My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,13

a way to steal the groom-to-be from his bride-to-be is not part of my plans. At least today,” I added, just because screw my dad.

“Belle,” my mother said again. It was about the peak of her disciplinary force to say my name in shocked tones whenever I didn’t show the proper deference to my father.

“Sorry. May I be excused?” I asked, not actually giving a shit if I could or couldn’t.

My father waved me off, shaking his head.

I saw Asher’s silent communication. We had a sort of sibling telepathy going on, and I knew he was asking if I wanted him to storm out in solidarity on my behalf. I knew he would, too.

I gave a little shake of my head, then when my parents weren’t looking, I shot daddy dearest the double birds, fired off a couple pretend shots with them, then blew off my finger guns before holstering them at my hip.

Asher smirked back at me, then made a “shoo” gesture.

I hadn’t been exaggerating, anyway. I really did have a lot to do, and now I could start the full-blown panic attack that was coming with the news that Mindy wouldn’t be available for the dress fitting. They had no idea what strings I’d pulled or how much I put my own ass on the line to get those dresses flown in. I’d even bent over backwards to make sure everything would be in at the same time and at the same place.

And now my only option was to model them for Chris Rose—the same Chris Rose who had screwed me so soundly on an airplane just a few days ago that my dreams were still haunted by it.

Deep breaths.

Deep, deep breaths. Also, no more food today, because if I was going to fit in the dresses, I’d had custom delivered for Mindy, I was going to need to suck in my stomach with all the force of a thousand Amazonian warriors. The last thing I needed was a full belly.

But I did swing in a convenience store and grab just one candy bar on the way home. They all went to my ass, anyway.

7

Chris

Belle looked less than thrilled when she met me at the little boutique on the Eastside. The place was a bridezilla’s dream. It looked like some kind of monster had eaten a cargo boat full of lace, then barfed it all up in here.

Belle was wearing an uncharacteristically casual outfit of bright-colored running shorts and a t-shirt. Her hair was pulled up but looked freshly washed.

I had to take a moment to drink her in. The truth was, I’d expected this entire “fake wedding” thing to be like some wild party. I’d get shacked up with a random hottie my brother hired. We’d fuck. We’d pose for some pictures, say our I do's, and I’d get my contract extension. As the mobsters would say, “bada bing, bada boom.”

Except the plan was already off to a rocky start. Problem one had been the moment I introduced my dick to Belle’s pussy. The introduction had been swift—not excessively swift, mind you—and I felt like both parties walked away with a glowing first impression.

Worse, I traditionally allowed my dick roughly fifty percent control of daily operations. It was like a dickocracy, and no, I had no idea if I was making up that word or not.

But things were different now. I was supposed to put my dick in the backseat. It was like a betrayal. Like I’d been one of those bastards plunging the knives in Caesar’s back. I could just picture my dick writhing in agony as I told it we had to stay away from Belle. “Et tu, Chrise?” Et me, buddy. Et me.”

Belle gave me the traditional palms up followed by a side thigh slap signal when she spotted me. In other words, “What the hell?”

“No idea,” I said. “Mindy said she had something going on and couldn’t make it.”

“She realizes this isn’t something I can just reschedule, right? These designers won’t send the dresses a second time, and we’re just borrowing them for a few hours unless we want to fork over the money to buy them.”

“That’s why I brought my lovely model today.”

Belle rolled her eyes, then gestured to herself. “More like you brought in a wet dog off the street instead of the well-groomed pup for the dog food commercial.”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but it’s good to know you’re wet already. I can’t say we’ll be needing that today, but