My Big Fat Fake Wedding(40)

I bite my lip and shake my head, refusing to answer, but the lady doth protest too much.

“I get it. It’s a nice ass. Can definitely bounce a quarter on it. I’ll show you sometime,” Ross offers. A tease or a promise? I’m not sure which I’m hoping for.

He didn’t answer my question, though, and as much as I’d like to keep with the distraction of his ass, I need to know. “Do you want to back out? It’s fine. I understand.”

His hand leaves the ergonomic comfort of the gear shifter to rest on my thigh. It’s broad, covering a swath of my skin, and even through the fabric of my dress, I can feel his heat. He could burn me up in a flash if I’m not careful. I’ve never had his hands on me like this, at least not sober, and because I don’t remember a lot of last night, this feels new and dangerous. So fucking stupidly dangerous.

Because this is Ross. The guy who made my life hell for so long. The guy who is still mid-prank on his family, which shows he hasn’t really grown up all that much. The guy I really want to slide my dress up and grip my thigh the way he held my neck earlier.

He licks his lips, and I wonder if he tastes like the wine he had at dinner. I’d skipped it entirely, keeping to my short-term promise of water only after last night’s overindulgence. “I think I have an idea,” he says finally, a hitch in his voice that worries me.

“What?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear this.

“So our story is a warp-speed wedding so we can make up for lost time, yeah?” I nod slowly, agreeing with him. “So we need to make up for lost time, quite literally. By spending all of our time together.” He smirks, smug and proud like he just solved the global climate crisis, but I didn’t hear anything ground-breaking in that little plan.

“So, we do daily dates? We’d already agreed to that. Make sure the paparazzi see us eating fancy dinners out, stop by each other’s offices, stuff like that. What else?” I say, trying to read what he’s thinking.

He shakes his head, and I can tell I’m not going to like this. “No, I mean all of our time together. You’re moving in with me. Tonight.”

Shock washes through me in an electric jolt. “No, I’m not!” I yell, my ears ringing in the tight cabin of Ross’s Camaro. “Moving in? That’s crazy . . . I mean, even crazier than what we’re already doing!”

“Vi, we’re about to get married. Don’t people these days usually cohabitate before getting married?” Ross argues. “It only makes sense for us to do it too, especially given the speed demon pace we’re setting. If we’re so all-fired up in a hurry to get married, we would be just as in a hurry to be together every second we can.”

Shit. That makes sense. Convoluted sense, but it’s pretty realistic sounding. Or at least as realistic as an overnight engagement.

“And after the wedding, we’d have to live together for a few months anyway to keep the charade up. So, what’s the difference if we bump that up a couple of weeks?”

The difference is I’m not sure if I’m ready for this. This crazy idea is starting to have a life of its own, and I’m feeling severely out of control. I can’t imagine that walking around Ross’s place for weeks—no, months—on end is going to be good for us.

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to fuck him.

I’m not sure which is the worse option.

But he’s right. I was going to have to do this after the wedding, so what’s a couple of weeks to really sell the story? I can do this.

It’s just Ross. He’ll probably put a rubber snake in my bed or Nair in my shampoo. It won’t be weird, it won’t be awkward, it won’t be a dream come true to see him walking around half-naked every day.

No, not that last one. Scratch that. Because any crush I used to have on Ross is long gone, burned to ashes in the years of growing up I’ve done. This will just be two frenemies cohabitating for a good cause. That’s it.

I can feel his eyes weighing on me and realize I’ve had an entire conversation with myself in my head that he hasn’t been privy to. I kinda like that he can’t read me, though, so I don’t share any of my thoughts. Instead, I just sigh heavily and say dramatically, “Okay, fine. I’ll move in with you. You’re such a needy bitch.” I hold back the smile for a split second and then can’t contain it anymore.

The smile is accompanied by a snort of a laugh, completely unladylike, and if Ross was someone I was actually dating, I’d be covering my face and pinching my nose to get it to stop. But he’s not, so I don’t. I let the piggy-snorting laughs go, enjoying the shocked horror on Ross’s face.

“Oh, my God, never do that again, Vi. That’s worse than fingernails on a chalkboard!” I snort big and loud on purpose at that and then giggle when he cringes. He shakes his head. “Well, I guess we’d better pack your shit.”

And that’s that. I’m moving in with Ross. My fiancé.





*



A few suitcases turn into about half the stuff I own, and that’s just for the first ‘essentials only’ run we do tonight. I just couldn’t choose which of my work clothes to pack for this. And there were my favorite pajamas, and of course, my shampoo and conditioner. This hair of mine needs salon-quality conditioner, or else I end up with a rat’s nest on my head.