My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  His smile is soft, just one corner of his lips, really, but it feels like it’s an important step so I keep confessing.

  “Once upon a time, you were a jerk. An immature asshole of a brat, as you said—”

  He interrupts, rolling his eyes and shoving me back toward the pillows. “Oh, please, stop with the flattery.”

  I smirk, returning that cocky one he so likes to toss my way. “Seriously, we were both little shits to each other. But I think we’ve both grown up, moved past a lot of that. You’re a good man, doing amazing things at work, taking care of your family legacy, and doing a ridiculously kind thing for me with this wedding. A selfish bastard wouldn’t go this far for someone, especially not someone you didn’t even really like, unless you’re either a masochist, a brilliant strategist who’s going to do something awful like leave me at the altar, or an actual good person. I think it’s the last one, myself.”

  He’s quiet for a minute, letting my words sink in. I hope they help because I mean them. Once upon a time, I both hated and loved Ross in equal measure. He was the big shot on campus to my invisible nothingness, and I railed against him because I doubted myself. Plus, it was fun.

  But we’re both different people now, not entirely, but enough has changed that there’s no hate in the equation any longer.

  “Do you remember homecoming my senior year?” he says quietly.

  I nod slowly, the memories coming back, though I’m not sure what they have to do with our current conversation. But if he needs to bob and weave to avoid the deep talk, I can follow. “Yeah, that was mine and Abi’s freshman year. We won because you got the game-winning touchdown.”

  “Do you remember what I bought you and Abi that night?” he says, looking at me from the side of his eye.

  “Chicken, of course,” I answer with an eyeroll. “I was pissed as hell because you came into the after-party, dragged Abi and me out, and took us to dinner, but it was adding insult to injury with the chicken legs dig. Our reputation never recovered from being the babies physically removed from that party, I’ll have you know.” I kick out at him, poking his hard bicep with a red-painted toe. “Asshole.” But there’s no venom in the word.

  He grabs my foot and begins to massage it lightly. I can’t help but groan, my emotions going crazy. On one hand, the old memories of him ruining my life piss me off, but on the other hand, he’s doing amazing things to the arch of my foot, which is sore from those heels last night.

  “Before that, at the game. It was raining, and you and Abi were sitting in the fresh meat section of the stands with all the other freshmen, looking like drowned kittens. And we were getting our asses kicked. Down three touchdowns before the rain stopped, half the stands empty because no one believed we could come back from that and they weren’t willing to sit in the downpour to find out. But as I jogged out for the second half, I heard something—”

  I smile, repeating what I’d said on that night so long ago. “Hey, Ogre, you’d better get your butt in gear and win this game, or I’m gonna stick my Kentucky fried foot up your ass!” I laugh at the memory. “Oh, God, Abi dared me to insult you, said it would fire you up. I got in so much trouble from old Mrs. Henderson for cussing at the game. ‘That language does not befit a young lady, Miss Russo!’ she told me.”

  “Well, Abi was right. It pissed me off and fired me up. It was ugly, and I hurt for three days after that game with all the hard hits I had to take, all the tackles I had to smash through, but we won. Although to be honest, that last two-point conversion shouldn’t have counted. I hit the turf at the one-yard line and slid into the endzone on my chest and facemask.”

  I think back, laughing when the memory surfaces. “I remember. You were running around the outside and jumped, and then . . . sploosh!” I say, using my hands to imitate the huge spray that I remember seeing. “But when you got up . . . you were the winner.”

  He smiles. “We were. And then I went to the after party. People were clapping me on the back and taking pictures with me. It was a riot. Until I overheard a couple of guys talking about you and Abi.” His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow as if it’s happening right now, not years ago. “The football team all knew you two were off-limits, but I guess word hadn’t spread all over yet. So I set those guys right, made sure the whole damn school knew not to mess with you, that only I could do that. And then I got both of you out of there. It was mostly luck that KFC was the closest place open that late.” He shrugs.

