Faking It For Mr. Right

by Penny Wylder

  I shift this way and that in the mirror to study myself from every angle. The dress, a simple A-line dress with a few crystals embedded along the train, hugs my curves and flares out around my waist, flowing down over my legs. Since it’s only been two months since we got engaged, I’m not showing yet. We haven’t told anybody. We plan to wait until I’m out of the risk zone, into my second trimester. Then we’ll announce it, to a lot of congratulations, I’m sure. It’s not like Xander’s family aren’t all hoping that we’ll start having kids soon, anyway.

  I still feel a little bit of guilt over keeping this particular fact of the wedding from my bestie. But at least I’m not lying about the engagement itself anymore. Everything is real, now. And despite her earlier concerns, Devan has been on board the whole time, helping me plan the wedding in a whirlwind, with a ton of help from both Xander’s family as well, of course.

  As for Devan, she just moved here, to a cute little apartment in Brooklyn. She refused to accept financial help, but she did let Xander find her a job at a friend’s restaurant in the city. She’s bartending now, something she always wanted to try, but which Bob would never let her do because he insisted that bartenders needed to be men.

  From what I hear, Devan’s already got a whole list of regulars who swear by her cocktails, and the manager of the bar likes her so much he gave her the weekend shifts, where she earns the most money in the least amount of time. Between that and all the extra time she’s been spending with Andrew since moving to the city, I’d say my best friend’s life is poised to take off in the same way mine has.

  “What?” Devan catches my eye in the mirror. “You’re grinning like an idiot, you know that?”

  “I know.” But I don’t stop grinning. “I’m just… really happy.”

  “Good. You should be on your wedding day.” Devan leans in and air-kisses my cheek without quite touching me, careful not to smudge my makeup. “I still think this is all happening really fast.”

  “I know,” I reply. “But it feels right.”

  She reaches down to squeeze my hand, smiling. “Then that’s all that really matters, in the end.” She holds my gaze, her own bright. “Much as I hate to give you up,” she adds, “I’m pretty sure you picked the perfect guy. Xander’s great, and he really does seem like he’s going to take good care of you. To give you the life you deserve.”

  “I know.” I smile back. “And I plan to take care of him too. To give him the wife he never even realized he wanted.”

  She laughs at that, and I join in. Then she winks. “And if he ever does misbehave, well, you know who to send in to kick his ass for you.”

  I snort. “Pretty sure that won’t be necessary.”

  “Just saying. Offer’s on the table.” Devan grins. Just then, someone knocks on the door to the dressing room where we’ve been preparing. She leaps to it, ready to hold it shut if need be. “Who is it? Xander can’t see her yet.”

  “I know,” replies Patricia’s voice, muffled. “It’s just me.”

  With a grin, Devan flings the door wide, and Patricia actually gasps when she lays eyes on me.

  “Is that a good sign?” I ask, turning a little so she can see me from every angle.

  Her eyes will with tears. “You look beautiful.” She sniffs with effort, blinking hard to steady herself. “Sorry, I’m such a crier. I’m going to sob during the vows.”

  I laugh. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone you’ve got such a soft spot for weddings.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s not just weddings. It’s my little brother’s wedding. I never thought he’d meet his match. But he really has, in you. You two are just so sweet together.”

  I press my lips together tightly, to suppress a swell of feeling.

  Devan rolls her eyes and grasps my arm. “Don’t get her started. She can’t cry or she’ll smudge her makeup.”

  “Right. Of course.” Patricia straightens her shoulders and smooths back a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “Anyway, I’ve been sent to fetch you. We’re almost ready for the processional.”

  We opted not to do a big church wedding. Most of Xander’s extended family wouldn’t be able to fly into the city on such short notice anyway, so it’s just his close friends and family, as well as mine. Even Bob came, although I have a feeling he just did it as an excuse to get into the city for a few days. Or maybe because he’s hoping Xander will overpay him for a customer argument again, who knows. But all told, we still only had around 50 people, which is why we decided to hold the ceremony someplace special, that holds unique meaning.

