My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  “And when I ran into Violet later . . .” He pauses and looks around. “Wait, backstory for your grandparents, honey. As Ms. Russo knows, I’ve known Violet for a very long time. She’s best friends with my little sister, Abigail.”

  “Ah, Abigail!” Nana says, smiling a little. “Such a lovely girl. And you . . . you are her older brother?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ross confirms, suddenly all manners and politeness. If he wasn’t doing my dirty work for me, I’d tease him about suddenly turning into Eddie Haskell. “More importantly, I was pretty insufferable in my younger days. I teased Violet a little too harshly, and I’ll be honest with you, sir. I won’t repeat the things I said back then for fear of catching three or four rolling pins in the head, and then you’d rightfully start in on me. But never fear, Violet held her own and got me back time and time again.”

  He smiles at me like the awful things we used to do each other were cutesy and flirty. To be clear, they weren’t. Not even a little bit. But it seems to be playing well to my family.

  Papa hums while Nana smirks a little. “So, how did you end up here, then?”

  “It seems that all those bad acts, and again, I am sorry,” he says, kissing my knuckles, “were an immature teenage me not being able to recognize that I was head over heels for Violet. And Friday night, seeing her and hearing what she said, it felt like everything just clicked into place and I had a second chance with her that I never even knew I wanted. Even before I drove Violet home that night, I knew I wanted to marry her . . . and by some miracle, she saw me the same way.”

  Nana looks unconvinced as her suspicious eyes flick from Ross to me, but it’s Mom who speaks first. “Oh, Violet, why didn’t you tell us? I mean, for Colin to break it off so quickly after getting engaged—”

  “I know, Mom,” I say, feeling Ross squeeze my hand. “I guess I was so shocked when Colin broke it off, and then when Ross and I saw each other and things . . . well, like he said, clicked so hard . . . everything’s been happening so fast, but I’m so happy. I’m sorry, Mom. I just didn’t know how to put it in words.”

  “You could have told us,” Aunt Sofia scoffs, making me laugh. “What, girl?”

  “Aunt Sofia, I tried to tell you guys today. Several times, in fact. But every time I tried to say something, you and Nana would start cursing at each other in Italian and invoking Susan Lucci. You know how hard it is to get a word in edgewise with you Italian women when you’re arguing over cooking?”

  Papa laughs. “Eh, benvenuto nel mio mondo,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get a word in for over fifty years without much success.” He leans over and places a liver-spotted hand on Ross’s shoulder. “You will learn, son. Best to keep your mouth shut until it is time to say ‘Dinner is delicious.’ and ‘Thank you.’”

  “Oh, hush, Papa,” Nana admonishes him, but she’s smiling. “I guess we did sort of talk over you the whole time, Violet.”

  “Please,” Ross says in a voice dripping with sincerity, “I know this is sudden. And it might just be a little crazy on the surface. But Violet and I . . . just give us a chance?”

  It’s just right, and Nana nods, getting up. “I’ll give you enough of a chance to eat some of my lasagna . . . provided Sofia didn’t ruin it with her salt.”

  “Don’t make me say her name again. I swear I’ll do it . . .” But then she looks over at our new dinner guest and makes the decision to behave, for once. “Never mind,” Sofia says, following Nana into the kitchen.

  As Nana plates the lasagna, the inquisition really starts. “So, Ross, what do you do?” Nana asks. “You have a good job?”

  Ross grins, nodding. “Yes, ma’am. I’m an executive vice president at my family’s company.”

  Nana nods, and while her voice remains pleasant, I see the glance she exchanges with Sofia. They might fight like a couple of drunken Marines and they may say absolutely vile things about each other . . . but they’ve been sisters for seventy years. They’re a unit. They’re family.

  And more importantly, when they want to, they can unleash a torrent of questions that would break a Mafia boss on the stand. Frankly, the Supreme Court’s got nothing on my Nana and Aunt Sofia.

  It’s not that they ever raise their voices or that they’re insulting or intimidating. It’s just that their questions are confusing, bouncing around from subject to subject seemingly randomly. But it’s not random, not at all. It’s calculated and strategic.

