Her face falls. “Look, Ross. I like Violet, and I don’t know what you two are up to. Hell, maybe you really are in love. I don’t know, really. But you need to do this. It’s how our family works, within our walls, within the society pages, and within the upper crust. You get engaged, you show each other off, parading around like show ponies for Mom and Dad. By not doing that, you’re raising more eyebrows.”
I hadn’t realized just how sharply perceptive she is. Nor that I hadn’t considered that by hiding away, we would be more suspicious. I was hoping for a bit of ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ Honestly, I was hoping to just rush headlong through any barriers and get to the finish line of the altar.
She gets up and struts to the door but pauses and looks back. “Don’t hurt her, Ross. Violet’s a good person. Just don’t hurt her.”
I can’t stop the bitterness that flies off my tongue. “And what does that make me?”
Her answering smile is sad. “Just unaware, big brother. Maybe a bit immature, still, but that’s okay. It’s one of the reasons we love you.”
I close my eyes and start rubbing at my temples as she leaves. After meeting the Russos, I know Violet’s going to have a fit over this. It’s the last thing she’d want, and to be honest, the last thing I’d want too. Papa and Nana Russo are good people, and I don’t want them to be embarrassed by some stuck-up society rich bitch because he still talks a bit like a paisan.
I’m gonna have to do some pretty major convincing to get her to go along with this latest development.
* * *
Everything’s perfect, with the scent from the incense wafting through the air as I double-check that the outdoor table’s been laid out just the way I want.
“You got everything?” I ask the chef, who nods. “Double-check with me. The wine—”
“Lodovico Blend,” the chef confirms for me. “Are you sure, though, sir? There are much finer wines available.”
I nod, knowing that for the chef, fine basically means expensive. But I noticed three empty bottles of Lodovico on a shelf at the Russos’, and while I’m no sommelier, I know enough about wine to know a working-class family like that doesn’t drink a thousand dollars of wine on a regular basis, so the name means something to them.
“I’m sure. And the garlic bread?”
“Personally prepared by me, sir,” the chef assures me. “And the lamb ravioli will pair perfectly with the wine.”
“Excellent,” I comment, checking my watch. I had to hurry to get everything prepared. Thankfully, building security is used to letting workers in if I call ahead. “Okay, my fiancée should be home in just a few minutes, so let’s make sure we’re on time.”
In fact, Violet’s a minute early, opening the door to the penthouse with a groan. “Oh, God, Ross, I still haven’t found a dress, and you wouldn’t believe how much my ribs hurt from the corsets. What’s all this?”
I smile, my crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to let her get a hint of my skin as I offer her my arm. “I thought something other than pizza and ice cream might be in order tonight,” I say lightly.
Violet looks at me suspiciously, her eyes clouded, and I wonder if she’s thinking about all the times I pulled shit on her when we were kids, sweet talking her one minute, only to humiliate her the next. “Where’s the frog?”
“I swear, not a frog in sight . . . although I must admit a certain mischievous side of me did think of putting frog legs on the menu for tonight. But in the end, the non-asshole side of me won out. I’d like to say I’ve grown up since high school, but I think it’s just your positive influence.” She rolls her eyes at my over-the-top flattery.
I lead Violet outside, where Chef awaits at a fully set table, dishes under cloches to stay warm, twin candles burning in silver candlesticks while a single red rose rests in a vase.
“What . . . you really shouldn’t have,” Violet tells me as I hold her chair for her.
“Of course, I should. You deserve it.” Chef goes to pour the wine, but I wave him off and pour the wine for Violet myself. “If I thought you wouldn’t have laughed at me, I’d have cooked myself, but unfortunately, my repertoire is pretty limited.”
“You make me happy with those smoothies,” Violet says quietly, and it’s my turn to feel the warmth flush my neck.
I make her happy. Somehow, those little words mean a lot to me.
