My Big Fat Fake Wedding

by Landish, Lauren

  Violet, who looks amazing as always sitting next to me, laughs. “I give it a week before you’re back to your normal self.”

  Sofia laughs, shrugging. “Someone has to keep you all in line! And nobody’s better than an Italian aunt!”

  “Whoa, there, Aunt Sofia,” I plead, holding up my hands. “I’m new around here, but I already know not to mess with you.”

  “Well, as long as you’re scared of a little old lady,” Abi teases as she reaches across me, “I’m gonna grab the garlic bread.”

  We get everything passed out, all of the dishes coming around family style. Plates are filled, and the conversation’s loud and boisterous. If anyone looks upset, it has to be Stefano.

  “What is it, Papa?” Violet asks after Nana’s said grace and everyone starts to dig in. Stefano’s got a pained expression in his face, and I swear he looks emotional. “Are you okay? Is it your heart?”

  “Yes and no,” Stefano says, sighing miserably. “All this wonderful food, but those doctors, they want me to eat less!”

  “Well, you know, Stefano,” Mom says, trying to be helpful, “tomatoes are very rich in lycopene and vitamins. They’re actually great for your heart. You might just need to adjust the recipes . . .” Mom pauses, feeling the glares from Nana and Sofia. “I’m just saying.”

  “Kimberly,” Maria says, patting her on the arm, “stop before Nana invokes Susan Lucci on you. Just trust me, it’s not worth it.”

  Mom looks very confused but does indeed drop her suggestions about how to make Nana’s Italian food healthier for Stefano.

  Stefano, though, has one more complaint. “And worst of all, no more of my cigars!”

  “Thank Madre Maria!” Nana declares. “It’ll still be years before I get that stink out of my house!”

  “Your house?” Stefano growls, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Violet covering her mouth as she tries to hide the smile. “Woman, I worked for forty-five years to—”

  “I have an idea,” Dad says, not used to their bickering. “Stefano, after dinner, would you care to join me in my study for some fine bourbon?”

  Stefano immediately stops bickering with Nana and turns to Dad, grinning. “If you’ve got a good scotch . . . I think I might find your study even more enjoyable than my own bedroom.”

  “Where you won’t be sleeping tonight if you keep up with your mouthing, man,” Nana sasses back. “The couch is calling your name.”

  I can’t help but laugh, and everyone else busts out too. Maria tries to reign her mother in. “Mom, could you maybe not discuss your sleeping arrangements in front of Violet’s new family? You’re going to scare them off because you’re acting pazza.”

  I lean over and whisper in Violet’s ear as everyone teases and jokes around us. “I think I can see where you got your smart mouth from.”

  She licks her lips and my eyes follow the movement. “Yeah, we’re all pretty much ball-busters. Some people can handle it, some can’t,” she whispers back with a shrug like she hasn’t decided if I can handle her or not.

  Sassy minx. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

  “Keep talking about handling my balls, Vi, and I’ll give you everything in them. Where do you want it tonight?” My voice is low and dark, full of promise.

  “Wherever you want to give it to me, husband. You know how much I like to obey.” She drawls the last word out, a dare and challenge all at once because we both know that there’s not a damn thing in this world that could make Violet Antonia Carlotta Russo obey an order she doesn’t want to. But oh, when she wants to, she is glorious in her utter wanton surrender.

  And I’m the only man who gets to see her that way, her husband.

  Epilogue

  Violet—Two Months Later

  So what if it’s not six months?

  Simply put, two months was enough time.

  Not for us to fall deeper in love, although that’s happened. Every moment Ross and I spend together, we find a new reason to love each other even more deeply.

  And not because we needed to gain the understanding of our families. If anything, Nana’s repeated suggestions that we ‘get down to the baby making’ seems to have ignited a desire in both families for us to speed things up.

  Including us, which is why we’ve been ready for this for weeks already.