  I’ve faced this from Nana alone, and it’s both comforting and confusing. You’re answering questions about your favorite cookies when BAM! you’ve got a seemingly innocent question about a college experience you’d rather not share with your grandmother on your hands.

  If you’re lying, or bullshitting, or just trying to get one over on Nana, she’s going to catch you. Why? Because she never, ever forgets a detail.

  And with Aunt Sofia backing her up . . . my stomach twists into a cold lump of clay in my gut even as the lasagna-filled plates are passed out.

  “So, Ross, I remember you were a football player. Why’d you go into business instead?” Nana asks. “I would have thought that a big, strong athlete like you would want to stay on the field.” See? Memory like an elephant, and it sounds almost complimentary, but she’s just getting him to relax and play along before she zings him.

  “Well, football was a passion and taught me so much. If an NFL contract had come my way, I would’ve been on cloud nine. But the reality was, that wasn’t going to happen. The plan was always to go into the family business, and I love my work there.” He drops his voice low. “Maybe even more than football, but don’t tell my old coaches I said that or they’d probably still make me run drills. I don’t doubt they could.”

  Nana smiles, completely charmed. Sofia picks up the baton.

  “So, what are your plans for our Violet? One-, five-, and ten-year, please.”

  “Dio Mio! Aunt Sofia! Please, we’re already moving at breakneck speed. Could you give us a minute?” I beg a little too loudly.

  And I just spilled way more about our new relationship than I intended. Damn, I walked right into that, and I know better.

  Nana holds up her hand, and Aunt Sofia gives her a soft high-five. But it’s Mom that does the follow-up. “Okay, so maybe not all that.” She waves at Sofia, who’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “But something, Violet. Tell us your plans.”

  I swallow and look to Ross. “Well, we’re getting married. And I moved in with him over the weekend. Abi’s done with the invitations, I think. I tried on dresses over lunch and found a possible contender, but I’m not certain yet, and Ross has a tuxedo already.” Luckily, that I know because I saw it in his closet.

  Ross runs a thumb along my cheekbone, looking at me reverently, and I swear Mom sags in relaxation as he caresses me. He speaks to my mom and everyone else at the table, but his eyes never waver from mine. “We’re getting married, and from there, we’ll figure it out. Whatever Violet wants—kids, house, puppies, white picket fence—whatever it is, I’ll get it for her. We’ll get it together. That’s the one-, five-, ten-, and forever-year plans.”

  It’s that moment that I melt into a big puddle of goo under Ross’s weighty stare. That sounds good, so temptingly good. It’s not the specifics. I don’t even have time for a dog or kids right now. It’s that overriding sense of teamwork and happiness. The potential of a life filled with good things.

  He licks his lips, and I press a kiss to them. Sweet, appropriate, but meaningful. I realize that’s the first time I’ve kissed him, and the smile on his face says he knows that too.

  “Ross,” Papa says, finally getting in on this. He’s been watching the show, quiet and unobtrusive until now. “I had a question. This other man, Colin Radcliffe,” Papa asks. “Have you spoken with him since you and my Violet came together?”

  Came together? Oh, dear God, my head starts to fill with images, and I’m distracted by the beginning of Ross’s answer. I can’t help it. I’ve been sle
eping in the same bed as Ross for days now but haven’t touched him . . . and my body has needs. I’ve even been too shy to handle things myself, afraid he’d hear me or somehow just know even though I haven’t heard him. Not that I’ve been listening at the door . . . much.

  “And so I’m celebrating his stupidity,” Ross finishes, pulling me back to reality as he takes my hand on top of the table. “His loss.”

  “I see . . . and if he tries to disrespect Violet?”

  Ross smiles, but it’s a predatory smile. “Mr. Russo, my littlest sister reminded me of something I did a few years ago. When I was still a bit of hellion, you understand, but it stands. A boyfriend of hers disrespected her . . . the details aren’t important. But it ended with my taking that boy, hauling him out into the middle of a lake, and throwing him overboard to swim a half mile back to shore. What my sister left out of the story, since she never knew, is that before throwing him overboard, I taught him a few lessons about disrespecting my family, and he left my family’s boat sans trunks. My last words to him were if he ever said anything to my sister other than apologizing, there’d be more serious consequences.”