“Give me some time, and I’ll figure out how to make a decent grilled cheese,” I say, unveiling dinner. “Here you go . . . lamb ravioli in a proper tomato sauce, garlic bread, and—”
“Lodovico wine!” Violet nearly squeals, seeing the bottle. “Oh, Ross! How’d you know?”
“Saw it in the kitchen,” I answer her, proud of myself. “What’s the story?”
“Lodovico is very special to Papa,” Violet explains. “It’s too expensive for any but the most special occasions. So the three bottles are for Nana and Papa’s wedding, Mama’s birth, and my birth. I’m almost afraid to ask, but—”
“We’ll put it on the menu at our reception,” I immediately answer her, raising my glass. “For now, to Violet Russo, who hurt her ribs today for love.”
Violet blushes, tapping her glass against mine. “Thanks. I’ll keep looking, but I do think I decided today that I don’t care how gorgeous the dress is. If I can’t breathe in it, it’s not the one.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I tell her.
We dig into our dishes, Violet moaning at the first bite. “Oh, my. Don’t tell Nana, but this is better than hers!”
“Don’t worry,” I reply with a chuckle. “She can’t hear you.”
“That’s good. You should have heard her and Aunt Sofia go at it before you showed up. She’d have my hide if I dared to compliment someone else’s cooking over hers.”
She tells me about her family, how Nana and Sofia go at it like cats and dogs half the time, while Papa catches his fair share of yelling too . . . but it’s all in love.
We move on to discussing our days, and she cheers for me when I tell her about the meeting going well. Her eyes turn to molten fire when I tell her about Dad’s private reaction, though, and the way she has my back warms me.
She shows me a glittery invitation, raving about Abi’s genius, and I have to agree with her. “Something else did happen today, though.”
Her tone is stilted, hesitant to share. I lay my hand over hers. “You can tell me anything, Violet.”
“Colin came by the flower shop. He saw my car outside and came in. He told me he wanted to get back together.”
My heart stops as cold fury lights its way from my gut to my fists, which clench unconsciously. “And?”
She tilts her head, reading me. “You’re mad?”
I spit out, “He comes chasing after my fiancée and I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
Well, if that didn’t toss kerosene on an already confusing fire. She’s not mine, not really. But fuck if I don’t feel possessive of her, possessed by her.
“Would you lose the pissed off look if I said I kicked him out on his ass and told him to have a good life?” Her smile is one of sass and confidence.
“Actually . . . yes,” I admit, sighing in insane relief. “Was I that obvious?”
“If he’d been here, you’d have thrown him off the balcony without a parachute.”
“Perhaps,” I reply, troubled, relieved, and gladdened by her news. “But simply because Radcliffe’s a douche who doesn’t deserve you.”
“We both didn’t deserve each other. I was never in love with him. I just wanted to have the fairy tale wedding . . . and wanted Papa to have that memory.”
Again, my heart leaps in my chest hearing she was never in love with him. This is getting heady, and it’s not the wine that’s making it happen.
“And he will,” I vow. “We’ll make his dreams come true. Yours and mine too.”
My voice is husky, promising so much more than a fantasy wedding. Hearing her talk about Colin, thinking about how e
asily she could’ve gone back to him, because at one point, she believed what they had was real. Even if she knows better now, it’s more than what our initial relationship is built on.
But where we started is not where we are now. Not by a long shot.
I set my napkin down and step around the table to stand beside her. She looks up at me through her lashes, feeling that the mood has shifted.
“Violet,” I say, not sure what I mean to say.
“I know,” she says, confusing me because how can she know if I don’t?
I take her hand and lead her down the hallway. From behind me, I hear the front door close with a small click and know the chef has left discreetly.
I lay her down on the king-sized mattress, crushing her underneath me as I kiss her hard. Trailing my lips down her neck, I kiss to the V of her blouse before unbuttoning the silk.
“Mmm . . .” she moans, losing herself in the sensations as I expose more and more of her silky soft skin to my mouth. I’m raging hard in my pants, but this isn’t about me. This is about her.
