My Big Fat Fake Wedding(39)

Boom. Like that, my headache’s back, and I haven’t even touched the wine after my boozy behavior last night.

“Really? I thought that went well,” Abi says cheerily, downing the rest of her glass of Shiraz.

The rest of us stare at her, and she just grins, shrugging. “What?”





Chapter 10





Violet





The trip to my place after dinner is awkward as fuck.

Actually, if you’d asked me two days ago, this ride probably would’ve ranked up there with the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever done—riding along in Ross’s growly muscle car as he works his jaw and gear shifter with thinly corralled fury coursing through his veins. Veins I can literally see flexing in his forearms where his shirt sleeves are rolled back.

But that awkwardness ranking would’ve been before that dinner.

Now, I’m not sure much of anything will outrank that. Ever.

After Morgan’s outburst and abandonment of the family dinner, it didn’t get any better. Kimberly made some initial admonishments, but Courtney expertly sidestepped her mother and continued asking question after question. Ultimately, Kimberly had defected to Court’s side, her curiosity getting the better of her.

It’d started out easy enough, and I suspect Courtney had been lulling us into a false sense of security with her inquiries about the wedding. Venue? Of course, we have that. Date? Yep, have that too. Invitations? Abi had fielded that one and tried to help by saying she was updating them to reflect the new groom information and that they’d be ready to mail within twenty-four hours.

Kimberly had literally clutched her pearls and clarified, “You mean all the wedding plans are the ones you had with Colin? You’re just removing one groom and . . . inserting another?” Her distaste was heavy with judgement. Of me.

I’d swallowed a too-big piece of beef and looked to Ross for help because that’s exactly what we’re doing.

He’d laid his arm over the back of my chair possessively and grinned, apparently enjoying this a little too much. “Of course we are. That seems most efficient, and I do know how much of a hurry you’ve been in for me to get married and start popping out grandbabies.”

If I’d thought the death grip on her necklace was bad, it was nothing compared to the way Kimberly’s mouth had dropped open and her eyes had shot to mine, then to my table-hidden belly, and back up at Ross’s proclamation. The question was unspoken, but I’d answered it anyway. “No, of course not. And we’re not looking to start a family anytime soon. Right, dear?”

To hurry Ross’s answer, I smacked the back of my hand against his chest, telling myself that purple-nurples are a no-no at the dinner table while somehow simultaneously reminding my hoo-ha to ignore the hard expanse of muscle there. And I definitely refused to imagine Ross pumping iron to get those pecs of steel. Nope, didn’t think of that at all. “Tell your mother this isn’t some shotgun wedding. We haven’t even had a chance to discuss babies yet, much less be pregnant.”

Courtney had leaned forward, both elbows on the table at that little tidbit. I had been able to read the ‘gotcha’ loud and clear in her eyes, the delight dancing there and making me squirm in my seat like a caffeinated preschooler. Ross had cupped the back of my neck firmly, forcing me still, and my instinct was to shake him off. But I couldn’t without it looking bad to his family, and oddly, his grip had settled me.

“So you haven’t discussed babies, but you are suddenly so in love that you’re getting married in two weeks? That’s the story you’re going with?” Court said.

And things had devolved from there. They smelled blood in the water, and like sharks, Kimberly and Courtney had started asking more questions. Ones we should’ve had answers to, but because we’re flying by the seat of our pants here, neither Ross nor I had any idea.

So that had been the number-one most awkward moment in my life so far—getting grilled by a family that I once considered a close backup to my own. But this car ride was gaining ground on that frontrunner by the second.

“So, that went to hell in a handbasket faster than a speeding bullet. Now what?” I ask.

Ross downshifts, buzzing past a slower driver on the highway. His jaw clenches again . . . once, twice, three times that muscle pops in his jaw, and I wish I could read his mind. Is he regretting this already? This is such a complicated web of lies when all he really needed was a steady plus-one for a few society page appearances to get his parents off his back. The messy factor is all me—my family, my needs, my lie.

Guilt hits me full-throttle and I turn to Ross. “If it’s too much, it’s fine. I understand if you want to back out, because that was a bloodbath. Babies and weddings and where your birthmark is?” I shake my head. “I can’t believe Courtney actually asked me that!”

Ross’s lips tilt up ever so slightly. “But you knew. How did you know the answer to that, anyway?”

I can feel the heat coloring my cheeks, so I answer back with fire to cover the embarrassing truth. “Look, it’s a brown patch the size of a half-dollar on your lower back. I saw you in swim trunks basically every summer of my life. How could I not know?” I roll my eyes and hope he believes me.

He cuts his eyes over to me, and I smile, hoping it sells that this is no big deal. His answering smirk says I failed big time. “It is just a small spot that happens to be right above my ass. If you weren’t looking at my butt, you’d probably never even notice it. So tell me, Vi . . .were you looking at my ass?”