  Which is how I wound up in the little back office of Xander’s mother’s old bookshop, putting the finishing touches on my wedding day outfit.

  Patricia takes my hand, and Devan takes the other. They’re both dressed in rose, as my two bridesmaids, and Devan has a little bouquet to symbolize her position as my maid of honor. Together, they walk me to the makeshift aisle we’ve created, weaving between bookcases up to the front of the store. It’s a space that used to be used, Xander told me, for author readings back when his mother ran the shop. He hopes to one day open it back up and use it to host author appearances again.

  For now, though, it makes for a perfect wedding venue. The stacks on either side are as beautiful as any church arches would be, and there’s just enough space for all of our guests to fit in comfortably, their heads turned toward the back of the aisle, waiting for me.

  Up front, we pushed the front table and cash register off to the side, and instead put up a trellis that Patricia’s friend, a set designer on Broadway, helped create. It’s a broad, arched canopy of green leaves and twisting floral vines, interspersed with twinkling fairy lights, that creates an almost dreamlike feel in the space. Devan added some decorations of her own—little folded paper swans she made out of the pages from damaged books.

  When Xander first reopened the store, he found that some of the stock had been damaged, from leaks in the roof and mice nesting in other stacks of old books, ones that had never been categorized or shelved. He lamented the loss, but Devan found a way to repurpose them. To turn them into decor for our special day. Even the covers float up there from the ceiling, dangling on wires so they look like birds made out of books, flying overhead.

  I hold my breath as I peek between the shelves, trying to stay hidden from view of the front while still taking a look at who all is here. I spot the little contingent from our town, including Devan’s mother, who’s like my own adopted second mom. In front of them sit Xander’s family. Patricia’s husband wrestles their two children into their seats, and Marco stands up front, while his wife corrals his daughter in the front. Xander’s dad is in the front row, and even from here, I can already see the happy tears staining his cheeks.

  Then music starts, from somewhere near the back of the store. A violinist playing a soft, slow tune.

  Xander comes around from the side of the far bookcase, to stand next to the altar where the minister waits. My heart skips a beat.

  He looks incredible.

  His tuxedo is pressed and perfectly tailored. His hair is in its usual stylish mess, like he’s not even trying but it’s just always that perfect. His dark gray eyes are bright with emotion, his face solemn, yet not somber. His gaze is fixed on the back of the store, waiting.

  For me, I realize.

  And suddenly, I don’t want to keep him waiting any longer. Any fears I felt at the idea of walking through this crowded store, all the way up to the front, to pledge myself in front of all these people, melt away. All I want to do is be with Xander, right now. I want to make this marriage real and official. I want to promise to be his for the rest of our lives together.

  I want that life to start right now.

  The music shifts into my processional. Patricia walks up the aisle first, and Devan squeezes my hand one last time before she turns to walk next. Finally, it’s my turn. I grip my bouquet in both hands and suck in a deep breath. Up front, the whole bookshop full of people
rise to their feet, their gazes turned back, on me.

  Then I start to walk, in tune to the music, one step at a time.

  Everyone smiles and beams and whispers. I notice cameras flash, and people pointing, gaping, grinning as they talk about me. The dress, how I look, how this is going. But I tune them all out. I have eyes only for Xander, up front, his hands folded in front of himself.

  His eyes find mine, and the astonished look that spreads across his face nearly stops me dead in my tracks. He looks like he’s just won the lottery. Like he can’t believe his luck.

  Tears sting at the backs of my eyes. My feet stumble, and it’s all I can do to keep moving, keep walking.

  But I do. Because Xander’s waiting for me. And the way he’s looking at me now gives me strength. The kind of strength I never even knew I had.

  I reach the front of the room, struggling to suppress my smile. But when Xander winks, I can’t do it anymore. I let it break across my face, a huge, stupid grin that feels both out of place and perfectly right here, where it’s just the two of us, about to pledge ourselves to one another.

