by Mysti Parker
Avery blurts out, “We’re married!”
My stomach lurches. So much for that secret fake wedding plan.
Both women’s gazes meet mine, their faces awash in slack-jawed astonishment.
Their mother snaps out of it first and turns her fiery gaze on Avery, who takes half a step back. “What? Married! How? When? Why weren’t we invited? Where’s your ring? You haven’t left town, so what about your honeymoon? There was nothing in the paper!”
Now I know where Avery gets her tendency to ramble.
“Mom.” She finally firms up her fragile expression, takes her mom’s shoulders, and looks her in the eye. “I deal with weddings all the time. We just wanted to keep it quiet. No fuss. Just a judge and…as soon as we can take off from work, we’re going on a honeymoon. And we were going to come see the family as well. Um, Jack, this is Doris by the way, and my sister Astraea.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” I say as politely as a naked man standing on one foot in a tub can.
Doris completely ignores my attempt at civility. “And the ring?”
“It’s on order,” Avery says. “Jack is having a set custom-made in South Africa. They’re running behind, but it’ll be a one-of-a-kind set.”
“There’s a jewelry store on Main. They do special orders all the time,” Astraea adds, then shrugs, grinning as though she enjoys egging them on. “And why are you still here in this crummy apartment? Doesn’t he have a big house off the bypass?”
That draws Doris’s gaze to mine again, her face wrinkled in an impatient frown.
“That’s what I said! I told her, Avery, you know we can just ditch this place and live in the house, but see, I have a lot of roommates.”
“Roommates?” Her head juts forward like she might come flying at me. “What do you mean, roommates?”
“Pets, Mom,” Avery says, touching her shoulder, which seems to calm her.
Damn, Doris is a fiery one. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
“She’s allergic to my…um, parrot.”
Astraea lowers her head, pinning me with a ‘bullshit’ glare.
“And my iguana.”
Doris shivers. “Oh, I see.”
Reptile revulsion must run in the family.
I’m on a roll, so why stop now? “They’re rescue animals.” I swear Doris’s expression just softened. Hell, I’ve been using that to my advantage for a while. Women just love men who take in homeless animals. “So until I find homes for them, we’re sleeping here for now.”
Doris nods, uncrossing her arms. It seems I’ve been convincing enough for her. Astraea, on the other hand, is standing a little way behind her. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. She’s totally onto us. Whether she’ll keep that to herself is yet to be seen.
“Honey, you should have told us. As parents of the bride, we’re supposed to be involved in this,” Doris says, patting Avery on the cheek. Her face brightens. “The whole family will be in next month for Collect Rocks Day. Why don’t you come stay for the weekend so the family can meet your new husband? With all you girls there, we can help you plan a small wedding there on the farm. It’ll be beautiful.”
Avery pales again, her eyes flicking to me. All I can offer is a subtle shrug. What else can I say? She needs to have a wedding anyway…
“Um, sure, Mom, that would be nice. Wouldn’t it, Jack?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Once Leigh’s wedding is over, we can plan on that. I have some surplus things and some ideas I’ve wanted to try for some of my clients. It’s the perfect time to test them.” A smile spreads across her face, and you can see the wheels turning – Avery’s fake wedding plan coming to fruition. Except now the news will be all over the county, which is going to make it really damn hard to break it off without some weird-ass excuse that makes one or both of us look bad.
Besides getting too attached, that’s the one thing I want to avoid. I open my mouth to call the whole thing off, but Avery looks so happy and relieved now, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Shit. Is our sexcapade worth all this pretending?
I know what the answer is when she shoos them out, gets my clothes from the bedroom, and comes back.
Avery whispers, “Thank you,” and kisses me softly, the kind of tender touch that makes a man know that she’s into him for more than his dick or his money. The kind that makes a man want more than just sex.
That’s when I know a fake wedding is the least of my worries.