  Ross looks to me, grinning. “Don’t tell Courtney that, ’kay, honey?” I nod, surprised at the twist to the story I never knew. I remember the guy he’s talking about, Eric something or other. He was a total jerk who thought he was so bad. I was glad he’d prompted Abi’s little sister to grow out of her short-lived bad-boy phase.

  Papa laughs, nodding as he takes a bite. “You are the one. I’ll be honest with you now, Violet. I never liked that Colin, anyway. He always struck me as someone who . . . thought his shit didn’t stink. Those are the ones who are always worse than an outhouse baked in the sun.”

  Ross chuckles while Nana looks sufficiently outraged. “Stefano! Don’t cuss at my dinner table.” He raises an eyebrow at Nana and she purses her lips. “Well, fine, but don’t do it in English in front of our guest.” She lowers her voice, like it’s private between her and Papa, though we can all hear, and singsongs out of the side of her mouth. “You have to baby step him into the craziness of the family or he’ll run.”

  “Pshaw, woman. I am who I am. You ain’t gonna change it now. Too late for an old dog like this to learn new tricks, and I ain’t got enough time left to even try,” Papa says jovially.

  And that’s the brunt of it. All of this is because of his age and health, the impending doom of his passing that I can’t imagine weathering. I look to Nana and can see the cracks in her strong wall, and then to Mom, whose eyes are glittery. Sofia puts a hand over Nana’s, and I know that she’s thinking they’ll be back together soon. Just the two sisters, both widowed by the men they love with all their hearts.

  Even more than WrestleMania.

  Nana gets up. “Let me get dessert.”

  “So, let’s talk about this wedding!” Nana says bravely as she and Mom come back in with bowls of gelato for everyone. “We’ve got everyone flying in. There are cousins Stefano and I haven’t seen in decades, and their kids, and maybe a few grandkids. I already had to talk to Father O’Flannigan at the church, and he assured me the sanctuary will be big enough.”

  “We may just put his boast to the test,” Sofia boasts. “This will be a Russo family reunion that won’t be matched for a generation, at least. The perfect sendoff for Stefano!”

  “My husband isn’t dead yet, vacca!”

  “No, but you said you wished I was when I said I didn’t like your gnocchi,” Papa teases, making Nana turn pink with anger. The teasing bickering is comforting, the soundtrack of their lives together.

  “I did not! And you should count yourself lucky to eat my gnocchi!”

  Papa grins. “I’ve been eating your gnocchi for decades, and you never complain.”

  That bad metaphor has both Mom and me groaning, and Ross laughs. Leaning over, he whispers in my ear, “Just wait, honey. Before you know it, I’ll be nibbling on your gnocchi, and maybe I’ll let you taste my cannoli.”

  I blush deeply but can’t help but take advantage of the golden opportunity Ross has presented me with. “Do you know what cannoli means?”

  Ross nods, his eyebrow quirked. “The pastry tube things with cream inside?”

  “Papa, could you tell Ross what cannoli translates to, literally?”

  He can read the teasing smirk on my face and can follow the thread from his teasing with Nana. He grins widely, holding his fingers a couple inches apart.

  “Little tubes. I think you might want a different metaphor . . . éclair, maybe?”

  The moment of silence is broken by raucous laughter by everyone at the table. And the firing squad seems to have called a momentary truce.

  Conversation returns to the family members who are traveling in for the wedding and the festivities to come. I glance at Ross, who is smiling and glibly mixing into the conversation, and finally, I put my spoon down.

  This feels comfortable. But the stab in my heart reminds me that it’s fake, and that hurts most of all because it does feel so right.

  If only, my guilty heart reminds me.

  Chapter 13

  Ross —Wednesday—10 Days Until the Wedding

  Something’s wrong. I thought last night with the Russos went fantastically, better than we’d hoped. But toward the end of the night, I could feel the tension weaving through Violet, even though she kept the warm smile on her face.