  “Please, be seated, guests,” the minister says, and my heart skips a beat.

  Throughout the whole ceremony, a short but meaningful one that we planned ourselves with the minister’s help, I can’t tear my gaze from Xander’s. Nor can he drag his from mine, it seems. His eyes bore into me, giving me strength, bearing me up. When he reads his vows, though, I nearly do lose it.

  “Melanie, I promise to love and to cherish you, to care for you, and yes, to spoil you rotten,” he adds, and I can’t help it. I let out a faint, weak laugh. “For as long as we both shall live. You are the light of my life, and I’ll show you just how much you mean to me, every day.”

  My throat wells up, choked tight with emotion. Behind me, I hear faint sobs, and I’m not sure whether they’re coming from Patricia or Devan or maybe both.

  “Xander.” I flash him a watery smile. “I promise to love and to cherish you, to care for you in sickness and in health. For as long as we both shall live. You taught me what life can really be, you opened my horizons, and I pledge to do the same for you, every day.”

  His eyes go watery, tears swimming along the edges. Then he reaches back to accept the ring from Marco, and when he slides it onto my finger, it feels right. Like finally coming home after a long time away, to a place I never even knew I belonged.

  When I give him the ring that Devan hands me, an even louder sob interrupts us. We both glance over to find Xander’s father weeping, a handkerchief pressed to his face, and we both exchange grins, unable to resist. We know he’s just as happy for his son as we are that we found one another.

  And in some strange way, I guess we both have Xander’s father’s weird rules to thank for forcing us together in the first place.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” the minister announces, and Xander draws me to him, his lips finding mine. I lean back, his arms supporting me as he tilts me back, our kiss deep and slow and sweet, filled with the promises we just made aloud to one another a moment before.

  When we break apart, the whole store erupts in cheers and applause. The recessional starts to play, and Xander hooks his arm through mine to lead me back up the aisle, this time, the two of us together. As we walk, he leans down to whisper in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek.

  “Now this bookstore is special for a whole new reason,” he murmurs, and the words send a thrill through me, make my belly tighten and my pulse skip in my veins.

  I lean against him ever so slightly as we head toward the end of the aisle, our elbows brushing and my dress swirling around his legs as we walk. I have to rise up on tiptoe to whisper back, but he bends toward me to catch the words. “I can’t wait to read to our child in here as they’re growing up, the same way your mother did for you.” I smile at him, and he freezes mid-step in the middle of the aisle to look at me.

  For a second, I worry I said something wrong. Brought up a painful memory he didn’t want to think about today. But instead, a huge smile splits his face and he leans in to kiss me again, to the sound of renewed whooping and cheering from our friends and family. His hands snake around my waist and he dips me backward, he kisses me so hard, until I can barely keep upright on my feet. I wrap my arms around his neck and laugh into the kiss. When we break apart, we’re both grinning at one another.

  This is the happiest day of my life, I realize. As cheesy and weird and wild as that sounds, it truly is.

  “I love you,” we say at the same time, both of us breathlessly happy, stunned by this reality, which still feels like a movie to me some days.

  His mouth finds mine again, slower and surer this time. My lips part beneath his, letting him claim my mouth, letting him kiss me with every ounce of the heat and passion we always feel between us when we’re together. Right now, we have our reception, on the second floor of the bookstore, where one of Patricia’s other many friends offered to prepare food and drinks for us. We have hours of celebrations, toasts, speeches from our friends and families, and plenty of embarrassing family traditions of Xander’s to adhere to.

  But after that, I know, he’ll carry me home to our penthouse apartment, lifting me into his arms as we cross the threshold into the building. After all of this, we’ll go home together and prove all over again, with our bodies, just how much we love one another. Just how perfectly the two of us fit together when we’re alone in the night air with each other.

  And I can’t wait for that either. I can’t wait to start our life together, just the two of us.