Chapter Ten
Avery
A quick kiss is all I leave Jack with before I rush my mom and sister out the door. We pile into Mom’s Prius and head to Cracker Barrel. I ride shotgun since riding in the back makes me dizzy and carsick, which sucks because I feel Astraea’s stare the whole ride there.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were dating him?” Mom asks, tossing me a skeptical glance. She’s suspicious, as well she should be, but then again I know she’s holding on to the hope that I’m finally settling down. Right or wrong, that’s a power I can leverage.
“I don’t know,” I answer, picking my cuticles. “He’s a very private person, doesn’t like a lot of fuss.”
Astraea huffs a quiet laugh from the back seat.
Firming my stance on this farce, since I’m too far in to back out now, I add, “We’ve been dating a few months. He wasn’t sure he wanted to get married at first, but we just kind of…fell in love, right? So we said, hey why not just do it? Then we can let everyone know later. Also, Leigh’s getting married soon, so I don’t want to take any focus off her wedding.”
The reality settles heavy in my chest. I’m so happy for Leigh, but at the same time, all I can manage is a fake wedding for myself and a web of lies that keeps getting bigger. Maybe I should just come clean, face the storm, admit it’s all a sham, and Jack and I are nothing more than lovers. The dust will settle eventually, and the plan could get back on track.
I take a deep breath, ready to confess.
My cell phone buzzes. On the screen is a Facebook status update from Astraea: OMG, my sister Avery’s getting married! And you’ll never guess to who—Dr. Jack Maddox! We’re all so excited. Details TBA.
My jaw drops, as does my phone, right between the seat and console. I jam my hand into the tight space, trying to fish it out so I can comment that it’s just Astraea pulling everyone’s leg. It buzzes again from its hiding place. Damn it!
As my fingers finally catch hold of the phone, I give Astraea a death glare. She just smiles back and waves her phone at me. I pull mine out, holding my breath, hoping no one’s noticed yet. Half the freaking county is on Facebook, even though a lot of them still think debit cards are witchcraft.
My heart sinks when I see the screen. There goes my shot at a confession before the news spreads. Comments and likes are already popping up, along with a few angry faces – those are probably from Jack’s flings. How badly might they complicate things?
Luckily, Mom’s not on Facebook as far as I know. But all my siblings are, and even Dad is for the business.
“That’s wonderful for Leigh,” Mom says, seemingly unaware of our silent war. “But you deserve a nice wedding, too. We’ll throw you a wonderful one.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Mom. I can put it all together.”
“Nonsense. It’s our job to do that.”
“Her husband has a lot of money, Mom,” Astraea says. “We can plan it. Let him pay for it. We’ll get Cousin Bill to roast a pig, and we can play horseshoes. Saul can bring his cannon too. That gospel quartet from the Pentecostal church can perform. They’re easy to book.”
I catch Astraea’s evil grin in the rearview mirror. She’s totally eating this up.
“They’re easy to book because they’re horrible,” I say.
“Don’t judge people who are sincerely worshipping the Lord,” Mom reprimands. “They’ll be happy to do it and probably won’t charge anything.”
Hand to my forehead, I groan inwardly. At this rate, t
hey’ll put together some kind of mismatched, redneck shindig that will be the laughing stock of Country Brides & Grooms Magazine.
Time to put my foot down. “No. Listen, this is my wedding. I want to plan it. That’s what I do. You can help and host, but I do the organizing. Got it?”
They’re both quiet for a moment.
“Fine,” Mom says with a shrug. “I thought you said you didn’t want to bother with all that.”
“Well, now that it seems I must have a wedding, I want to do it my way.”
“At least you’re marrying money so you won’t have to keep working in that little shop of yours.”
It’s all I can do to not open the door and jump out of the moving car, but I can’t risk another blow to the head, or I may lose my last marble. What have I gotten myself into?
∞∞∞
Cracker Barrel, as usual, is hopping. Older couples mostly, but also a few families with young kids in high chairs. The little ones scribble on the kiddie menus with crayons while the older folks play the peg game and sip their coffee, their chats adding to the dull roar of conversation.