  In the end, the only thing that’s held us up was Father O’Flannigan. After we went back to him and explained everything, especially what was in our hearts as we said our vows, he said he needed to talk to the archbishop. Our situation wasn’t something the church normally dealt with, after all.

  Regardless of the particulars, everything’s perfect now. Father O’Flannigan is blessing our union and giving us a chance to speak our own thoughts as a reaffirmation of our vows. Since we’re already officially married and this is more of a casual thing for our family, Father O’Flannigan even agreed to do it at the Andrews estate instead of the church. That alone took two conversations to make sure we could do that.

  But finally, here we are.

  The air’s cooler than before, and the leaves are starting to change, making everything even more beautiful, in my opinion. There are lots of reds and oranges in the trees around us, and as Papa slowly and carefully walks me down the grassy aisle, I’m ecstatic.

  It’s only our immediate families, plus Archie and Kaede. No company executives, no fourth cousins from Sardinia or Crete, nothing but a baker’s dozen of chairs lined up, a simple altar in Kimberly’s garden, and us. I’ve even ditched the fancy dress for a simple white silk slip dress, which is much more comfortable since it’s my actual size.

  “You look beautiful, Violet,” Papa says as we walk. “So happy, which is all I’ve ever wanted for you, dear.”

  “I am, Papa,” I tell him quietly so I don’t overshadow the soft music pumping through the home stereo system. No DJ this time, no orchestra, just a fancy sound system. It’s better that way. “I’m marrying for the right reasons, and I’ve found my happiness.”

  Papa hums and kisses my cheek at the end of the aisle. “That’s my girl.”

  The ceremony is simple, with none of the craziness that marred our last wedding. Father O’Flannigan talks about the specialness of love and living with an open heart and then performs the blessing over our interlocked hands.

  This time, when I say my vows, I remember every word because I wrote them myself. Ross did the same.

  “Sometimes, there are events in your life that are like big, flashing signs that things are going to change,” Ross says as he holds my hands. “Sometimes, though, those life-changing events happen so quickly, or so subtly, you don’t even notice them. For me, that event was the first day my little sister invited you over to play at our house. My life changed that day. And while it took me a long time to figure it out, I realize now that I want one thing in my life. You. To love you, to honor you . . . to be your husband. Forever.”

  Kimberly’s openly crying, and I have to blink back tears as I reply. “I hated you. For so long, I thought you were my tormentor, the boy to haunt my dreams and make my school days a living nightmare. But then I saw through the teasing, the hard words, and saw the real you. The man you’ve become, the man I love with all my heart. Today, forever and always, I want to be yours. Your love, your woman, your wife. Forever.”

  A minute later, we kiss, and as our family surrounds us, Father O’Flannigan gets a joke in. “So . . . about the marriage license. Should I sign it this time?”

  Morgan is the quickest response. “You’d better have already done that months ago. That’s my daughter-in-law right there.” He tosses me a wink, and I remember how Ross said that Morgan didn’t want me to get hurt. That all along, he truly wanted what was best for everyone. He might’ve been a bit bumbling about it, but he was right in the end.

  Ross was ready to settle down. I was too. And thanks to Abi’s scheming, we’ve actually got a true happily ever after of a marriage, not just a big, fat, fake wedding.

&n
bsp; Ross

  The bridal suite’s nowhere near as big as my penthouse . . . excuse me, our penthouse. Then again, the penthouse doesn’t have a view that can even hold a candle to the view outside our hut. With an unspoiled view of the beach and the ocean on one side and the Hawaiian jungle on the other, I can forgive the relative lack of bells and whistles.

  Besides, the most beautiful vision I’ve ever seen stands in the doorway right now, her red slip clinging to every curve as she hungrily traces my naked body with her eyes. I’ll admit that I flex a bit for her.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I murmur as Violet climbs onto the bed, the hem riding high enough on her hip to show me that she’s not wearing any panties underneath. I don’t know what it is about my girl going commando, but knowing that she’s not wearing panties now, and in fact hasn’t worn any panties since we left for our honeymoon, certainly had me hard as a rock on the entire flight across the Pacific.

