My Big Fat Fake Wedding(113)

The words hang in the air, him asking me to marry him for real . . . or is it again? And before I realize it, a silence has stretched out between us.

But I don’t want to wait. I know my answer.

Find your happiness.

I’ve known what that’s been since I was a little girl, it seems.

“I love you too. And yes. I knew when I was walking down that aisle, too. I meant it, every word.”

We seal the words with a kiss, this one honest and real.





Chapter 29





Ross—Two Weeks Later





“Sir, it’s good to see you in such a good mood,” Karl says as he opens the door for me. “I hear congratulations are in order?”

“For real this time,” I reply, shaking his offered hand. “Violet will be here shortly. She’s picking up Papa and Nana from his rehab appointment.”

Karl smiles. “How is Mr. Russo doing?” Karl and Stefano have played chess a couple of times, and they get along very well. “Is he ready for a rematch?”

I lean forward, whispering conspiratorially, “I think he enjoyed his time at the inpatient rehab maybe a bit too much with all the attention.” Karl and I laugh, and I tell him the rest. “He’s home with Nana now, and they have a home health nurse coming every morning. In the afternoon, he goes to outpatient rehabilitation and does his exercises. It’s wearing him out a bit, so you might go easy on him when you play. Let him win every once in a while, you know?” Karl shakes his head. “So far, he’s been a picture-perfect patient, so they’re hopeful he’s going to be okay. At least for a while, and that’s significant, considering his previous prognosis and age.”

Karl raises a stern eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be commenting that Mr. Russo is old, now would you?” If I were generous, I’d say Karl’s in his late sixties, but where Stefano has struggled, Karl is fit and healthy.

“Of course not, Karl. I wouldn’t dare or you’d probably kill me,” I say with a wink.

He grins, patting me a little too firmly on the shoulder as a show of his still-present strength. “Yes, sir. Your mother is around in the garden.”

“Thanks,” I say, heading that way.

I find Mom out by the pool, trimming a few flowers and humming happily under her breath. “Mom?”

Mom looks up, her grin spreading to cover her whole face when she sees me. “Ross, honey!”

“Uh, mind setting down the clippers before you stab me?” I ask as she rushes over, causing her to pause and set her tools down before she hugs me hard. “How are you doing?”

“Just promise me that you’re serious this time, that this is real?” Mom says, her voice thick with happy tears.

“Totally real,” I promise her, hugging her back. “In fact, we decided to make a few changes just to show how serious we’re going to be.”

“Like what?” Mom asks, leading me over to the outdoor couch on the patio and having me take a seat. “Please don’t tell me that you’re going to re-invite Violet’s entire family. I mean, they’re lovely people, but things got a little out of hand last time even without the . . . theatrics.”

I laugh. That’s Mom. An interrupted reception, a fist fight, and a fake marriage, all caught on camera and played on the evening news . . . theatrics.

“We are thinking that smaller would be the way to go, a lot smaller, actually,” I admit. “Now that Papa Stefano is doing better, we were thinking a nice, long engagement . . .”

I let it drag out, purposefully teasing Mom a bit, and she looks at me harshly. But I can read the humor in her eyes and relent. “Okay, long like about six months or so, then a small ceremony, just the close family?”

Mom smiles, nodding excitedly. “Oh, you can have it here at the estate, and we can all pitch in. Abi can do the flowers, of course, and maybe Angela and Sofia could make dinner, and Karl would be happy to help Archie set up the altar. That sounds perfect.” I can hear the relief in her voice.

I hear footsteps approaching and Dad calls out, “Don’t stroke the boy’s ego, Kimberly. Lord knows, he’s arrogant enough as it is.”

I laugh. Dad and I aren’t completely repaired, but we’ve had a couple of long conversations and talked through some of the things Abi and Court brought to my attention. It was uncomfortable as fuck, neither of us particularly adept at discussing things as nebulous as feelings. But we’d muddled through and we’re back on solid footing, secure enough to tease each other a bit.

“Well, you must think I’m perfect too, if that’s where your mind immediately jumps,” I retort, and Dad chucks me under the chin. “Mom was talking about it being perfect to have the wedding here. In six months.”

Dad sits down, his lips pursed. “Is that what you want?”

As Abi and Court said, that’s progress. Dad isn’t making suggestions, isn’t recommending one course over another, isn’t even inviting me to discuss my thoughts on the idea. He’s trusting that I’ve done my due diligence, know my own heart, and have made my own decision. Most importantly, he’s trusting that I’ve made the right one.

“Yes, that’s what I suggested to Violet already. I was hoping to ask for your permission, but it seems like Mom’s already on board and volunteered the house.”