“We have to get to the party,” he says, pulling me with him into the hallway.
Slipping his arm around my waist, he holds onto me tight. And for the first time, even though I’ve felt his touch countless times before, I know that he won’t let me go again.
21
Jason
On the ride down to the party in the elevator, she is nervous. I can tell. I know her nervous tics. I know that when she is nervous she chews her lip. I don’t know if it’s because she distracts herself with the gnawing on her delicate flesh or it’s just some physiological reaction to stress, but I know she does it.
I know that when she’s nervous she’ll roll her neck from side to side and clench her jaw a few times. I know she’ll crack her knuckles.
“You good?” I throw over to her, watching the floor indicator inside the elevator light up, counting down the floors as we speed down to the lobby.
“Yeah,” she says, “I’m good.”
“Nervous?”
“Yeah,” she replies, “a little.”
“Anything you need me to do?”
She looks up at me and her eyes find mine quickly as she bites her bottom lip.
“Yes,” she replies, “just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Pretending to be the love of your life, or whatever?” I say, watching her as her face changes.
“Or whatever,” she says, throwing a warm, meaningful smile to me. I watch as she reaches into her purse and pulls out a sharply-folded piece of paper. “There’s actually something I was meaning to talk to you about.”
I watch as she unfolds the paper, recognizing it right away as the contract we both signed. Her hands are shaky as she smooths it out against the mirrored wall of the elevator. But as quickly as she pulled it out, we both notice that we’re about to land on the lobby floor of the hotel, and that piece of paper needs to get torched or balled up and swallowed before anyone sees it.
“Hey, you better get rid of that thing,” I say as the doors are about to open, moving to shield her from the elevator door. “Here, gimme. Let me swallow it.”
“Jason,” she laughs, “are you used to swallowing things for the people you’re working with? It’s not a baggie of drugs, it’s a piece of paper!”
“It’s contraband just like a baggie of drugs would be. Imagine this getting out. It would be worse than getting caught with drugs, I bet.”
“Yeah, no,” she says, slipping the paper into her purse. “I highly doubt it. It wouldn’t be worse. The same level of bad, maybe, but definitely not worse.”
“So you don’t want to go get high?” I tease as the door of the elevator slides open.
“I should have listened to my brother!” she shouts playfully, “you are trying to corrupt me.”
“Kidding,” I say, “I’m just kidding.”
Linking arms, we make our way through the hotel lobby. Around us are a cacophony of beauty queens and their escorts, and wait staff buzzing through the crowd with glasses of champagne and finger-foods. One of them stops near us and I grab two glasses of the bubbly champagne as Cassie takes two skewers with some kind of puffy thing on the end of it.
“This is nice,” I whistle, taking a sip from my glass. “Very nice.”
“This is nothing,” Cassie sighs, chewing carefully and in the most ladylike manner possible. I’ve seen this woman house an entire Domino’s pizza in ten minutes, and this whole taking small bites thing is new for her. “You should have seen the last one of these things I competed in. It was in Vegas. Out there, they really make a big spectacle. The entertainment at the gala was those sword-swallowing people.”
“That’s very impressive,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Now, were they competing in the pageant or were they being paid to be there?”
“Paid,” she says, rolling her eyes, “though I’d like to see a girl with enough guts to try something like that on stage.”
As I’m looking around the lobby, taking it all in, out of the corner of my eye I see someone making a beeline toward me and Cassie.
“Just try to play it cool,” she whispers up into my ear.
“What do you mean?” I whisper back, bending down to Cassie.
The woman coming toward us is wrapped up in manic energy, a bigass smile plastered on her face and a hairstyle that looks like something out of a comic book.
So now I know what she meant by play it cool.
“You’re here!” the young woman squeals, throwing her arms around Cassie’s neck. I watch with a smirk plastered on my face and take another sip of my drink.
Now, this is kind of what I envisioned most of the girls here to be like. Hyperactive, super excited to be here, big hair, long nails, a southern drawl, and a genuine enthusiasm when it comes to all things poise and posture.
“Yeah,” Cassie says unsteadily, “I’m here. They haven’t kicked my ass out yet.”
“They wouldn’t,” she scowls, grabbing a bacon-wrapped shrimp from a waiter passing by with a silver tray.
“They wanted to,” I say, stepping forward and putting my hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m some guy.”
“I’m Rebecca,” the woman says with a slight southern twang, her green eyes framed with a sophisticated smokey eye (or at least that’s what I think they call it). “And don’t be shy. You aren’t just some guy. I know who you are. We all know who you are.”
I shrug my shoulders and shove one hand into my pocket.
I could get used to this. Being a trophy husband doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. I could stay home and make sure the house is clean for when Cassie arrives so she can come home to a nice, copacetic environment, and I can have dinner ready for her every night.
Eventually, I could raise the kids. I mean, I could do my share. I’d wish I could do all of it, or even fifty-fifty, but even in the most progressive households, it’s not possible for child-raising to be split fifty-fifty between mom and dad. The mom is always going to have a bigger part in it, no matter what. It’s just something I feel makes sense.
