My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,48

She’s loving this, for some reason. The whole damn thing.

“Is this your way of testing us, Ross?” Kimberly asks, her voice half choked with emotion. My heart aches for her, and I realize that regardless of why we’re doing this for Ross, it’s going to play with people’s emotions.

We’re going to have to tightrope this as carefully as we do with my own family to avoid hurt feelings on both sides.

Ross turns on his mom, his eyes wide. “You know what Dad said to me?” She nods, though it looks like it’s painful. “Testing you? I think it’s the two of you testing me! Well, never fear, you got your way. I’m just lucky that it’s with someone I love, Violet, because this could’ve backfired on us all, Mom.”

I can sense that Ross is even more hurt that his mother knew about his Dad’s ultimatum than he was about his Dad’s part in the whole argument. They’ve always been such a tight family, one I envied, so seeing them at odds this way is setting me on edge.

“Enough,” Morgan growls, his eyes blazing. “Fine, Ross, you’re engaged. Congratulations, Violet. Or condolences. I’m not sure which.”

“Morgan,” Kimberly says, trying to soothe her husband. “Give them a chance.”

Morgan growls, getting up. “Excuse me. I’ll take my dinner in my study.”

Morgan disappears, and a tense, ugly silence drops over the remaining five of us. I look at Ross, who sighs and gives me a supportive pat on my thigh.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” he says dryly.

How the hell are we supposed to make this work? And we still have my family to tell. The folks flying in I’m not worried about, but Papa, Nana, and Mom?

Boom. Like that, my headache’s back, and I haven’t even touched the wine after my boozy behavior last night.

“Really? I thought that went well,” Abi says cheerily, downing the rest of her glass of Shiraz.

The rest of us stare at her, and she just grins, shrugging. “What?”

Chapter 10

Violet

The trip to my place after dinner is awkward as fuck.

Actually, if you’d asked me two days ago, this ride probably would’ve ranked up there with the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever done—riding along in Ross’s growly muscle car as he works his jaw and gear shifter with thinly corralled fury coursing through his veins. Veins I can literally see flexing in his forearms where his shirt sleeves are rolled back.

But that awkwardness ranking would’ve been before that dinner.

Now, I’m not sure much of anything will outrank that. Ever.

After Morgan’s outburst and abandonment of the family dinner, it didn’t get any better. Kimberly made some initial admonishments, but Courtney expertly sidestepped her mother and continued asking question after question. Ultimately, Kimberly had defected to Court’s side, her curiosity getting the better of her.

It’d started out easy enough, and I suspect Courtney had been lulling us into a false sense of security with her inquiries about the wedding. Venue? Of course, we have that. Date? Yep, have that too. Invitations? Abi had fielded that one and tried to help by saying she was updating them to reflect the new groom information and that they’d be ready to mail within twenty-four hours.

Kimberly had literally clutched her pearls and clarified, “You mean all the wedding plans are the ones you had with Colin? You’re just removing one groom and . . . inserting another?” Her distaste was heavy with judgement. Of me.

I’d swallowed a too-big piece of beef and looked to Ross for help because that’s exactly what we’re doing.

He’d laid his arm over the back of my chair possessively and grinned, apparently enjoying this a little too much. “Of course we are. That seems most efficient, and I do know how much of a hurry you’ve been in for me to get married and start popping out grandbabies.”

If I’d thought the death grip on her necklace was bad, it was nothing compared to the way Kimberly’s mouth had dropped open and her eyes had shot to mine, then to my table-hidden belly, and back up at Ross’s proclamation. The question was unspoken, but I’d answered it anyway. “No, of course not. And we’re not looking to start a family anytime soon. Right, dear?”

To hurry Ross’s answer, I smacked the back of my hand against his chest, telling myself that purple-nurples are a no-no at the dinner table while somehow simultaneously reminding my hoo-ha to ignore the hard expanse of muscle there. And I definitely refused to imagine Ross pumping iron to get those