My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,12

to keep the wrinkles at bay.

Dad hopped in the back of the golf cart and we headed toward the fairway, where Asher and I’s shots had actually landed.

My dad hopped out of the cart before we even stopped, smoothly pulled a ball from his pocket, and dropped it. He tapped his toe over it to keep it from bouncing conspicuously, then spun to wave at us. “See? Dead center.” He let out a triumphant laugh.

Asher and I rolled our eyes at each other but didn’t bother calling him out.

Family golf time wasn’t about winning. It was about putting our time in with the family unit in a setting where our dad was mildly distracted enough to not be a pain in our asses. Mom was also probably going to be too tipsy to nag us about the usual topics.

Asher lined up for his shot. He was always the better golfer in the family, but that was hardly a surprise. My brother was good at everything he ever did. It was why I wished he’d resisted my father’s urge to get recruited into the world of politics.

Personally, even the word politics made me want to take a long nap. But I’d absorbed enough incidental knowledge to know that my brother was on the fast-track to high places. He was extremely handsome, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile that had always let him get away with murder. Of course, he had the brains for policy and all the manipulation required, too. Asher was all the things my father probably wished he’d been.

I didn’t have to wonder if my father wished I was more like my brother, because he’d told me as much several times.

We wrapped up our game and headed back to the clubhouse to get lunch together. Once my dad was done boasting about the game of golf he’d “won,” the conversation devolved into some boring business talk about delegates and other political buzzwords.

I pulled out my phone and double checked all the details for tonight. I’d arranged for seven designer wedding dresses to be shipped out on special order to a wedding boutique in the city called Delilah’s Gowns. Mindy and Chris would meet me there tonight, and we would hopefully find at least one she was in love with.

Before I could even open my email to double check our appointment time, I noticed a text.

It was from Chris.

Chris: Mindy can’t make it to try on dresses tonight. You guys are roughly the same size, so bring clean underwear. You get to be the stand-in.

I noticed Asher and my father had gone quiet. Asher slid his hand across the table, bumping my knuckles.

“You good, Belle?” He was wearing his usual crooked grin, flashing a perfectly white, slightly pointed canine tooth.

I quickly flipped my phone over and set it screen down. Wear clean underwear? What did that even mean? “Uhm. Yeah. I’m good. Just saw that a show I like is getting canceled is all.”

“Bummer,” Asher said.

“Belle,” my father leaned in, fixing me with his dark blue eyes. There was a commanding edge to his voice, and I knew I was about to get one of his infamous talks. “I heard about Texas.”

I waited for more, but apparently, he was hoping he could just glare at me long enough and I’d spill everything.

“Okay,” I said.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“What am I supposed to say?” I didn’t normally talk back to my dad, but Texas still felt like an open wound in my chest. He was currently sticking his finger in there and wiggling it around. So, yeah, sorry not sorry.

“I want you to tell me the rumors aren’t true.”

“That would depend what rumors you’ve heard, I guess.”

“Belle,” my mother chided me without looking up from her phone. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

My father dramatically sipped his drink, set it down, took a deep breath, then leaned on the table. “Your brother and I are both depending on you to uphold a certain standard of decorum, Belle. If half the country thinks you’re some floozie wedding planner who has some ungodly kink for engaged men—”

“Dad,” Asher cut in. “That’s enough. Besides, Belle and Lance knew each other for years. It’s not like he was a stranger she targeted.”

I set down my napkin. “I didn’t target anyone. And as much fun as it is to hear you two debate whether or not I’m a kinky homewrecker, I’ve actually got a wedding to plan. And no, finding