Cassie and Rebecca fall into a natural conversation about the judges for this year’s pageant, but I’m hardly listening. They’re naming names, but I don’t know the who’s who on the pageant circuit.
What I am doing, though, is watching Cassie. Not in a fucking creepy way, though. I just can’t seem to keep my eyes off her.
“Jason,” she says, pulling me back into reality from the sweet daydream of imagining me and her making a home and a life together, “isn’t that interesting?”
I have no clue what the fuck she is talking about, because my hearing has been temporarily dulled by taking in her beauty, her presence.
Yeah, I just wasn’t listening at all.
“Oh yes, absolutely,” I say, making the least-smooth recovery in history. “Fascinating.”
“Maybe when you guys are ready to get married, I can perform the ceremony,” Rebecca says. She kisses Cassie on the cheek and walks away from us, on the prowl for another one of those shrimp skewers.
“What the hell was she talking about?” I lean down, whispering to Cassie.
“Her talent,” Cassie whispers back to me, “her talent is that she’s going to marry a real couple on stage at the contest.”
“That’s pretty cool,” I say, “but I always pictured us getting married in the church where we grew up.”
“The church?” Cassie says as we make our way with the big crowd through the lobby. It looks like there are ushers directing people into a room off the lobby. “I always assumed you’d want to get married at the courthouse.”
“Courthouse?” I say, pulling her hip toward mine, “no way. I mean, if it was any other girl I was marrying, maybe. But you? I know you’d want it in the church. And the wife makes these kinds of decisions in the relationship.”
“And what kind of decisions does the husband make?” she asks.
“Pizza toppings. Sunday night television.”
“Sounds fair,” she laughs, “all lon
g as we both get a say in the really important stuff like who will actually preside over the wedding.” We finally get to the entrance to the room where they’re herding us like cattle, shuffling along amidst the din of laughter and slow jazz being piped in through the PA system. “You ready for some dinner and dancing?”
“I’m ready, baby,” I say, kissing her on the forehead. She’s by far the most beautiful woman here, and being on her arm is the only place I want to be right now - fake or not.
22
Cassie
I think when they were organizing the senior prom, this is something like what they had in mind.
Big orchid arrangements dot the center of each table inside the banquet room, and the lighting is perfect for the occasion; it’s not too dim to where you can’t see your menu and discern whether the salmon comes with mashed or roasted potatoes, but it’s dark enough to lend a romantic, fun mood.
We were informed of what table we were to sit at ahead of time, and we find our seats quickly. There’s no need for us to really search a lot, because we’re at Table 1, which is traditionally right up by the stage. I guess this means I’ve really made it, or something.
I inhale deeply, trying to steady my nerves as Jason pulls my chair out for me to sit down - and it’s not easy in this dress. But I’m able to bend at the waist, thank goodness, and exhale as I sit.
Jason reaches for the bread basket in the middle of the table and grabs a roll, tearing a piece off and popping it into his mouth before putting the rest of the roll down on the little plate in front of him. I smile at his slight lack of refinement; it’s not like anyone ever got arrested and thrown into jail for eating a piece of bread before the salad is served, but it’s also not the right way to do things.
But I can’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Jason isn’t the picture-perfect fiancé for this situation, but he’s damn good at it.
And for the real me, the one hidden inside the beauty queen and who will eat all the rolls before anyone else even sits down, he is perfect.
I look up to my left at the stage where Ms. Garnelle is stepping across to the center, in an epic black gown with a foot-long tail.
The lights go down in the room and she confidently smiles as a soft, diffused spotlight finds her on the stage.
That’s it, shoulders back, chin up, chest out but not too far out.
“Welcome,” she says in a tone that’s halfway between booming and sugary-sweet, “to the Miss Northeast pageant. It is my pleasure and my honor to welcome all of you this evening. This dinner is to bring all of us together so we can share a breath before the commencement of the pageant tomorrow.”
I glance over at Jason and he winks, leaning back in his chair with his hands on his lap.
Damn. He looks so good in that suit. If I knew back when I was 18 what I know now, I’d have considered asking him to go to prom with me.
“Now,” the Ms. Garnelle says as the lights come back up in the dining room, “please have a wonderful evening.
The music in the room swells against the walls, filling up the space with that same slow, smooth jazz music. I realize that it’s actually coming from a live piano tucked into the corner of the stage.
Next to me, Jason rises from his seat and puts his hand out in front of me.
I gaze up at him, watching his eyes as he looks around the room and then back down at me. He gives me an impatient, waiting look, and I finally slip my hand into his.
“Will you dance with me?” he says as I rise from my seat gracefully, “the way you should have five years ago?”
I feel my eyes light up and giddiness roll through my belly.
