My (Mostly) Fake Wedding: A Fake Marriage Romantic Comedy (My (Mostly) Funny Romance Series Book 2)

by Penelope Bloom

  Luna was six, and until a year ago, she hadn’t known Damon was her father. I guess good luck like that couldn’t last forever.

  Chelsea’s brother, Grant, usually showed up for things like this along with her friend, Milly, but both couldn’t come tonight.

  It was probably for the best. At least only the four of us would have to endure this lasagna.

  “How is it?” Chelsea asked. “I made sure I got the top crunchy the way you like.”

  I smiled. “You nailed that part.”

  Chelsea beamed, and I was reminded of why I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that her cooking was criminal. Even if she did have horrible taste for marrying my brother, she was sweet. And some soft part of me liked that my brother had landed himself one of the good ones, even if he didn’t deserve it.

  “Don’t like it,” Luna said. “Daddy’s food is better.”

  “Luna,” Damon warned. “Your mother’s cooking is delicious.”

  “To a goat,” Luna countered.

  A snorting sound escaped me, and I had to cover my face to stop from laughing.

  “Uh,” I said, hoping to save Chelsea from even more of Luna’s brutal honesty, “I checked out some dresses last night.”

  “Yeah?” Chelsea asked. “Did Mindy enjoy that?”

  “She wasn’t able to come. I had the wedding planner model the dresses for me instead.”

  Damon and Chelsea shared a silent look of worry.

  Damon set down his fork, giving me a look I didn’t need to be a detective to decode. “That’s all you did?”

  “She tried on dresses. I waited outside the dressing room. I voted on them. End of story.”

  Both my brother and Chelsea seemed to let out a breath they’d been holding. The original plan had been to keep even Chelsea out of the loop about our little fake engagement, but Damon had lasted less than a day before he told her. So she knew what was going on, and knew to worry that I’d wind up sticking my dick into trouble—A.K.A. the wedding planner.

  Frankly, I was worried too.

  “Were they pretty?” Luna asked.

  “She looked great in all of them.”

  “oooOoh,” Luna said. She started shimmying while making sleepy eyes and wiggling her eyebrows. “You like her.”

  Damon and Chelsea were both glaring openly at me. To be fair, if a six-year-old was seeing through me that easily, it was probably a bad sign.

  “You’re right,” I said. “The wedding planner my brother so expertly selected is really great at her job. I’m sure she’s going to make Mindy and I super happy on our wedding day.”

  “You’re marrying Milly!” Luna sputtered.

  “Mindy,” Chelsea said calmly. “Min-dee. Sweetie. Not Milly.”

  “Oh.” Luna sat back, nodding. It wasn’t the first time she’d mixed the two up. “You should’ve picked a girl with a different name. It’s too confusing.”

  I grinned.

  “What’s the wedding planner’s name?”

  “That’s not important,” Damon said.

  “Belle,” I answered.

  “Ooh, like the princess?” Luna put the back of her hand to her forehead and swooned. Then a serious look entered her face. “But Uncle Chris, you’re too cool to be the beast.”

  “Beauty and the Dumbass.” Damon said under his breath.

  Chelsea whacked his shoulder but was grinning.

  “What did he say?” Luna asked.

  “Nothing mature.” Chelsea got up and started gathering our plates, which I noticed were all still mostly untouched except Damon’s. Somehow, my brother had heroically cleaned his extra-large helping of lasagna. The things a man would do to get laid never failed to astound me. Sometimes, I thought mankind would’ve already made it to Mars if we knew we’d find pussy there.

  Half an hour later, we’d put Luna to bed and cleaned up the dishes from dinner. I joined Damon and Chelsea on the living room couches.

  “Well,” Damon said, throwing his arms out over the backrest. “Did you at least pick out a dress?”

  “Sort of.”

  “And why couldn’t Mindy make it? Doesn’t she realize this is her job right now? We’re paying her top dollar to take this seriously.”

  “Then let’s fire her.”

  Chelsea frowned. “Is that an option?”

  “No,” Damon said firmly. “The whole point of this is to make it look like Chris has settled down. An engagement out of nowhere followed by a quick break up would have the opposite effect.”

  “Maybe this plan was dumb from the start. I mean, who is going to believe I’m engaged to this woman I’ve hardly seen since our ‘engagement’ last week?”

  “The press doesn’t know you haven’t seen her. And it wouldn’t kill you to make a public appearance with her a time or two, on that note.”

  “Actually, it might.”

  Chelsea looked thoughtfully at Damon. “Why didn’t you pick someone he’d like more? It seems like this would’ve been a lot easier if they got along.”

  “I thought as long as the woman had boobs, Chris would try to sleep with her. How was I supposed to know Mindy wasn’t going to live up to his mysterious standards?”

  “Mindy is fine,” I lied. “I’ve just been busy with the team.”

  Chelsea and Damon both snorted at the same time.

  “What? You two don’t think I take my work seriously?”

  “Sorry,” Chelsea said. “I just kind of always got the impression that you showed up and let natural talent get you through it.”

