My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,20

I said Mindy was a hired actress.”

Belle’s eyebrows slowly lowered. She looked adorable with her milkshake clutched between shaking hands. I wanted to taste it on her mouth—to steal another kiss. I shouldn’t have felt relieved for what happened, but there was no use pretending. I was thrilled. Mindy had screwed herself out of the equation, and now there wasn’t anything except a big fat lie and some smooth-talking standing between Belle and me. At least that’s what I was hoping.

“Explain,” she said flatly.

So I did. I spent a few minutes walking her through the way I’d gotten myself into trouble one too many times for my coach’s taste. How I needed some epic stunt to prove I was calming down, or at least that I’d spend less time chasing after women once one had me tied down. And how it was critical that nobody except the absolute essential people knew the truth, because it had to look real.

Belle’s nostrils were flared so wide I thought I could’ve turned her upside down and made a few three pointers in a row with my straw wrapper. She was breathing hard, and I wondered if she was thinking about tossing her milkshake in my face.

Couldn’t say I particularly blamed her.

“You lied to me.”

“I prefer to say I misled you. But it wasn’t personal.”

“It got personal the moment you stuck your dick in me, Chris.”

Our waitress, who had just come up from behind Belle, appeared to decide it wasn’t the best time to drop off our check. She did an about-face and walked back toward the kitchen.

Belle shielded her eyes, cheeks going red. “Did she just hear me?”

“Yes, but please, let’s keep talking about when my dick was in you. Because that was my favorite part of this story.”

There went the nostrils again. “This isn’t something you can dissolve with a joke, Chris.”

“That’s why I’ve got a plan to make it up to you.”

“I’m doubtful but listening.”

“This fiasco just screwed up a wedding you very much needed to plan, right? Because of your failing business and all that?”

The look she was giving me said I probably should’ve phrased that more delicately, but I pressed on.

“What if you go along with the story I gave them? Instead of Mindy being the fake fiancée, now you get to be.”

“Get to be?” Belle bit out each word like she had to force it from the core of her being.

“It’s a pretty cushy job. You just have to show up, say the words at the right time, and my brother and I will pay you what we were going to pay Mindy. And you still get paid for planning the wedding. Double dipping, you know?”

“I’d have to be crazy to agree to that.”

“At the end of the day, what’s even the difference between a crazy person and someone who’s highly motivated. Right?”

“No. I’m not bailing you out of this. Yes, I am probably screwed now without this wedding to rebuild trust in my business. No, I’m not willing to stoop to your level to fix it. I’m out. Okay?” She looked like she was about to storm out of the building, but she picked up her milkshake and proceeded to aggressively suck the last quarter of her drink down. She set the glass hard on the table, then glared at me. “You better tip that poor waitress nicely for having to hear about where your dick has been, too.”

And just like that, Belle walked out of my life.

Temporarily, of course.

12

Belle

Let the record show that today was officially day four, L.A.C. For laymens, let the record also show that L.A.C. stands for Life After Chris.

In my four days of post Chris living, I’d discovered a few important things. One was that my business was basically like a grease fire in the kitchen. I’d stupidly thought I could make a post on my site to calmly refute all the negativity flooding in, but all it did was stoke the flames. I’d even heard a rumor that a national news outlet was considering running a sensationalized version of my story. There were even whispers of headlines like, “The Wedding Slammer’s Revenge” or “Bridal Bloodbath.”

My brother had tried to reach out a few times, but I didn’t need his uncanny ability to calm me down. I needed to sink into the horrible and let it marinate. Because calming down would mean I wouldn’t be too distracted to think about work all day.

It would mean shifting my focus to dangerous things.

Dangerous, tattooed,