My (Mostly) Fake Wedding - Penelope Bloom Page 0,53
watching Damon deflate more with every word.
“You realize what you’ve done,” he said slowly when I’d finished. “You at least realize that, right?”
“I threw a hungry little man’s hotdog in the trash can.”
“I mean all of this.” Damon gestured around the room. “Every last preparation and expense was to get you that contract. And you threw it in the trash can next to a jumbo hotdog. You threw it all away for nothing.”
“No,” I said. “At the risk of sounding corny. It wasn’t for nothing.” I pointed to Belle. “I’m going to wife that woman so hard her knees will give out.”
Realization slowly dawned on Damon, who looked like he was thinking about vomiting. “You’re serious?”
“Aren’t I always?”
Ignoring me, Damon ran his palm across his mouth, eyes scanning the ceiling. “Wait. So assuming you’re not fucking with me, you actually want this marriage to be legitimate. But what about her? You realize it takes two to make a marriage work, right?”
“She’s coming around.”
“Your wedding is tomorrow, Chris.”
“I do my best work under pressure.”
Damon prodded my still-sore shoulder. “Yeah. Clearly. That’s why you nearly got tore in half against the blitz.”
“Just look at her,” I said, pointing to Belle. She was endlessly adjusting a vase in the center of the table. She’d scoot it an inch, step back, survey it, then rush forward to move it in the opposite direction. Just when it looked like she was satisfied, she’d lurch forward and move it again. “She’s perfect.”
“Perfectly neurotic, maybe.”
“Hey,” I said. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
Damon let out a low, pained sound from the depths of his chest. “You really are serious about all of this, aren’t you? God, help us.”
“Well, I’ve got some love to make. Figurative love—by the way. We’ve already done the horizontal mambo dozens of times.”
Damon shook his head. “Then maybe her judgment really is poor enough to go along with this idiotic plan of yours.”
“See? That’s the optimistic brother I know and love.”
Belle had moved on to trying to jump and tug a stray fiber loose from one of the overhanging banners when I found her. “Oh, thank God. Can you please reach that? It’s driving me crazy,” she said.
I considered jumping and grabbing it, but that wouldn’t mean getting my hands on her. So I instead put my hands on either side of her chest and thrust her up in the air over my head. My shoulder wasn’t particularly happy about the maneuver, but as long as I didn’t try to cock Belle back and toss her in a perfect spiral downfield, I figured it’d survive. She gave me a few low effort swats but got over her annoyance for long enough to tug the stray fiber loose.
I set her back down, dusting my hands. “Are you excited for the toasts?”
“No, not really,” Belle said. “I like watching weddings, but I’m starting to realize being the co-star of one is absolutely terrifying.”
“You’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got a plan for the toasts that should lighten the mood.”
“Chris. Please don’t go rogue and start trying to help. I really want tonight and everything else to go as smoothly as possible.”
“Oh, smooth is practically my mantra. Don’t even worry.”
“I’m worried.”
I patted her cheek. Adorably, she leaned into my palm like a puppy looking for ear scratches. I gave her earlobe a playful little tug, then laughed as she scrunched up her face and tried to swat at me. “You’re so aggressive. Just relax.”
“You’d be aggressive too if the biggest day of your life hung on the balance and an overly energetic man-child had to be trusted not to do something crazy.”
“Aww,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “I had no idea this was so important to you, but it’s important to me, too. Matrimony. Sanctity of marriage. Consecration. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Well, mostly the last part, but still.”
“Chris. Please just go sit back down and let me do my job. I’ve got a few things to do before the rehearsal starts, and I need to focus.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll go back to watching that tight little ass of yours while you fast-walk around. Loving the dress, by the way.”
Belle’s cheeks went red, and she gave me a look of half-warning before she walked off to fiddle with the chairs, which she must’ve thought weren’t pushed in evenly.
I just stood there with my arms crossed as I watched her for a few moments. I had a habit of living life downhill. I tended to