And then there’s Astraea, quietly basking in her smug glow as our mother talks about throwing a wedding shower with the ladies’ auxiliary and worrying that they might think I’m a whore for not marrying in a church.
After we order, Mom heads to the ladies’ room, leaving me with Astraea and her smugness.
As soon as Mom’s out of earshot, she laughs. “What the fuck is up with you, Ave? Why not just admit you’re sleeping with him and not married?”
“You know why. And what’s with the potty mouth? Does Mom know about that?” Technically, she’s my older sister, but we were long-since taught to rebuke any of our siblings who use foul language. It’s instinct by now.
She rolls her eyes and stirs an ungodly amount of cream into her coffee. “You’re a grown woman, Ave. What’s Mom going to do? Whip you with a switch? Take away your car keys? She’ll pitch a fit, but so what? She’ll get over it.”
“Is that why you’re rubbing my face in it?”
“Hell yeah. It’s hilarious. Everyone knows Jack Maddox isn’t the marrying kind. I think Mom even knows that, too, but hey, he’s rich.”
“That’s not why I’m marrying him.”
“Or not marrying him, you mean?”
The waitress brings a basket of biscuits to the table and sets it between us. She gives us a subtle, curious look that means she’s heard our conversation but isn’t quite sure who’s involved. I know her distantly from high school, so I can only imagine what gossip may fly around in the kitchen.
Once the waitress is gone, I grab a biscuit from the basket and try to pull it apart. It crumbles and falls on my plate. Figures. “Can you keep it quiet, for God’s sake? And why did you announce it on Facebook?”
“Because it’s hilarious.”
“It’s not funny. I could totally strangle you right now.” I try to open a butter packet but end up turning back my thumbnail. “Shit!”
I suck in a breath and stick the tip of my thumb in my mouth. People start staring, shocked I’m sure that the Price girls are spewing such profanity over breakfast.
Astraea sips her coffee, adds more cream. “Oh, come on, Ave. Just wait a couple of days and tell Mom he cheated on you so you got a divorce.”
“A divorce? I might as well have started worshipping the devil if she thinks I did that. And I can’t go tarnishing his name like that.”
“Like that would be a stretch? It’s more likely he’d cheat on you than marry you, if what I hear is true.” Astraea takes a biscuit, easily pulls it apart in perfect halves, and proceeds to open a butter packet as gracefully as an actress in a butter commercial. Figures.
“Well, it’s not.”
“Avery, seriously, why are you doing this? It’s not like you. I mean, I know you have that”—she pokes her forehead—“brain thing. Is that it?”
I try another biscuit, this time successful at halving it. “Why do you think everything I do is because of my brain injury?”
“Isn’t it? At least that’s what Mom thinks.”
“No she doesn’t. Does she?”
“Why do you think she’s babied you so much? And you’re not even the baby of the family. She’s only going along with this because she knows he’s a rich guy who can take care of you.”
“You’re crazy.”
Astraea glances around then leans closer over the table, speaking just loud enough for me to hear her over the din of breakfast lovers. “Don’t you remember how she pitched a fit when you moved out? She said you had no business living by yourself when there were rapists on the loose or some crap like that. She was afraid you’d have a seizure or something. Me, on the other hand, I served a year in Syria. I got one care package and a couple of phone calls, one the day after my birthday.”
I do my best to keep my voice down, but it’s nearly impossible with the tables about two inches apart on either side of us. “You know, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with my brain so much. Oh wait, no you haven’t. And I hate to disappoint you, but I’m faking marriage for the money and sex. That’s it.”
Though I don’t have to explain myself, I give Astraea the abridged version of my fifty grand magazine plan. She’s not impressed.
“You are seriously fucked up. What’s next? A fake baby for a baby magazine?”
“That’s not funny.”
“That would be hilarious. Would serve you right too.”