  Well. Just the three of us, I guess. When we pull apart again, as if he’s reading my mind, Xander’s hand skates around the edges of my hips to come to rest, his palm flat, against my belly, just for a second. We share a secret, sly grin.

  Or maybe not so sly. Weeks later, after we’ve announced it, the wedding pictures will emerge. And right there will be a photo of the two of us, frozen in the middle of the aisle of the bookshop, Xander’s hand on my belly and our gazes locked, as our friends and family blow bubbles and cheer around us.

  The three of us, together for the first time. Ready to begin our new life as a family.

  16

  Xander

  “You can do this, Melanie. Push!” I hear the doula’s voice, followed by Devan echoing the cheer. Then my wife lets out a guttural roar, followed by a string of curses that make me grin.

  Until she notices and narrows her eyes, and I flinch back to my seat on the sidelines.

  It’s late at night on a Wednesday, and our baby is about to be born. When Melanie went into labor earlier, she teased me for how much more panicked I seemed than she did. I raced around the house trying to make sure we had everything we’d need. I must have checked at least a dozen times over before Andrew finally stormed up from the garage and demanded we go.

  The whole car ride, I couldn’t relax. I stuck to Melanie’s side, holding her hand, letting her grip tightly whenever she needed. Because a million worries chased themselves through my mind: what if something went wrong, what if something got complicated, what if I lost her? I couldn’t lose her. I needed her. I never even knew how much until we found each other, but now… I can’t imagine a life without her.

  But Melanie, as usual, proved the stronger one. She reached over to grip my hand and pinned me with a look. “Trust me,” she said, before another contraction took hold and made her growl with pain.

  I held onto her hand, let her clench mine as hard as she needed to. But after that, my worries faded. Because I do trust her. More than anyone. And she can do this.

  But nobody warned me how bad the nerves would be in this scenario. Just waiting on the sidelines, helpless, hoping.

  Out in the waiting room, Marco, Patricia and Dad have already assembled, ready to meet the newest member of the family. Marco slapped me on the back when we arrived, and Dad pumped my hand, telling me to be strong, that we’d get through this soon. Patricia just hugged Melanie and offered her
a knowing look, before Devan arrived to take her place at Mel’s side.

  Now it’s all down to her.

  Another groan erupts from her side of the hospital bed, and my whole body tenses with worry. I dart to her side and smooth back stray hairs from Melanie’s forehead. “Come on, you can do this,” I whisper. “I love you.”

  She flashes me a look that’s part anguish, part gratitude, and reaches for my hand. “I love you too,” she whispers back, until another contraction hits. “Fucker,” she adds, with a growl, and I can’t help it. I laugh, and look up to find Devan snickering too, though she keeps her gaze averted from mine, trying to pretend she isn’t.

  Eventually, though, she can’t resist, and Devan shoots me a conspiratorial grin. I grin back, thinking about Andrew and the ring box I spotted in the front seat of the car the other day when he was climbing out of it to leave after work at the end of a drive. It makes me happy, to know they found one another. Andrew has always been one of my best, most reliable employees, not to mention a truly good person. And Devan seems to be much the same. She’s a hard worker, already working her way to the top of the bar she’s been tending. Her name has appeared in several foodie magazines as the top mixologist to visit in the city, in only the less than a year that she’s been living here.

  She’ll go far. And Andrew with her, too. I can’t wait to attend their wedding, the same way they came to ours.

  Melanie groans again, and I refocus my attention on her. The doula glances up at me. “Any moment now,” she murmurs, low enough that Mel can’t hear through her own screams.

  She pushes again, and that’s when I hear it. A faint, wailing cry that nearly stops my heart in my chest. Our baby.

  Melanie looks at me, her eyes huge and wide, then darts a glance to the lower end of the table. The doula sweeps the baby away to clean it quickly, and a doctor steps in to examine Mel. But neither of us are paying attention. We’re bent close to one another, our breaths held, waiting.