  Something clicks into focus that I never knew was blurry. “You were looking out for us even then. You were taking care of me,” I say, choking. “I didn’t realize, just thought you were being your usual overbearing, chest-thumping, ‘little girls do what I say’, asshole self. It honestly never occurred to me that you were . . . nice back then. I thought I was just annoying and weak, an easy target.”

  His face falls. “Oh, no, not at all, Vi. I think that’s why I gave you such a hard time, because you were the only one strong enough to give it back to me. Everyone else would just follow me around like a puppy, guys and girls both, but not you. Not Violet Antonia Carlotta Russo. You pushed me, challenged me, dared me at every opportunity, and I secretly loved it. You were never invisible to me. I just didn’t know what to do about it, any of it.” He closes his eyes like he’s remembering everything so differently now too. “That night, at homecoming, there was a scout there. How I played in that second quarter is what got me the university offer. Your threatening to kick my ass got me into the college of my dreams.”

  Ho-lee shit. What?

  I never knew that. I guess I just figured Ross was a sure-fire admission to the college of his choice based on his last name, and doesn’t that make the younger me a catty bitch for thinking that way? I know he got great grades and was a stellar football player, but I never dreamed he would’ve been nervous about being good enough to get that invitation to the next step.

  “I had no idea, Ross. I’m just glad it all worked out, I guess,” I say, not having more words to describe how this feels.

  “We’re going to have to be tough to get through this. Just like that homecoming game and high school. You, as Little Ms. Badass, fierce enough to stand up to even an asshole like me. And me, as a grown-up who handles the drama with grace and elegance. I’ll admit, I like your chances better than mine, so you’re going to have to help me here.”

  I take his hand. “We’ll get through this together. We can do it.”

  He leans over me, pressing one fist to the mattress by my hip and caging me in. “Sealed with a kiss,” he says softly before pressing his lips to mine. As the kiss heats, he says in stilted words, “Thank you for not hating me back then, and thank you for helping me now.”

  I return the words. “Thank you for helping me. But to be clear, I did hate you just a little in high school.” I hold my finger and thumb up an inch apart with a flirty smile. “But I thought you hated me too.”

  But the sentiment is lost to the fire as everything we’ve been through to get to this point fades away—all the silly insults, all the ridiculous pranks, all the life we’ve lived apart, all the promises we’ve made together.

  “Never,” Ross growls against the tender skin of my neck.

  I turn my head, giving him better access. “So since we’re playing true confessions, I have one too.”

  “Later,” he says, not stopping his progress toward my bare breast.

  “You’ll want to hear this one, I think. You see, I didn’t always hate you. I did have a bit of a crush on you . . . sometimes. And teenage me heard things about you from Abi, and then the gossip from every girl in the school as they gushed over the gorgeous Ross Andrews.” I can feel the lift of his lips as he smiles, and even though I can’t see it, I know it’s his cocky grin.

  “One of the girls, Savannah DeMiles, said she gave you a blowjob under the bleachers after a game. She described it in rather intimate detail. To my innocent mind, I was stockpiling the details away like a tips and tricks to-do list.
” I drop my voice down, making it slow and sultry and full of heated promise.

  Ross looks up, a question in his eyes. “What are you saying?”

  I bite my lip and look at him hungrily. “Stand up.”

  He moves curiously but quickly, standing with his feet spread wide and his arms at his sides beside the bed. I climb out too, dropping to my knees in front of him. “Violet?” he says, but his voice sounds choked.

  I look up at him through my lashes. “Back then, I imagined it was me under the bleachers, your cock in my mouth and your hands in my hair, guiding and taking me. I imagined you losing control because of little old me. Back then, I was nervous and figured I could spit it out discretely so it wouldn’t be weird. But now, when you come, I want to swallow you. I want it all . . . all of you.”

  “Fuck, Violet,’ he says, nodding, though I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

  I lay a sweet kiss, soft as a butterfly’s kiss, to his crown, and he hisses as his hips surge forward. I lick a swirl of a loop around the mushroom head and murmur appreciatively, “I can’t believe I got all this inside me. Finally, Ross Andrews fucked me, Violet Russo.” It may have happened within the last week, hell, within the last days, but I’m talking about who we used to be. Back then, I don’t think either of us would’ve ever predicted this degree of chemistry between us. Maybe in high school, we wouldn’t have even had chemistry, too young and not ready for whatever this is.

