn’t said a word about Caelan, and I’m not entirely sure she will.
12
Andreas
I mope around my room after Freya leaves. I feel unsettled about it. I know that we made drunken promises to see one another after this but I can’t take that at face value. I need a more concrete answer that she’s going to want to see me.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when there’s a knock on the door. I open it and Caelan is standing there with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey. I wanted to check on you and see how you were holding up since Freya left.”
Even with Caelan’s gruff, formal exterior, he actually cares about me. I give him a wry grin. “I’m okay I guess.”
“I was going to go grab some lunch, want to come too?” he asks me. “Maybe that seafood place you like so much?”
He’s baiting me to come but I really do love that restaurant, so he’s not twisting my arm that hard to go. “Sure thing.”
We walk out into the warm, breezy day, ambling along and talking to the few locals we know along the way. It takes twice as long as usual, but we finally arrive at the restaurant. It’s not very busy and it doesn’t take long to get our food once we order.
“Father called me this morning,” he tells me.
“It must be important if he was calling you instead of Mother,” I joke, but just barely. Our father is always the bearer of important news, or so he thinks.
“Tell me about it.”
“So, what did he have to say?”
“Eleanora Arconti’s parents have accepted the arranged marriage deal.” He pauses and gestures for the waiter to bring him a beer. “We’ve known this was coming. We’ve been betrothed for years. It’s just… very official now.”
I sigh. “Shit, man. I mean—it’s what we’ve expected for years. You’ve known about it for a long time.”
“It’s just soon. The spring, I think.”
“She’s pretty.”
He gives me a look. “Yes, and we haven’t seen each other since we were twelve. And I don’t think we even got along during that particular trip to Paris.”
“People change.”
“They do,” I say. I take a long drink of my own beer and start in on the mussels that have been delicately braised in saffron and cardamom. “Maybe it’ll be like Mother and Father. Destined to be, that kind of thing. They love each other. Or at least I think they do.”
Caelan gives a sardonic laugh. “I guess I’ve always assumed so. They put up a good front, anyhow.”
“She’s not blonde.”
Caelan gives me a look that can only be classified as deadly. “No, but she’s intelligent, educated, and makes for a strong political alliance. From what I understand, there’s nothing disreputable or difficult about her. A good match.”
“But it’s 2018.”
“Not in Bellecoaste. I’ve known about this my entire life, Andreas. It’s not something you have to worry about… but it’s a requirement of my position as future king. Certain developments make it more complicated… but…”
His voice trails off. I know about complications. I’ve experienced them myself—and I didn’t have the balls to reveal who I am to Freya. I can only guess Caelan is talking about Allison. I’m not good at the emotional support stuff, so we eat instead. After a while, I clear my throat, and Caelan looks at me.
“How serious is this arrangement? Is it something that you can get out of?”
“Right now, I don’t have very many details. I’m sure I’ll be briefed when we get back.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry that you have to marry someone you don’t know. I’m glad that I don’t have to worry about that.”
Caelan frowns at me from across the table. “How much of last night do you remember?” he asks carefully.
“Um, Freya and I were hanging out on the
beach and then we went into the club to get some drinks. After that everything is a little fuzzy, but I remember dancing. There was definitely lots of dancing.”
“Anything else?”
I close my eyes and try to remember the details, but nothing is coming to mind. “Nope.”
“So, nothing about your own wedding?”
“What are you talking about? What wedding? I’m pretty sure I would know if I got married,” I say sarcastically.
“Your wedding to Freya.”
My body freezes. My heart stops beating, and I can’t even picture what he’s saying. “Freya?”
He shakes his head yes. “You two won some dance competition where the grand prize was an all-inclusive wedding on the beach. You guys chose to do it last night so that you could eat the crazy delicious dinner they had prepared for it.”
My mind whirls, and I try to remember what he’s saying. “We actually got married? It was fake. It was a gimmick—I heard them talking about it in Spanish.”
“Your Spanish is shit,” Caelan says. “It always has been.”
“Fuck off.”
“I wasn’t there for the whole thing, but Ally and I watched you two ride away in a car decked out with wedding decorations.”
I scratch my head, thinking. “So, let me get this straight. Freya and I participated in a dance competition to win a wedding just so that we could eat the food part of it? And no one was there to witness if the wedding was actually real?” I tap my head, trying to remember more, but even that hurts. “I vaguely recall that I confirmed that it was fake. It was for the dinner. The experience. The event planner married us.”
He nods. “Sounds about right.”
“An event planner.”
“Who happens to be a licensed officiate, or at least I think. The guy I talked to spoke Catalan. And I don’t,” Caelan says, giving me a look.
“That’s ludicrous. I remember the dance competition and the food. And the fake ceremony getting set up and not much after that.”