  I shrugged. For some reason, I never wanted to admit to anyone how hard I actually worked. I probably would’ve needed a psychologist to help me figure out why I tried so hard to convince them I didn’t give a shit. But like always, I shrugged and showed a care-free smile. “Okay. You got me. But hey, maybe I’m just trying to take this fake engagement seriously. Damon told me to keep it in my pants, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Honestly, I expected you to sleep with your fake fiancée,” Damon admitted.

  “Disgusting,” I said, making an effort to sound as affronted as possible. “Some of us have values. Honor. Standards. I could go on, but I don’t think a brute like you would even understand.”

  Damon gave Chelsea a look like he was waiting for permission to pummel me. She shook her head and he sighed. “Would you just promise to keep your hands off the wedding planner? I don’t care if you end up sleeping with Mindy. But the wedding planner is off limits. Do you understand?”

  “I understand what you’re saying.”

  “And you agree to stay away from her?”

  “I agree it’s important that I do my best not to let the obvious sexual tension between the wedding planner and I develop into a beautiful, sensual, orgasm-filled experience.”

  Damon’s hands gripped the fabric of the sofa, making the leather creak. “Chris…”

  “I got it, I got it. Dick in my pants. I promise.”

  And that was the moment my brain decided to remind me how much trouble I could get into while my dick was firmly in my pants, but I didn’t feel like amending my promise, either.

  10

  Belle

  I tried to juggle the flower samples I was carrying and the book of fabric cutouts as I shoved open the door. My life had become a frenzied chaos of planning for what was easily the biggest wedding of my career.

  Worse, every single time I’d set up a meeting with Chris and Mindy, she came up with a last-minute excuse and didn’t show. Frankly, I was worried for the health of their relationship. I’d never worked with a bride who wasn’t practically an hour early to all our meetings and filled with bubbly excitement. It was supposed to be her big day. Her biggest day. And yet I’d only seen the woman at our first meeting. It was strange, to say the least.

  Aside from the obvious issue of trying to plan a wedding with only the groom’s input, it also meant Chris and I were spending way too much time by ourselves. In some weird, twisted way, it was even sta
rting to feel like I was planning my own wedding, since Chris’ default position was, “whatever you think is best.”

  A well-dressed waiter led me inside the restaurant where I was meeting Chris and Mindy. The whole dining room was circled by a massive aquarium that must’ve been fifteen feet tall. Colorful fish swam through brightly colored plants. A man in a scuba suit floated over my head with a net in his hand.

  My business over the last few years had made me into something of a financial success. I could shop at the grocery store without worrying if I was buying the cheapest brands. I could eat out without crunching my budget. I could even splurge on first-class seats when I had particularly long flights ahead of me. But Chris existed in a world of money that was several leagues above my own. Everything was glitzy, top-dollar, and frankly a little fascinating.

  It was like a whole subculture. There was the waitstaff of every kind, the hangers-ons who didn’t come from money, but were hoping to screw their way in from the looks of it. It was an entirely different world I’d never had access to before now.

  This restaurant was just one example. Normally, you needed to book reservations almost a year in advance to get a table, but I guess the Chris Roses of the world were worth bumping someone’s reservation back for.

  The gimmick of the restaurant was that you could literally watch them catch your dinner, and even though it had sounded silly on the website, in practice… I had to admit it was impressive.

  Everything inside the dining room was bathed in dark blue, shifting light from the water.

  Unsurprisingly, I found Chris sitting by himself at a table right against the glass of the fish tank. He was tipping back his drink but spotted me mid-sip and gave a lazy little salute.

  I set all my things down on the table and sighed. “Mindy?”

  “Take a guess.”

  I sighed. By now, I’d honestly expected as much, but I was still annoyed. “Make sure she understands the majority of these choices we’re making are time-sensitive and permanent. She’s not going to be able to come in a week before the wedding and say she hates everything purple, or that she’s allergic to tulips.”

  “I’d have to talk to her to do that.”

  “What does that even mean? Are you two fighting or something?”

  Chris was dressed well in a suit and tie. It even looked like he might’ve tried to approach his hair with a comb, but his wild, dirty blond mane was already going where it pleased.

  Chris always looked good, but something about the blue light rippling over his chiseled face and eyes was mesmerizing. I had to force myself to look just a couple inches over his head to avoid sinking into fantasy land, which I’d learned was an occupational hazard around him.

  Chris opened his mouth to say something, then furrowed his eyebrows and took another drink.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, feeling a stab of panic. Were they actually fighting? Was the wedding even going to happen? Because God knew I needed it to happen. My website was practically in flames with the negative reviews coming in, and I’d been tempted to temporarily disable the whole thing. All I knew was without Chris’ wedding, my business was very likely dead for good.

  I tried not to let my brain follow that possibility too far, but it was unavoidable. I’d lose one of the things I loved most in the world, which was getting to create the perfect day for two people who were in love. I’d lose the last thin strand of respect my father had for me. I’d lose everything.

  “You look like you might be sick,” Chris said with a touch of a grin.

  “Can you please just tell me what’s going on? No more bullshit? Because something is going on. I’ve known it since we met in your brother’s office.”

  Chris ran his tongue across his teeth, hand still on his drink. “It’s possible that a problem is developing.”