  I’m still not sure of what label to slap on this because we’ve moved well beyond fuck buddies and no strings attached, and I know there’s something bigger growing in my heart, but I’m not sure Ross is feeling that at all. And with everything on the line, I won’t risk asking. But this right here, the fireworks that ignite between us, doesn’t feel like a gamble at all because this part, at least, is a certainty.

  Ross chuckles a bit at my disbelieving brag at being one of his conquests, but it turns into a gaspy moan of pleasure as I swallow him inch by inch. I wrap my fist around the base of his shaft, pumping him with my hand as I suck his cock in and out of my mouth, worshipping him but also controlling this sexy man with my power.

  He slides his hands into my hair, gripping but not forcing me. No, he lets me take him, drive him wild, and I delight in the way he loses control, his hips starting to thrust gently, helping me work him.

  “Mmm . . . that’s it, honey. Your mouth feels so good. Reach down. Play with yourself for me. I want to see you on your knees, coming apart as you suck me down.” His voice is gravelly, the image he paints powerful.

  I whimper around him in answer, spreading my knees and sliding my middle finger through my folds to gather the wetness there. I hold my hand up for him, and he leans forward to suck my finger clean, his tongue swirling over my finger mimicking what I’m doing to his cock.

  My fingers and my mouth move together as I bob up and down on Ross’s cock and stroke between my lips and over my clit.

  “I can’t,” he groans. His fingers tighten in my hair, holding me still as he takes over and starts to fuck my mouth. He thrusts deeper and deeper, edging into my throat as I slide first one, then two fingers in my molten pussy. He’s powerful but restrained, our eyes locked on each other the whole time.

  I moan around him as a mini-orgasm, a precursor of what’s to come, sweeps through me, and he groans at the vibration, gifting my tongue with a sweet dollop of his precum.

  “You sure?” he grits out, and I suck harder, my fingers a blur across my pussy.

  He plunges hard into me, and any thoughts, doubts, or words I have are obliterated as he shatters me. I gasp and spasm around him, my whole body quivering as I rise up to get more and more of him.

  He freezes deep in my throat, and I feel the hot jets as he comes with a bellow. I swallow reflexively, not wanting to lose a drop, but there’s no risk of that because Ross holds me there, filled with him to the point I can’t even breathe.

  But for this quick moment, at least, it feels like he’s all I need. Oxygen be damned. The wedding be fucked. Our families and past are meaningless. It all washes away, and all I can feel is . . . Ross.

  I wanted him, and now I have him.

  I need him, and he’s given himself to me and keeps giving more and more.

  I can’t name it, am scared to, honestly, but I feel it.

  I sag to the floor, leaning into his touch as he cups my face. His thumb runs over my lips and I press a kiss to the pad. “We’re in this together, Vi. I swear, we’ll take care of everything and we’re going to pull this off. I promise.”

  I nod, taking his hand and placing it on my breast, over my heart. “I know. Together.” It’s all I can give him because he’s got all of me, including my heart. I just hope he’ll protect that too.

  Sassy to a fault, I look up once more. “So, better than Savannah DeMiles?”

  Ross laughs. “I don’t even know who that is, but I can tell you I never got a blowjob under the bleachers. Not once.”

  My bottom lip pouts out. “Well, hell, there went my fantasy.”

  Ross flashes me that cocky smile I love now, and I get ready for the zinger. “Too bad for you, because I just had one of mine come true. One I didn’t even know I had, but I will never forget what we just did.”

  Sweet, so very sweet. But also, he’s reminding me that whatever this is, it has an expiration date and then all we’ll have are these memories. And my heart cracks just a little.

  Stupid, silly heart and stupid, silly girl, I chastise myself.

