My Big Fat Fake Wedding - Lauren Landish Page 0,81

enjoying every bit of this.

This could be a disaster.

While Abi’s cool, and Mom seems happy . . . there are going to be plenty of people at the Gala who’ll take one look at Nana Russo and give the look, pretending to be charmed while being sanctimonious and looking down their noses at the working-class family.

Knowing what I know of Nana and Aunt Sofia, they might end up snatching a few wigs and causing a scene . . . which is exactly what Violet would want to avoid. She’s nervous enough about her family starting to show up and the craziness the wedding might devolve into.

“Fine, Violet and I will come, but her family can’t exactly drop everything and attend a gala, Mom. I’m not even sure if Papa can get around that well right now.”

“Well, whoever can come, they should.” It should be a welcoming thing to say, but it sounds like a directive. “I’ll have Karl schedule them for a fun day of relaxation—manicures and hair treatments and dress shopping, our treat, of course. Goodness knows, they deserve it with everything going on with Maria’s dad.”

“I’ll see and let you know.” It’s the best I can do for right now. Maybe I can get them out of this later, somehow? I’ll tell Mom that I asked and they couldn’t come because . . . of something. I’ll figure it out.

But fuck, I committed Violet and me to going. There’s no getting out of that.

She’s won either way.

“I gotta go, Mom,” I say wearily. Between Dad and Mom, I’ve got whiplash so hard, my brain’s spinning. Dad wishes Violet would just go away, and Mom is trying to bring her whole family into the fold.

“Oh, of course, dear. Thank you for your help, Courtney!” she calls out as she hangs up. Court grins, knowing full well what she helped Mom do.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask Courtney, almost as mad at her as I am Mom and Dad.

Her face falls. “Look, Ross. I like Violet, and I don’t know what you two are up to. Hell, maybe you really are in love. I don’t know, really. But you need to do this. It’s how our family works, within our walls, within the society pages, and within the upper crust. You get engaged, you show each other off, parading around like show ponies for Mom and Dad. By not doing that, you’re raising more eyebrows.”

I hadn’t realized just how sharply perceptive she is. Nor that I hadn’t considered that by hiding away, we would be more suspicious. I was hoping for a bit of ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ Honestly, I was hoping to just rush headlong through any barriers and get to the finish line of the altar.

She gets up and struts to the door but pauses and looks back. “Don’t hurt her, Ross. Violet’s a good person. Just don’t hurt her.”

I can’t stop the bitterness that flies off my tongue. “And what does that make me?”

Her answering smile is sad. “Just unaware, big brother. Maybe a bit immature, still, but that’s okay. It’s one of the reasons we love you.”

I close my eyes and start rubbing at my temples as she leaves. After meeting the Russos, I know Violet’s going to have a fit over this. It’s the last thing she’d want, and to be honest, the last thing I’d want too. Papa and Nana Russo are good people, and I don’t want them to be embarrassed by some stuck-up society rich bitch because he still talks a bit like a paisan.

I’m gonna have to do some pretty major convincing to get her to go along with this latest development.

Everything’s perfect, with the scent from the incense wafting through the air as I double-check that the outdoor table’s been laid out just the way I want.

“You got everything?” I ask the chef, who nods. “Double-check with me. The wine—”

“Lodovico Blend,” the chef confirms for me. “Are you sure, though, sir? There are much finer wines available.”

I nod, knowing that for the chef, fine basically means expensive. But I noticed three empty bottles of Lodovico on a shelf at the Russos’, and while I’m no sommelier, I know enough about wine to know a working-class family like that doesn’t drink a thousand dollars of wine on a regular basis, so the name means something to them.

“I’m sure. And the garlic bread?”

“Personally prepared by me, sir,” the chef assures me. “And the lamb ravioli will pair perfectly with