My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,53

help but study the flex of his ass in the pants, but I catch myself doing it and make a run for the bathroom, closing the door a little too hard.

I look at the girl in the mirror. My eyes are bright, my cheeks flushed, and my hair a little messy from whipping my head back and forth at dinner from the verbal warfare we endured.

How did I end up here?

But I know the answer to that one. Papa. This is all for him, and to make him happy, I can get through this night and many more with Ross. It’s not even that bad. It’s not like he’s some ugly monster or a jerk who expects me to wait on him hand and foot.

He did do that whole ‘sit’ thing before dinner, though, I remind myself. But honestly, it was a test, a prank like we’ve pulled a thousand times, so I’m going to let that go as nothing more than an attempt at a point in his favor. I turned it around, though. And there will be plenty more chances for us both to goad each other like old times, but also to make everyone believe this is real.

Resolved, I pull my clothes off, folding them neatly. I pull the pink cami over my head, refusing to admit, even to myself, that my nipples are stiff and tender because of Ross. I repeat the same denial when I realize that my arousal has soaked through my panties. Guess I’ll have to go commando because fresh undies are in my suitcase, and I’m not walking back in there to get them because that would be way too obvious.

I pee, wash my hands, and brush my teeth. Before I open the door, I take a deep, steadying breath. And then another.

This is not real. I can do this. This is not real. I can do this.

In the bedroom, Ross is sprawled out on one side of the bed. His side, which I guess makes the other side mine. He’s stretched out in all his masculine glory, his bare feet crossed casually and his cute outie belly button topping the thicker happy trail of hair that runs down past his waistband.

Not that I’m looking.

“Well, you certainly know how to pack for moving into a new home,” Ross says, and in his pajama pants I see a heavy twitch. “I’m looking forward to this more and more by the moment.” He switches to a dry, documentary-style voice. “Night one. Subject is combative initially but quickly sees reason. Forecast for future successful interactions seems likely.” His report of our evening makes me realize that he’s right. This is night one of many to come.

I pretend like I don’t know what he’s talking about with the commentary on my PJs and ignore the attempt at a joke, too caught up in his proximity to come up with a comeback. “Goodnight, Ross,” I force myself to say, my body pulsing with need as I cover myself with the sheet.

He pulls the sheet the rest of the way over my shoulders, his hand resting like a burning warmth on top of the sheet when he’s done, and I can feel his intense gaze staring at the side of my face.

Steeling myself inside even as my pussy starts to throb, I turn my face to look up at him. “Yes?”

“We’re going to get through this, Violet. It’s going to be okay . . . for your family and mine, for you and me. I promise.” I wasn’t expecting him to say that. Not at all. He’s vowing this to me on pure faith and willingness to do whatever it takes. Some tiny worry I didn’t even know I had because I’d been suppressing it eases.

“Thanks, Ross.” I roll back over, settling in to sleep. “Goodnight,” I repeat, and this time, he answers in kind.

He lies down, his back toward mine but a solid foot of space between us in the king-size bed. “Geoffrey . . . lights out.”

“Goodnight, sir,” the computer voice says, and the lights fade to darkness. In that inky blackness, I can hear him shift and try to get comfortable, obviously aroused by what he saw and probably as confused as I am by the roller coaster of the night.

For my part, I lie still, forcing myself to breathe deeply and not think of what’s right behind me. Because the more I do, the more I wonder how I’m going to survive this fake