  Chapter 19

  Ross—Monday—5 Days Until the Wedding

  “So, what machinations are you up to now, dear sister? How scared should I be here?” I ask Abi. She called Kaede yesterday, on his day off, he’d reminded me, and had him add an appointment with the tailor to this morning’s schedule. “You know I have a tuxedo already and I need to get into the office.”

  She claps, the smile on her face bordering maniacal. “I know, but that one is black. So outdated.”

  My brows dart together. “Outdated? More like classic, I think.” I look to Kaede to back me up, but he throws his hands wide and shakes his head, communicating quite clearly that I’m on my own with my crazy sister and her even crazier plans.

  “No,” she says simply.

  Deciding it’s better to hear her out before saying no, which I will be doing, I give her the floor. “All right, Sis. Whatcha got in mind?”

  She paces as Kaede and I sit, taking full advantage of the dramatics she’s prone to as she paints a picture for us less creatively gifted people.

  “You saw the invitations? Peach and white, and Vi’s dress will be white, obviously. I’ve been working my magic with the flowers” —she wiggles her fingers in front of our faces— “and that’s when it hit me. What goes perfect with that pale peachy-blush color?”

  Kaede and I glance at each other and shrug. Abi rolls her eyes at our boorishness. “Green,” she declares, as if it’s the obvious answer.

  “Green,” I repeat dully. “Okay, so like some greenery or something mixed in with the flowers? I think Vi would be fine with that, but you should probably just ask her.” I start to stand, thinking my work here is done, but I sit back down slowly when Abi glares daggers at me.

  Shit, she’s really good at that. Must’ve learned from Dad.

  “For the tuxedos.”

  My jaw drops. “Uhm, what? You want me to wear a green tuxedo?” I’m already shaking my head. “No way, nope, nuh-uh,” I say, just to make sure my thoughts on the matter are clear.

  Abi’s visual daggers get bigger, sharper. She’s basically tossing out eye-swords at me now, and Kaede crosses his legs, protecting his family jewels in case he’s collateral damage.

  “Mason, we’re ready for you now,” Abi calls out, ignoring my protests completely. I love my sister, but sometimes, she’s a real . . . something I would never call her and live to speak again.

  Mason has been our family tailor for about ten years. He’s young for the
industry, only in his mid-forties, but he’s skilled and his work is impeccable. “Would you like to see the fabric choices now?” he asks politely.

  “No,” I answer.

  “Yes,” Abi answers at the same time.

  Mason’s eyes jump from mine to Abi as he tries to decide who the high-ranking person is. I’d love to say it’s me, as the oldest and only brother. However, I’m quite certain it’s Abi, though I’d die before admitting to anyone, most of all, her.

  “Perhaps if you told him your vision?” Mason says to Abi gently.

  She rolls her eyes. “Why are you making this difficult, Ross? Show up and look pretty, that’s all I’m asking.” I don’t bother to tell her that if I told her that, she’d chop my balls off and fricassee them before feeding them to her dog. She doesn’t even have a dog, but she’d get one just to torture me.

  I raise one eyebrow and she relents. “Fine. Picture this . . . you and Kaede in tuxedos of the deepest, darkest green with white shirts and black shoes. Your choice of matte or patent,” she says, as if that’s a big concession on her part. “Your ties will be a floral pattern on a peach background. My dress is peach chiffon and Archie’s suit is peach too. We told Vi that he was wearing a black shirt under his suit, but instead, he’s going to wear one that’s the same dark green as your tuxedos. The archway over the ceremony space will be full of lush greenery, blushy peach roses, and white baby’s breath. It’ll be elegant and lavish but simple because the rich colors will be so enchanting.”

  I have basically no idea what Abi just said, but she’s excited about it. “You’re sure Violet wants this? It’s not your dream wedding, it’s hers?” Abi nods but looks insulted that I even asked.

  Kaede holds up his phone. “I texted Archie and he said he’s in. Apparently, this little scheme is both his and Abi’s this time.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear. “She’s branching out, man. Getting minions. We should take her head while she’s still weak, before she takes over the world. Muahaha.”