My Big Fat Fake Wedding(24)

“A steady plus one?” Violet asks, not putting one and one together to make two yet. Fuck, how strong are those drinks? She’s usually quick on the uptake.

Finally, her eyes narrow, flicking past me to Abi, who’s spinning herself dizzy at Kaede’s direction.

“Oh, my God! Abi set this up! That bitch. I’m going to kill her.”

I place my hand on her thigh, keeping her in her seat, but I damn near hiss at the heat coming off her skin and wonder if she’s that hot all over. “Wait. You’re right, but think this through. You need a fake husband. I need a fake girlfriend. Maybe we can meet in the middle and somehow make this work for both of us.”

“I need to get married, Ross, and you’re looking for arm candy. That isn’t equal at all. There’s no middle ground there.”

She’s not lying. Those are light years apart. And if we go with the bigger of the two, a wedding and short-term marriage, there’s the issue of the fallout when we split. There won’t be any quiet and easy way to do that, not with my parents who’ll nuclear fucking bomb the whole thing and probably end up hating either Violet or me. The long-term repercussions could be catastrophic since she’s been like another daughter to them.

And there’s the whole issue of actually faking a relationship with Violet. I try to imagine what that looks like, feels like, and I hate to admit it, but parts of me think it sounds pretty damn good given the way she looks in this red dress. Still, I’m uncomfortable with the whole idea because I definitely had no plans to get married anytime soon.

“Still, maybe we can work something out?” I ask suddenly. “Let’s be honest, Vi. You’d be the perfect fake girlfriend.”

“And you’d make a decent fake husband,” Violet retorts with a sudden laugh. “Talk about damning with faint praise. Fake girlfriend . . . thought you were smooth, Ross.”

The dig feels normal, just like we always tease even though things might never be the same after this conversation, whether we go through with the craziness or not.

The waitress comes back with another mimosa and takes Vi’s now empty glass. “I’m just trying to keep it clear, Vi. If I brought some rando home, there’d be so many questions. Us? We can tell the truth . . . mostly. Friends for years and then one night, everything changed.” I gesture to the club around us, implying that this is that night.

“Friends for years is a stretch. We’re frenemies at best,” Violet replies, but she leans back and turns her body toward me, letting me know that she’s at least considering this. “So, what does being your arm candy entail? And I’m warning you, if you say one word about a ball gag to keep me quiet, I’ll rip your balls from your body.”

She says it with a smile, like it’s a sweet promise. If it didn’t sound so violent, I’d probably be picturing her touching me, fondling me, teasing me, sucking me . . .

But this is Violet, so I shut that shit down.

I chuckle, leaning in closer to her. She’s wearing some light perfume, nothing heavy or cloying, but this close, it’s spicy and floral. “Well, a few family dinners, a few public appearances at company events, maybe a date or two where the paps can snap a few shots . . . should be able to make it fit right in with a whirlwind engagement before the wedding and right afterward. Hell, we could probably even spin it that I was comforting you after your breakup with Colin, because you know that’s going to get social page coverage, and things between us unexpectedly ignited.”

“You want to be my rebound guy?” She smirks, and I shrug.

“If that’s what it takes to sell this, sure.”

“Well, aren’t you the gentleman?” Violet says with a teasing light in her eyes. It’s partly alcoholic courage and partly her own big brass balls to make light of something so serious.

I laugh softly, my eyes stealing to the valley of her cleavage in her dress. “You have no idea whether I’m a gentle man, Vi.”

Violet’s eyes go wide, and I can almost see the flutter of her pulse in the curve of her neck. I pull back, licking my lips as she downs another half a mimosa, side-eyeing me the whole time.

What the hell am I doing? This is supposed to be a business negotiation, and here I am putting moves on her.

She sets her glass on the table, staring into its empty depths like it contains the secrets of the world. Or at least an answer to our current question of whether this is a good idea or absolute lunacy.

She takes a large breath and pulls her shoulders back as if she’s preparing for war. I almost do the same, ready for her to slay me with her verbal barbs. “Okay,” she says on an exhale. “Let’s do this. Come on.”

She stands and grabs my hand, trying to pull me out of the booth, but I don’t budge. “Where are we going?”

“If people are going to believe this, we might as well get started now. So, let’s go dance, stare into each other’s eyes lovingly, and look all sweet and cuddly. You can fake that, right? Side note, I’ll be judging your dancing because we will be dancing at our wedding. I need to know if you can cut a rug or if you’re going to spend the whole time doing The Carlton. No pressure, though.”

Lies. There’s so much pressure on us both, from every angle.

But she’s right. A public display at Club Red will be the perfect jumpstart for our story. And at least I can adjust myself as we go downstairs because if Vi’s going to grind on me in that dress, I need to be prepared with a mental list of baseball stats to keep things as unawkward as possible. But still I resist, lifting an eyebrow.