  When we got home, she claimed exhaustion and went to bed immediately. When I’d lain down next to her, she hadn’t so much as made a peep, and I’d slept fitfully, worried about what was worrying her. This morning, she’d been all smiles, thanking me for her smoothie but swirling out the door for a client meeting before I could ask her a thing or we could talk about the dinner.

  But I can read her like an open book. She’s hiding something, nerves and second thoughts and probably a fair amount of stress at our rushed timeline.

  All things I can help with. I wish she’d ask me for help, but that’s not who Violet is. She’s independent, likes to handle her own shit, and is used to taking care of herself.

  But I’m here for her now. Not to do it for her, but to do it with her. Because fake or real, we’re in this together, and we need to be able to lean on each other, for the wedding and for however long we decide the marriage needs to last.

  So after a long day at the office, I escape home early to make some preparations. First up, my Versa Climber.

  I slip my headphones in, listening to my workout mix as I pound my way up imaginary stairs. My record for a half hour workout is just short of a mile, but I’m expecting to do a little extra cardio tonight so I take it a bit easier.

  As my arms grasp the main handles and my legs pump up and down, I try to mentally go over my checklist. My mind returns to all the things to do for the wedding and then to Violet. I try to imagine what it will feel like to stand at the front of her family’s church and see her walking down the aisle to me, taking my hand, and repeating vows to me in front of everyone.

  I’m not a dreamer type of guy. This is the first time I’ve ever imagined what my wedding might be like, and I’m not surprised that the image Violet’s created in my head is what plays out. Perfect and beautiful and . . . us.

  As I reach the fabled 1776 feet, I’m not thinking of how my body’s covered in sweat or that my arm and calf muscles are pumped. I’m thinking about Violet and the look in her eyes when she said yes to my proposal. I think we’d both felt a bit of something in that overwhelming moment.

  But tonight is about not being overwhelmed. Not by deadlines, not by families, not by pressure. Not by anything.

  Tonight’s about us. Two frenemies in a really weird situation who are going to make the absolute best of it. ‘Embrace the crazy’ is going to be our new motto.

  I rinse off and pull on grey sweat shorts and a tank top, comfy and casual so she doesn’t suspect a thing when she gets home.

  And then I get to work.

  * * *

  The
phone rings and then hangs up, the signal I worked out with the doorman to warn me that Violet’s home. I light the candles and slide the plate and glass onto the small table.

  “Ross?” I hear her call as she opens the door.

  “In here,” I bellow down the hallway.

  “Did you just get home? What are you doing . . . ?” Her voice trails off as she sees what I’ve been up to.

  The bath is drawn, fresh rose petals floating on the surface and scenting the air. There are several candles on the vanity, giving the marbled room a soft blurriness it usually lacks. And there’s fresh, hot pizza and wine on the side table by the tub.

  Her mouth drops open and her hands rise to cover the O of surprise. Behind her hands, I can hear the muffled, “Oh, my God! Ross!”

  I smile, glad that she’s pleased. “I know last night was a lot, and planning the wedding is stressing you out. I thought you could use a bit of a break. Take a bath, eat dinner and drink wine, then get comfy. I’ve got a surprise for you when you’re done, but no rush. Take your time and relax.”

  She shakes her head, and I think her eyes are bit glassy. “I can’t believe you did all this.” The shock seems to give way just a bit because she looks at me with that spark I know so well. “Did Kaede help you?”

  I let my jaw fall open, feigning insult. “Of course not. The only help I had was the pizza place on 4th. They make the best fresh mozzarella, and their thin crust is crispy perfection. Oh, and I bought the roses from Abi. But don’t tell her I mutilated them for your bath or she’ll probably kill me. She was talking about heirloom this and boutique that. I just wanted some roses, so I nodded and took what she recommended. Long story short, those roses are some fancy-bougie stuff, so you should probably get in.”

  She bites her lip and says gently, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Violet,” I say simply and then leave her to it. In the living room, I sit down and wait for her. She doesn’t take nearly as long as I expect. After less than an hour, I can hear the water draining and her soft footsteps around the bedroom.