My Big Fat Fake Wedding(50)

“Is that Ross Andrews?” Mom says as recognition dawns.

“He’s got good taste in cars,” Papa says conversationally from the window on the other side of the room as my heart hammers. “Not Italian, but an American classic will do. Who’s the guy?”

I run to the door, ignoring their questions, and rip it open. “Ross . . . uhm, hey. I haven’t had a chance to explain . . .”

The congenial smile on his face falters for just a second, but I see it and feel that I’ve hurt him somehow by not coming clean with my family yet. He did it with flair and ease, and I’m stumbling and freaking out.

“Oh,” he starts, scanning the lot of us because everyone has piled in around me. “Well, hello. I’m Ross Andrews, Violet’s fiancé. Signor and Signora Russo, this is for you.” He holds up a bottle of wine, presenting it to Nana. “And Mrs. Russo, these are for you.” Like a magician, he holds out a small bouquet of flowers. “And Violet, this is for you.”

He kisses me right on the mouth, right there in front of my family, God, and the whole freaking neighborhood, who are obviously still watching out their windows.

Over my shoulder, I hear Aunt Sofia. “What’d you bring for me?” She laughs as Ross offers a handshake, which she takes. “I guess it’s a start, but I think I want the story of this whole thing instead.”

Papa clears his throat, his voice stern, but there’s almost a thread of amusement in it. “Inside, please. Let’s not do this on the front steps.”

Mom nods, giving me the stink eye as Papa, Nana, and Aunt Sofia head into the house. “I thought that ring looked different.”

I feel frozen, stapled to the ground as my family goes inside, and Ross gives me a grin. Finally, I find my voice and whisper to Ross. “Oh, my God, we’re doing this, aren’t we?”

He looks at me like I grew a second head on my left shoulder, the one where the devil always sits, which makes sense because only he could talk me into something this absurd.

“Violet,” he says so quietly it’s only for me, his voice steady as he takes my hands and bends over me, creating a cocoon for the two of us. “Are you having second thoughts? I thought we’d already settled this. We’ve told my family and the board, Abi’s updating the invitations, and it’s a done deal. Right? This is what you wanted.”

I nod absently. “It is. I just hadn’t realized how it would feel to sit at my Nana’s table and lie to them.”

I see a flash in his eyes, there and gone so quickly I can’t decipher it. “We can do this. For your Papa. For you, Vi.”

From behind me, my mother’s voice chimes out. “Excuse me, piccioncini. If you’d like to sit down, dinner’s ready. And you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Piccioncini. Love birds.

To Mom, it probably looks like we’re having a quick, private lovey-dovey moment, not Ross helping me chill the fuck out as I freak. I start to turn, and Ross murmurs by my ear, “Breathe, Violet.”

And I mean to, I swear I do. But right that second, he lays his hand on my ass and squeezes ever so slightly. And I gasp, jumping a bit. Mom can’t see the reason since Ross’s hand is behind me, but at my reaction, she guesses. “Now, Violet.” Her lips are pressed into a thin line.

“Now what?” I hiss at him.

“Now, I’m going to be my usual charming self and you’ll be . . . you.” He’s got that cocky smirk stretching his full lips again, but somehow, this time, it doesn’t seem so mean. It’s like this is just what we do . . . banter and bark, but there’s no bite. Not anymore.

And doesn’t that make me think of biting Ross’s shoulder as he ploughs into me, his mouth buried in my neck, nibbling the tender skin there. I know I’m as red as Nana’s sauce as we sit down at the table, all eyes on us.

Papa takes charge. “Okay, Violet . . . explain.”

“Actually, if you’d let me, Mr. Russo,” Ross says quickly, looking chagrined as he pats my hand but not all that chagrined. “You see, Violet had a really bad Friday. It seems that Colin Radcliffe . . .” he looks at me with fake concern. “Well, he broke off the engagement.”

“What?” Mom asks, outraged. “He did that, and you didn’t tell me? Violet, what has—”

“And when I ran into Violet later . . .” He pauses and looks around. “Wait, backstory for your grandparents, honey. As Ms. Russo knows, I’ve known Violet for a very long time. She’s best friends with my little sister, Abigail.”

“Ah, Abigail!” Nana says, smiling a little. “Such a lovely girl. And you . . . you are her older brother?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ross confirms, suddenly all manners and politeness. If he wasn’t doing my dirty work for me, I’d tease him about suddenly turning into Eddie Haskell. “More importantly, I was pretty insufferable in my younger days. I teased Violet a little too harshly, and I’ll be honest with you, sir. I won’t repeat the things I said back then for fear of catching three or four rolling pins in the head, and then you’d rightfully start in on me. But never fear, Violet held her own and got me back time and time again.”

He smiles at me like the awful things we used to do each other were cutesy and flirty. To be clear, they weren’t. Not even a little bit. But it seems to be playing well to my family.