  “A problem…”

  “I don’t really know how to say this, but—”

  I could’ve screamed with frustration when a sudden clamor of voices from the entrance of the building cut Chris off. We could hear someone trying to tell everyone to stay back, and then at least a dozen men and women with cameras came rushing into the dining room.

  Guests at the other tables threw their hands up in disbelief while others pulled out phones and started recording.

  I didn’t have time to process what was happening before we were surrounded by flashbulbs and shouted questions.

  “When did you find out, Chris?” demanded a voice.

  “You can’t follow me in here,” Chris said calmly.

  “What did you think when you saw it?” another voice demanded.

  “Saw what?” Chris asked through grated teeth.

  Someone produced a cell phone with a still-frame of Mindy in a bathrobe. She looked like she was in an apartment somewhere and in the middle of one of her videos. Except the mirror behind her showed a relatively fuzzy image of a very naked, very erect man in the bathroom behind her.

  Oh shit.

  “When was this taken?” Chris asked with surprising calm.

  “Last night. Do you mean this is the first you’re seeing it?”

  The pace of flash bulbs and camera clicks rose to a fever pitch.

  Chris didn’t speak for a few seconds, then he gestured for me to stand up with him. “I guess this is as good a time as any to come clean. Mindy was a hired actress to keep you guys from harassing my real fiancée.”

  A storm of questions erupted, and I felt like pulling out my own phone and shouting a million questions at Chris right along with them. What the hell was happening?

  Chris slid his arm around me and pulled me close. Suddenly I was facing him, then he was tilting my chin up and then—

  Reality closed in around us. The camera clicks sounded muffled like I was in the fish tank instead of standing beside it. My focus zeroed in on the space between our lips. The quickly evaporating inches between the point when he’d take my heart, whether I liked it or not.

  “Chri-” I started, but it was too late.

  His lips pressed against mine. Hot. Warm. Sweet.

  He cupped my chin as he kissed me long and passionately, and when he pulled back, the sounds around me came rushing back in like a wave crashing down. Clicks. Shouts. Bright flashes of light. And so many questions.

  “Who is she?”

  “What’s her name?”

  “When were you planning to tell the public?”

  I realized half of the questions and the focus was on me, now. But Chris had his hand on my back and was guiding me through the crowd of photographers toward the exit.

  “But what about dessert,” I asked weakly.

  Chris chuckled. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

  11

  Chris

  Belle held her milkshake with trembling hands. She tried to find her straw and ended up nearly poking one of her eyes out, flinching back and then grabbing it for a sip.

  “Just try to relax,” I said.

  We were in a small diner we’d ducked into as soon as we got away from the paparazzi, and I hoped it would still be a while before any of them had a chance to find us again.

  “Relax?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to come up with a list of complaints, and I don’t even know where to start. You just-”

  “Here, let me help you. I kissed you without asking. Sorry, but I will say I thoroughly enjoyed it. And that thing you did with your tongue was a great touch. I vigorously approved. I also owe you a big explanation for the whole Mindy thing.”

  “You mean your fiancée? And why aren’t you shaking with rage right now or something? That picture made it pretty clear she’s been cheating on you.”

  “I wasn’t exactly lying when I said Mindy was a hired actress.”

  Belle’s eyebrows slowly lowered. She looked adorable with her milkshake clutched between shaking hands. I wanted to taste it on her mouth—to steal another kiss. I shouldn’t have felt relieved for what happened, but there was no use preten
ding. I was thrilled. Mindy had screwed herself out of the equation, and now there wasn’t anything except a big fat lie and some smooth-talking standing between Belle and me. At least that’s what I was hoping.

  “Explain,” she said flatly.

  So I did. I spent a few minutes walking her through the way I’d gotten myself into trouble one too many times for my coach’s taste. How I needed some epic stunt to prove I was calming down, or at least that I’d spend less time chasing after women once one had me tied down. And how it was critical that nobody except the absolute essential people knew the truth, because it had to look real.

  Belle’s nostrils were flared so wide I thought I could’ve turned her upside down and made a few three pointers in a row with my straw wrapper. She was breathing hard, and I wondered if she was thinking about tossing her milkshake in my face.

  Couldn’t say I particularly blamed her.

  “You lied to me.”

  “I prefer to say I misled you. But it wasn’t personal.”

  “It got personal the moment you stuck your dick in me, Chris.”

  Our waitress, who had just come up from behind Belle, appeared to decide it wasn’t the best time to drop off our check. She did an about-face and walked back toward the kitchen.

  Belle shielded her eyes, cheeks going red. “Did she just hear me?”

  “Yes, but please, let’s keep talking about when my dick was in you. Because that was my favorite part of this story.”

  There went the nostrils again. “This isn’t something you can dissolve with a joke, Chris.”

  “That’s why I’ve got a plan to make it up to you.”

  “I’m doubtful but listening.”

  “This fiasco just screwed up a wedding you very much needed to plan, right? Because of your failing business and all that?”

  The look she was giving me said I probably should’ve phrased that more delicately, but I pressed on.

  “What if you go along with the story I gave them? Instead of Mindy being the fake fiancée, now you get to be.”