  “You’re just saying that because you want to have sex with me,” Violet purrs, leaning down to dangle her dark hair around our faces and envelope us in a shadowy cave. “Admit it.”

  I wrap my arms around her, flipping her over in the soft bed and making Violet squeal in surprise. “I’ll admit one thing. I love everything about you,” I growl before showering her neck with kisses. “I especially love the way your pussy feels when you cream all over my cock.” I thrust against her, sliding along her slippery seam but not entering her yet, teasing us both with what we want.

  Violet purrs underneath me, our hands touching and exploring each other as we celebrate our marriage. It’s been a long, twisty road, and in the future, I’m not looking forward to Aunt Abi and Aunt Courtney explaining to our children just how we got together.

  But that’s for later. Much later.

  Right now, I’m thankful to be feasting on Violet’s voluptuous, luxurious body. Soft swells of breasts capped with delicious nipples pebble at my touch as I slip the straps off her shoulders, exposing her skin to my lips and tongue.

  As I taste her, Violet arches her back, her hands running through my hair. Her core presses against my rock-hard cock, precum oozing from its tip. I ride her, my cockhead dancing over her clit as I suck and nibble her breasts, moaning as she slips from side to side, encouraging me.

  Violet moans as my hips speed up. Reluctantly, I pull back, trembling as I kiss down her stomach to the softness of her pussy. I dip my tongue deep inside her cleft, scooping her honey out into my hungry mouth, so sweet and tangy all at once.

  I look up while lapping at her, my cock leaking between my legs at the sight of Violet watching me, squeezing and massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples. She lifts her hips, offering herself fully to me and letting my hands have access to her ass. We’ve both explored and discovered so much about each other over the past two months, and as my tongue flicks over her clit, I use my little finger to circle her asshole, the two combining to drive her wild.

  “Fuck, Ross!” she screams as she falls apart on my tongue, grinding against my mouth and covering my face in her juices. She bucks and quivers, her hips driving up until she collapses and she pushes me onto my back. It’s something that we’ve just learned about Violet . . . when she’s double-stimulated, the orgasm doesn’t drain her but supercharges her, something we both enjoy.

  I lie back, letting her have her way with me and happily giving her control the way she just trusted me with it. Violet places my steely hard shaft between her tits, moving in a sexy massaging wave that leaves me breathless. With each stroke of my cock between her soft mounds, she voraciously sucks on the head of my cock, leaving me trembling on the edge of coming.

  But Violet knows me as much as I know her now, and she pulls back, panting as she quickly climbs on top of me and impales herself on my cock. Both of us freeze, the feeling of being together with no doubts, no questions, no lies, and having been blessed anew stopping time as we adjust to the powerful sensations in our hearts, minds, and bodies.

  “Mmm . . . I like married sex, Mr. Andrews,” Violet purrs when she’s ready, kissing my chin.

  “I like married sex too, Mrs. Andrews,” I reply, reaching down and cupping her ass. Violet lifts up, riding me slowly, her slip a puddle of silk around her belly button as she slides up and down my cock.

  We take our time, letting the heat build within her body, her breasts rising and falling until she reaches down and I capture her fingers in a tight grip, our hands intertwined.

  Faster and faster we go, my hips thrusting up to meet her tight pussy, sheathing deep inside her with each slap of our skin. Violet throws her head back, her hair a cascade of curls and her skin flushed pink as she nears the edge again. Her pussy squeezes and tightens around my cock, driving me right to my limits.

  She drops down hard, taking all of me and shattering herself as she cries out, her voice pure and joyous on the warm tropical air.

  ‘Say it,” I growl through gritted teeth.

  “I love you, Ross. My husband.” Her words are breathless and stilted but what I need to hear to trigger my own orgasm.

  I join her, my balls tightening and exploding, filling her with my seed as deep as I can as I grunt out, “I love you too. Wife.”

