My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,52

so I was trying anything I could think of.”

“Speak your problems and I will fix them, wifey. All you have to do is ask.”

I gave him the look I’d grown used to giving him when he called me “wifey.” I especially hated that I’d grown to like the way it sounded from him, so I felt like I had to look extra annoyed to compensate. “Asking you to help with my problems would be like making a wish on the monkey’s paw.”

“Harsh, but probably accurate.” Chris propped his knees up, resting his forearms on them. “It is pretty out here. You did a good job picking this place.”

“It’s a miracle I managed it with you following me around the whole time. Jumping around. Making inappropriate jokes. Basically, showing a complete disregard for the seriousness of what I was trying to do in every imaginable way.”

“But look how it turned out.” He swept his arm out across the view, as if he was somehow responsible for the gift of its beauty.

I shook my head, then leaned it back to rest on the tree. If I closed my eyes, all I could hear was the rustle of leaves and the swish of wind past my ears. It was beautiful. It was going to be an amazing wedding. I’d done a good job, and my life would go on after this.

“Oh,” Chris said. He lifted his ass to reach in his back pocket, then plucked something out. “I wrote some wedding vows for the ceremony.” He was smiling, then he frowned a little and shoved the list back in his pocket. “You know, to make it all look more genuine. I just thought you should know so I don’t show you up on the big day.”

“Can I read yours before I write mine?”

“Not a chance.” He hopped up and brushed the grass off his pants. “By the way, I heard you tried to secure separate rooms for us. I may have leaked to a few people where we were staying. Make sure you show up to the right room tonight, unless you want people to start getting the wrong idea.”

I glared, but all he did was bend down to plant a kiss on my head. “Can’t have my wifey avoiding me.” With a shrug, Chris headed off to God only knew where—probably to part of the property where he could jump up and see how high he could reach all afternoon.

Child.

A man-child I was going to marry in four days.

Sizzling hot dread snaked through my veins at the thought. I was going to get married in four days. Fake or not, a wedding was a wedding. Over a thousand people would be watching. My career would be made or broken. And then Chris and I would be shoved head-first into the messy business of deciding the biggest question.

I knew how it was supposed to go if love came first. Then you had marriage, then the baby carriage. But what came next when marriage was first?

A divorce, stupid.

A divorce comes next, and I needed to stop kidding myself. That’s how this ended. Chris got his contract, I got a divorce, my career was revived. End of story. Happily ever after as long as they’re apart.

34

Chris

Damon and I sat together near the edge of a dining hall that looked straight out of Beowulf. There was a long ass table, stone everything, and even a raised terrace where I figured the throne was probably supposed to sit. Except it was currently decked out in purple and cream everything, from tablecloths to little glass vases filled with colored rocks and banners overhead.

It was the night of the dreaded rehearsal dinner, and I’d been informed that Belle and I were supposed to make some toasts to our family and friends, who were arriving now and gathering around the room to talk and snack on appetizers.

Damon’s arms were folded, and he looked like he was either experiencing some gastrointestinal distress, or maybe just contemplating what an asshole he was.

“You going to get misty eyed on me during the ceremony?” I asked.

“Hardly. But I may shed a tear when I see all the zeroes on your next contract after this is all through.”

I cringed a little. “There’s actually a little story I should probably tell you.”

Damon had been calm and passive, but he knew me well enough to be scared. He sat up straighter, fixing me with hard eyes. “What did you do?”

I recounted the story from Coach Mackie’s office,