I’m about to let her have it or throw a biscuit at her sarcastic smirk, but Mom’s working her way back to us through the maze of two, four, and six-person tables. Our breakfast arrives just as Mom sits down. It’s good, and Mom rambles on about the history of potatoes, wedding invitations, caterers, and Baptist quartets. I try to look and sound like the happy bride I’m supposed to be, but Astraea is quiet, pensive over her coffee, staring into the unlit fireplace, her face a blank mask.
I never knew she was this jealous of me, or that Mom ever treated me any differently than the rest of my siblings, apart from when I was recovering from the accident. Or maybe I’ve just never paid attention. I feel like I’m on a stormy sea in a lifeboat with a slow leak. If I go down, that’s one thing, but it’s not fair to ask Jack to go down with me.
Chapter Eleven
Jack
Sal’s Subs isn’t my preferred place to meet for lunch, but it’s past the lunch rush, so Jesse and I can talk without people listening in. We sit down in a booth near the back, me with my steak wrap and Jesse with his meatball sub. I knock a piece of lettuce off the seat, frowning when I feel something wet soaking through my pants. Probably just soda. I’ve been swimming in disgusting fluids all day at the shelter for the spay and neuter event.
We haven’t spoken since the Sexy Thangs craziness, so I know what’s coming.
Jesse swallows a bite of his sub and washes it down with Dr. Pepper. “So, what’s with you and Avery? When did you start dating? Must be pretty serious if you’re already buying that stuff together. Leigh’s been tight-lipped about it, so I can’t get anything out of her.”
“Isn’t she usually? Client confidentiality and all.”
“Avery’s not her client, and neither are you, are you?” He arches a brow, giving me a skeptical glare.
“No.” I have to change the subject, or we’re going to venture into uncomfortable territory.
Our roles have switched over the past few years. I was once the star athlete, the first college graduate of our family, while Jesse was the town bully and a high school dropout. Now he’s a respected, kitten-loving sheriff’s deputy, while I’m the male version of the town tramp.
“I think we’ve spayed and neutered twenty cats and dogs today. There are several kittens up for fostering if you want to take on a few more.”
“I ought to ticket you for failure to use a turn signal,” Jesse says with a chuckle. “Now come on, what’s up with you and Avery?”
“You haven’t heard yet
?”
“No. I was in court all morning as a witness to a robbery. Idiot guy tried to get in a house through the chimney like Santa Claus and got stuck. Then he sued because he broke a couple of ribs when we pulled him out.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” He sips his Dr. Pepper again, nodding at me. “So, you and Avery?”
Oh, hell, what do I have to lose at this point? She’s drawn me into her sexy web of lies, and quite frankly, I don’t have the balls to back out now. Maybe they’d fallen off at the shelter, afraid they were in danger of the morning’s testicle reaping.
“We’re getting married,” I say with a shrug.
Jesse slow-blinks at me for a few seconds then scrunches his face up on one side as though half shocked, half disgusted. “What? So you skipped the dating and went straight for marriage?” He glanced around, then whispered, “Is she pregnant or something?”
“No. It’s…complicated. Sort of.”
“And?”
“And…we’re getting married, but not really getting married.”
“Did you inject yourself with anesthetic? You’re not making any sense.”
I finish off my sandwich and wash it down with unsweetened tea that tastes like old dishwater. “Okay, it’s like this. Avery wants to win fifty grand from a bride magazine contest for best small-town wedding, but the catch is that it’s for bridal shop owners getting married. We came up with an arrangement, and now we’ll be having a fake wedding at her parents’ place a couple weeks after yours.”
“What kind of arrangement?”
Leave it to the cop to pick up on that little clue. I’d already come this far. Why not tighten the noose? “Sex in exchange for being the fake groom.”
“What? Why? You could buy her ten new bridal shops if she wanted.”
“That’s what I told her, I swear. But she’s determined to do this one way or another. She offered, so…”
“So of course you couldn’t say no, right?”