  Finally, the world spins and I pull her to me, holding her tight until everything comes back together.

  In the calm following the storm, Violet sighs happily on my chest. “Two whole weeks of this, huh?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Violet laughs and kisses my chin again. “Keep it up, mister, and we’re going to have a stowaway on the trip home.” Violet rubs her belly down low, and I wonder if Nana’s baby chatter is getting to her the way it has to everyone else.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say seriously.

  Violet looks up at me, her eyes searching mine in question even as she jokes. “You do remember that twins and triplets run in my family, right?”

  I snuggle her to my chest again. She relaxes, thinking I was just kidding and that she scared me off. But there’s no way. The only thing better than the thought of her by my side every day for the rest of our lives is the idea that she would be there holding our child.

  “Bring it on, Chickie,” I whisper, and she balks loudly. Until I flip her over and slip my fingers in her messy pussy and press my lips along those shapely legs she’s trying to wrap around me. Amazing how she settles quite quickly and starts chanting my name when I do that.

  By the time she comes, she’ll have agreed to think about babies. We’ll get there, when we’re both ready. Just like we got to this point, happily married, when the time was right. Even if it did take a big, fat, fake wedding.

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the book. If you did, please take a moment and leave a review!

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  Continue reading for a preview of the first book in my Get Dirty series, Dirty Talk. It’s naughty, but it’s sooo sweet! Derrick King is the ultimate book boyfriend.

  Excerpt: Dirty Talk

  Chapter 1 - Katrina

  “Checkmate, bitch,” I exclaim as I do a victory dance that’s comprised of fist pumps and ass wiggles in my chair while my best friend Elise laughs at me. I turn in my seat and start doing a little half-stepping Rockettes dance. “Can-can, I just kicked some can-can, I so am the wo-man, and I rule this place!”

  Elise does a little finger dance herself, cheering along with me.

  “You go, girl. Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Now let’s eat!”

  I laugh with her, joyful in celebrating my new promotion at work, regardless of the dirty looks the snooty ladies at the next table are shooting our way.

  I get their looks. I mean, we are in the best restaurant in the city. While East Robinsville isn’t New York or Miami, we’re more of a Northeastern suburb of . . . well, everything in between. This just isn’t the sort of restaurant where five-foot-two-inch women i
n work clothes go shaking their ass while chanting something akin to a high school cheer.

  But right now, I give exactly zero fucks.

  “Damn right, we can eat! I’m the youngest person in the company to ever be promoted to Senior Developer and the first woman at that level. Glass ceiling? Boom, busting through! Boys’ club? Infiltrated.”

  I mime like I’m sneaking in, shoulders hunched and hands pressed tightly in front of me before splaying my arms wide with a huge grin.

  “Before they know it, I’m gonna have that boys’ club watching chick flicks and the whole damn office is going to be painted pink!”

  Elise snorts, shaking her head again. “I still don’t have a fucking clue what you actually do, but even I understand the words promotion and raise. So huge congrats, honey.”

  She’s right, no one really understands when I talk about my job. My brain has a tendency to talk in streams of binary zeroes and ones that make perfect sense to me, but not so much to the average person. When I was in high school, I even dreamed in Java.

  And even I don’t really understand what my promotion means. Senior Developer? Other than the fact that I get updated business cards with my fancy new title next week, I’m not sure what’s changed. I’m still doing my own coding and my own work, just with a slightly higher pay grade. And when I say slightly, I mean barely a bump after taxes. Just enough for a bonus cocktail at a swanky club on Friday maybe. Maybe more at year end, they’d said. Ah, well, I’m excited anyway. It’s a first step and an acknowledgement of my work.

  The part people do get is when my company turns my strings of code into apps that go viral. After my last app went number one, they were forced to give me a promotion or risk losing my skills to another development company. They might not understand the zeroes and ones, but everyone can grasp dollars and cents, and that’s what my apps bring in.