For the first time in my life, it’s about her.
Letting her gasps of pleasure guide me, I open her blouse to uncover the lacy edges of her bra. I lick where it meets her skin, teasing her until I see her delicious nipples harden to stiff little nuggets for my tongue.
Thankfully, she’s wearing one of those front-closure bras, and seconds later, I’m devouring her breasts, nibbling and sucking while my hands roam over her legs, squeezing her ass until she’s arching to my touch, begging for more.
“Ross,” she moans, guiding me lower as hunger and desire sweep through her body. I follow, unbuttoning and kissing my way down her stomach to the hem of her shirt.
She’s a work of sensual art, bra and shirt wide open, tits on display for me, her skirt working its way higher as she bucks. Her hair’s getting fluffier as she writhes, and her skin is flushed with desire.
“Watch,” I tell her, unhooking her skirt and peeling it off her legs before rolling her soaked panties down and off. Her eyes take me in silently, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths as I hook her knees over my shoulders and lift her up slightly, just enough to let her see as I drag my tongue between her pussy lips.
She gasps, grabbing my hair as I part her lips again, scooping up her wetness before circling her clit with the tip of my tongue.
I lick her.
I nibble on her.
I suck her.
I worship her.
With every sweep of my tongue, my grin grows until I’m wolfish, consuming her even as Violet bucks and grinds her hips against my ravenous lips. The only word that leaves her lips the entire time is my name, repeated again and again as her body is pushed into overload.
But my name is all I need. I can hear the differences, when she wants me to go faster, when she wants me to slow down, and when I find a spot that has her seeing stars. Each time is pure pleasure for me as this woman, who is transforming in front of my very eyes minute by minute, relishes the pleasure I give her and offers back my name in supplication.
I wrap my hands around her thighs, holding her tight for the final plunge. Finding her clit, I circle my tongue quickly, lapping at her firm little button until Violet’s thighs quiver and her back arches unconsciously.
“Ross!” She screams as she comes, covering my face in her sweet juices as the waves sweeps through her. I don’t let her get carried away. Instead, I’m her rock, holding her safe and secure in my powerful arms.
Violet moans deeply, her legs and hips turning to jelly before she sags and I pull back, rearranging her on the bed. I rip my clothes off and cover her with my naked body in a second, not letting her come down fully from her orgasm before I shove inside, filling her.
“Fuck, Vi,” I groan out, relishing the hot silk feel of her pussy as she grips me tightly. “You feel like . . . heaven,” I grit out.
Home. I almost said she feels like home, and that’s the truth. But now isn’t the time for that conversation. There might never be a time for that, so I’m going to enjoy this for whatever she wants it to be right now.
I fuck her hard, holding her hips and moving her in time with my thrusts as I kneel between her legs. I want to watch her face lost in pleasure, want to see her tits bounce, want to enjoy the look of her pussy stretching around me. I want it all . . . all of her.
In and out, over and over, I make my mark on her. She is mine. And whether she wants it or not, she’s holding my heart and all the cards.
She spasms anew, crying out my name, and I fall over her, one elbow on either side of her head. I want to be closer, in her face as she comes from our fucking. Her quivering walls trigger my own orgasm, and I explode violently, painting her with my cum as I kiss her passionately, sharing breath the way we share pleasure.
I relax, barely able to hold my weight off her as I get my bearings. “Holy shit, Ross.” Her voice is hazy and breathless.
“I know, me too,” I say, turning her onto her side before wrapping her up in my arms.
“Ross,” she says, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. “You—”
“Are going to take care of you, whatever that means,” I tell her, kissing the ebony waves of her hair. “So don’t worry. We’ll make it together, Violet.”
She sighs and snuggles against me. “Thank you.”
I hold her tighter, not ready to sleep but not wanting to be anywhere else right this moment.