“There’s no one else dancing,” I say, but he doesn’t listen. He’s already whisking me out into the center of the dance floor, all of the banquet tables surrounding us, where everyone in attendance is still sitting. I watch as a few other girls rise from their seats and make their way out onto the floor. I wonder if they’re doing it so Jason and I won’t be the only people dancing, or if they wanted to dance all along and were just waiting for someone else to make the first move.
“There,” he says, looking around, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me in close to him, slowly taking my hand in his as he watches my body move against him. “Now there are other people dancing.”
We rock slowly to the beat of the music, but I’m not even listening to it. I’m only feeling the steady movement of my body against Jason’s, and the electricity on my skin as his fingers lace through mine.
“Cassie, I want to tell you something,” Jason says cautiously, his eyes narrowing as they scan along my shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you about the night of your prom. And the night after, too.”
“I know,” I sigh, putting my head against his chest, “I was just thinking that I should have never gone with that loser Shane.”
“You didn’t know it was the wrong choice at the time,” Jason replies, “but he’s what I want to talk about.”
I feel my insides freeze up as Jason says he wants to talk about Shane.
I only attended prom with him because it was tradition for the likely prom king and queen to go together. It was silly, but it was what it was.
Shane and I did not have a good time together.
Nothing really happened. I made sure of it. But there was a party after prom, and I was drinking. He’d brought me to a bedroom and I just went along with it because I thought it was the mature, adult thing to do. We started kissing and then I told him to stop, and he got a little bit handsy before he actually stopped like I’d asked him to, but only after I pushed him away and he finally understood that I wasn’t playing around.
Worse things have happened - not to me, but to girls I know. This wasn’t the end of the world. I didn’t feel angry toward him, because he did stop when I pushed him away, and I think he was so stunned by the blow to his pride and his ego that he let me leave the room without anything else happening. I pretty quickly chalked the experience up to just a bad few minutes, and I moved on with my life.
“What is it?” I breathe, searching his eyes as a cloud of concern washes over his face.
“I was planning to invite you to that party the night after your prom, Cassie,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine, “but I knew Shane was going to be there, and I knew you didn’t like him. I just had this bad feeling about the guy. You hadn’t said anything that bad to me about him, but I just had this bad feeling. At the party, I confronted him.”
Jason’s jaw steels up and he closes his eyes, shaking his head.
“I was so fucking stupid, Cassie,” he says.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, the feeling of my heart thrumming inside my ears.
“I spoke to the guy, Cass, and he said something happened between you two. I didn’t like the language he used. And the way you were acting...from the way he was talking it sounded like he crossed a line with you.”
I swallow thickly and feel the whole world between me and Jason grow smaller. I should have done an updo tonight, because right now, my hair is sticking to the back of my neck.
“So why are you telling me this now?” I ask, “what does this have to do with us now?”
“I’m not proud of it, but I roughed that fucking guy up a little. I didn’t hit him. But I warned him to stay the hell away from you. And your brother overheard, and he was pissed that I’d reacted that way. I just...I just felt this need to protect you. To defend you. I don’t know. It was stupid.”
“No...no, Jason,” I say, putting my fingers to my temple, “it’s not stupid. You thought something happened, and you reacted.”
“That’s what I tried to tell your brother, but instead of understanding, he accused me of sleeping with you.” The bittersweetness of his laugh coats my belly. “He thought I was pissed at Shane because I thought I had some kind of claim over you.”
I laugh too. I know it’s not appropriate. Hell, this isn’t even particularly funny.
“Ja
son, I don’t know what’s crazier. The fact that Mark thought we had slept together or the fact that I’m only learning about all this now.”
“I know,” he says, “but I had to tell you. I had to explain why I just disappeared the way I did. I hadn’t been planning on going away. But then that night there was this rift between your brother and me, and I felt like my chance was blown. Because believe me, as much as I disagreed with your brother that night for telling me to stay the hell away from you, I respected him. I respected his position. Because all he cares about is you not getting hurt. All he cares about is your happiness.”
He stops speaking, and I watch as his eyes drift away from mine, somewhere behind us. He looks pained, but hopeful. He looks like he wants to say something else too, and my heart aches when I press on to find out what it is.
“Wait,” I ask, “your chance?” as my eyes grow wide.
“My chance with you, Cassie. My chance with you.”
His eyes find mine again and he takes my face in his hands.
“I won’t kiss you right now,” he whispers, “because there are too many people around. But I will later. I can’t wait to.”
I feel giddy and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut all at the same time. I thought it was just life that had kept us apart. And it was. But we didn’t simply grow apart.
He didn’t leave because he didn’t want me. He left because he did want me.
Jason slips his fingers onto the back of my neck. I feel goosebumps spring up where he touches me, and I watch those devilish, sexy eyes as he smiles at me.
“We could have all just sat down and talked about it,” I say, the bittersweetness flowing through me like adrenaline.
“Yeah,” he quips, “but then you might have never become a beauty queen. And then I never would have come to work this pageant. And we would never have attended this gala together, and I would have never had this chance to dance with you. Plus, I was young and fucking stupid.”
Second Chance Bride: A Fake Fiancee Romance Page 13