the white tulle wrapping around my feet, bringing us both down to the floor with a crash.
“Shit!” I cursed as I cracked my hip on the parquet floor, turning us so that Grace landed on top of me.
“You did that on purpose!” she snapped, smacking me on the chest then wincing and shaking her hand.
I waggled my eyebrows at her. “I work out. Can you tell?”
She glared at me then scrambled off.
Gunnar banged a hand against his forehead.
“Chris, for the love of God, can you just stand there like everyone else and sway to the music?”
“Fine.” I picked Grace up off the floor then, ignoring her indignant protests, patted her crown back in place. “You people don’t know quality when you see it.”
9
Grace
“How’s the dessert?” Chris asked me after we had done the cake cutting from multiple angles so Gunnar could get the shots he needed.
“Lemon and buttercream.” I sighed happily around the cake.
He stole a bit off my plate. I tried to stab his hand with my fork.
“It’s so delicious I’m not even going to complain that the photographer Gunnar hired is clearly not framing any of the shots correctly.” I shook my head in disgust. “His photos are going to look basic.”
“Damn,” Chris said, leaning back in my chair and sipping yet another scotch. “Basic wedding photos. Say it ain’t so.”
“Photography is the most important part of the wedding,” I said with a sniff. “Ten years from now, photos are all the happy couple will have to remember their big day. Look at him.” I jabbed with my fork in the direction of the photographer, who was taking shots of the partygoers. “He’s using a flash. All the pictures are going to look like a dystopian hellscape.”
“Because we wouldn’t want to ruin anyone’s happy memories of the fake wedding.”
“Not so loud,” I chided. “Gunnar said the other couples don’t know the marriages are fake!”
Chris yawned.
I pursed my lips together and wished the dress had pockets so I could have my phone in it to check the time. I had three scrapbooks to finish, not to mention I needed to prep for the design meeting with Addison that was coming up.
“Can I have a picture of the happy couple?” the photographer asked, coming over to us.
“Not if you’re going to use that lens,” I said tartly.
The photographer turned away, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “know-it-all bitch.”
Chris slammed his glass on the table and snarled, “What did you say about my wife?”
I froze.
The photographer went white as Chris stood up to his full six-foot-five, if I had to guess.
“Uh, nothing,” he sputtered.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” I hissed at Chris when he sat back down, self-satisfied.
“No one talks about my wife like that,” he said, brow furrowed.
“Fake wife,” I said, poking him in the thigh, which was as hard as his chest had been earlier when I had crash-landed onto it.
The typical wedding playlist the DJ had blaring over the sound system stopped, and the microphone crackled as the officiant tested it, smiling dopily. She had clearly also been enjoying Elsie’s craft cocktails. Not that I was judging—in fact, I needed another one.
“I just want to say,” she gushed, “how brave and wonderful it is that these eight beautiful people have given themselves to complete strangers and taken a leap of faith for love! I am honored to have been with you as you start this journey to a new life.”
And I’m about to be out of here in ten minutes.
“As we see our happy couples off to the honeymoon, let’s give them a big cheer!”
I managed a halfhearted wave as I grabbed Chris by the wrist and practically dragged him out of the reception hall. The other couples lingered and did little exit dances for the cameras.
I, however, wanted to get the fuck out of this dress and eat a burger and chili cheese fries.
“I’m so glad that’s over!” I exclaimed to Chris, pulling at the fur stole.
“The limo is waiting downstairs. I have us booked for two weeks in Paris, but really”—Chris shrugged—“I can tell the pilot to take us wherever we want.”
I side-eyed him. “Take us where? Why?”
“For our honeymoon,” Chris said, impatient.
“I’m not going on a honeymoon with you!” I scoffed.
“That’s what people do after weddings. The show booked honeymoons for all the couples in some non-climate-controlled Caribbean resort, which I refuse to be caught dead at,” Chris continued. “So if you don’t like Paris, I’m fine with London. Or I suppose if