Chapter 16
Violet—Friday—8 Days Until the Wedding
It’s barely light outside when I stir. I slide my eyes open, stretching luxuriously to find Ross awake and watching me.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says as he leans over and plants a sweet kiss to my mouth, zero cares given to my morning breath.
I smile, teasing, “Why are you watching me like a creeper?”
“I have something to tell you,” he says, his expression serious.
I shuffle in the bed, sitting up and leaning against the pillows. I take a big breath, steeling myself. “How bad is it?”
He ducks his head. “Remember how you asked if I was buttering you up with the bath?” I nod, and he says, “Well, I wasn’t. But dinner last night was supposed to butter you up, but I got sidetracked.” He cuts his eyes to the side, scanning down my body hungrily even though I’m mostly covered by the blankets.
I smack his shoulder, scolding, “Get it to it. I’m dying here!”
It’s telling that I’m not worried he’s backing out. That thought never even enters my mind because I know we’re a team, but I am worried if whatever this is requires easing me into it.
“My mom called yesterday,” he says. He goes on to tell me about the gala and his mom wanting to invite my family. “I tried to tell her that there was no way it’d work. I knew you wouldn’t want the stress with everything we’re trying to get accomplished, but—”
“But it’s hard to tell your parents no,” I say, clenching my teeth. “I’m worried about getting our families getting together at all. But at a fancy charity event?”
“I know. I told Mom it wouldn’t be good for Papa’s health, so we could probably get a pass for him and maybe Nana, but we’re roped pretty hard into it.”
I growl. “I don’t want to be in any more paparazzi shots, and knowing our luck, there’s going to be some crazed Ross Andrews fan who reports every faux pas I make.”
We’ve managed to stay out of the society pages for the last few days, and I’d really like to keep it that way after the initial article that painted me so poorly, especially after the fresh burn of Colin echoing the same insult. It’s not that I care what he thinks at all, but I know he’s repeating the gossip about me and Ross that’s circulating through that entire crowd.
He reaches over, taking my hand. “If it helps, I’m right there with you. I try to avoid these galas and events because Mom does them all the time, and I spent years as her golden child show pony. She meant well, was just proud of me, but it
only gets more awkward the older you get.”
“But we have to go?” I ask, wishing there were a way out of this.
His lips screw up, and he nods. “We do. Mom and Courtney tag-teamed to get me to agree on the phone, which means Dad definitely knows by now. If we don’t show up, I’m afraid it’ll raise red flags.”
I pale, knowing that’d be the kiss of death for us right now. Morgan doesn’t believe us already. Refusing to show our faces to his cronies would only demonstrate that he’s right to have doubts.
“Okay, so we’re stuck, but we’ll handle it. What about our families?” I shake my head. “Fuck, Ross. I really didn’t think about how our families are supposed to get along. I mean, your Mom and Dad are okay, but Papa and Morgan? Talk about polar opposites. Or Nana and Morgan? Though that one might be fun.”
Okay, it might be a little evil to take some sick joy in the thought of Nana verbally fileting Morgan to shreds, but I’m not going to admit that out loud.
“Those two? What about Nana and Mom?” he asks, both of us smiling at the image of Kimberly trying to converse with Nana or Aunt Sofia. Kimberly probably wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise. “Although I do think our mothers could get along decently. They used to be okay when Abi and you were going back and forth between houses. Maybe they can build on that?”
“So we’ve got one possible match and several landmines. What could go wrong?” I say, throwing my hands wide and scooting back under the covers. Maybe I can just hide out and not have to deal with any of this. That’d be okay, right?
Ross leans over me, searching my soul with his eyes. “So, we’re all in?”
I bite my lip but nod. “Okay . . . but I’m still worried. I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea.”
He boops my nose, and I shake my head, refusing the tease. “Noted.”
* * *
“Mom?” I ask as soon as I hit my office, wanting to get this out of the way. “I’ve got good news.”
My Big Fat Fake Wedding Page 20