My Big Fat Fake Wedding(23)

Ouch. But this Violet I know. Cutting, funny, ready to battle and put me in my place. I know this one, like this one. The upset, crying version of Violet does odd things to my gut, and I don’t like that. But if any time has been the right time to have an actual conversation with Vi, it’s now when she’s obviously hiding behind our usual status quo.

“Okay, I’ve done some shit, Vi. But right now, it seems that you’ve got more on your mind. Come on, what’s going on?”

Violet purses her lips for a moment, studying me with an intensity that is actually a little intimidating. Has she always been this way, this . . . intensely magnetic?

Have I not been paying attention at all?

“It’s . . . it’s about Colin,” she finally says, and it takes me a minute to place the name. Oh, yeah . . . Colin Radcliffe. We run in the same circles. His family’s got enough money that we don’t even really need to measure bank accounts.

When you reach a certain level of wealth, the dollars don’t really matter compared to other yardsticks. And the Radcliffe name carries weight.

Still, the little I know about Colin, he’s always struck me as a bit of a prick. I guess all young businessmen need to have a healthy dose of asshole in them to be successful, but Colin always seemed to have a bit too much, in my opinion.

“What about him?” I ask, my eyes cutting to Violet’s hands. Her fingers are empty, and even before she answers, I know what she’s going to say. “Oh, shit. Who broke it off with whom?”

“He . . . he did,” Violet says quietly. “This morning.”

I snort, shaking my head. “What a dick. I’m sorry, Violet.”

Maybe it’s the sincerity in my words, or maybe it’s that I called her by her given name, something I don’t do all that frequently, I realize. But a torrent of words unleashes from Violet.

In a stumbling, somewhat confusing stream of consciousness rant that lasts all the way through two club remixes, she tells me everything.

Her Papa.

His health.

Her going into a relationship with blinders on because of it.

Her family going just a little insane.

Everything.

“So . . . I know it’s crazy, my wanting to get married just for Papa,” she says finally, tossing back the last of my Rum and Rockstar to wet her throat, “but it wasn’t until Colin was breaking it off that I realized that’s all I was doing. Colin was waiting for this big breakdown and I was just ‘meh’ about it.” She shrugs like getting dumped was no big deal, but I know it had to sting a bit. “I was ‘meh’ about him.” She sounds sincere, not like a woman bereft after a painful loss.

Not that Colin is much of a catch, anyway.

“But it would have meant so much to Papa. And then, when I told Abi, she said that I should have a fake wedding, a fake husband . . . at least until after Papa’s passed away.”

Violet rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t see her own brain on the top of the roll, and it hits me.

Abi planned this. She didn’t tell Vi anything about my problem, and vice versa.

But Abi’s smart, and she put two and two together.

“She even said I should ask you,” Violet says, laughing lightly. “How insane is that? We’d kill each other. Probably literally.”

I take a deep breath and catch the attention of a passing waitress. “You aren’t going to believe this,” I tell her, leaning back, “but not all that insane at all.”

“What?”

I nod, swallowing. “Order yourself another drink. You just might need it.”





Chapter 6





Ross





I keep my silence until the waitress returns with a mimosa for Violet, who downs half of it in a single gulp. “Whoa,” I counsel her as she immediately orders another. “Slow down. It’s a long night.”

She ticks off on her fingers, emphasizing each point. “My fiancé dumped me, my best friend seems intent on hooking me up with you, of all people, and I’m wearing the most daring dress I own.” Pointing directly at me and daring me to disagree, she finishes with, “I’m gonna drink what I wanna drink.” I’m reminded that despite her soft amber eyes, she’s definitely half Italian.

So, if she wants to toss back mimosas like Powerade . . . she’s gonna toss back mimosas like Powerade. Since I don’t really know how well she handles her alcohol, I can’t criticize her. Besides, they’re mostly juice, right?

“Okay,” I concede. “So . . . you’ve got a problem. And Abi thinks I can help you.”

“Which is insane,” she interrupts.

I tilt my head, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. Violet is fiery and has taken me to my knees more than once. If she does that this time because I go in too hard, it could be to both of our detriment.

“Have you been keeping your eye on the news?” I ask, and Violet shrugs, not questioning the random direction I’m leading us in. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I read the style section to keep up,” Violet admits. “But if you want to ask me who’s in first place in the National League, I couldn’t even tell you the teams.”

“Fair enough,” I reply, silently admitting to myself that I’ve never read the style section of the news. “Let’s just say I’ve had a few scandals. I told Abi that Dad’s throwing his weight around, and it would help me personally and professionally to have a . . . steady plus one.”