My Big Fat Fake Wedding(72)

It’s hard to believe that one week from today, I’ll be getting married. The fact that I don’t collapse into a ball of blubbering drunken nervousness speaks to just how far I’ve come already in the short time with Violet. I think about where I was a week ago—going out at night to random clubs, coming home alone, usually, but occasionally with women whose names I barely knew for one night of pleasure, and getting that ultimatum from Dad.

Now, in a blink of time, I spend my nights in bed with Violet, my days with thoughts of her running through my head, and my cock only hardens for her. For something that started out so fake, this feels so very real. And so very right.

I glance at the clock, putting a little fire in my pace. Violet should be back from her day of pampering any minute, and I need to be ready to go. I hope she had fun today. She certainly deserves it.

Not just because she works her ass off with her interior design work, her passion so readily apparent in her attention to detail and the beautiful spaces she creates, but because this whole relationship has taken on a life of its own. And I know I’m not an easy man to be connected to. Tonight’s gala is proof of that, and my primary hope is that we can get through the gauntlet of paparazzi unscathed. Though a very close second hope is that my family and Violet’s family get along without bloodshed.

Family. Both a blessing and a curse.

Dad has still been distant and judgy, Mom has moved on to excited acceptance, Court seems resigned to my being my apparently asshole self, and Abi keeps giving me scouring looks as if she can sense the true progress Vi and I have made with each other and is thrilled by it.

Violet’s family is over-the-moon blissful about us, zero concerns given to the speed of our courtship or that it came so hot on the heels of her breakup with Colin.

Her family is just that loving and supportive, their only wish to see her happy. Violet told me more about her mom and Nana and Papa over breakfast one day, and it’d only increased my respect for the entire Russo family. When a young and single Maria had gotten pregnant, her boyfriend had bailed, leaving not just her but the city, with no forwarding information. Alone and broke, she’d turned to her parents, and Nana and Papa had welcomed her back into their home, supporting Maria while she went to school and worked full-time and taking care of baby Violet. Those years only strengthened their bonds, so that even when Maria finished school and moved out into her own place with Violet, they got together frequently.

Somewhere in there is when Violet and Abi became friends, at dance class, of all places. I try to remember what they looked like, all gangly limbs and tight buns, but the memories are lost to time and too foggy. Because of Abi, Violet tagged along on a dozen different activities. She was able to get introduced to the right people, to get the right opportunities to show just how special she is.

And somehow, years later, here we are . . . about to get married.

I hear the front door open and then close as the click of heels across the foyer lands on my ears. She’s home.

I pull my tuxedo jacket on as I walk out. “We need to go. Mom asked that we get there early—” My voice dies as I see her.

She’s gorgeous in the deep red gown she’s chosen for tonight. Its short and bright, both daring choices, but she looks confident and comfortable. Her dark hair cascades down her back in waves, and her long, shapely legs end in red high heels that show the arch of her elegant feet.

“Holy fuck, Violet,” I stutter.

She grins and does a little walk in a circle, the patterned fabric of the overskirt flying out behind her like a cape. “You like?” she sasses.

I wolf whistle for her. “I fucking love it. Goddamn, I want to bend you over the table right now, fist those curls in my hand, and slip that skirt over your ass to get at you.” Crude, but true, and Violet doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the flush covering her cheeks now.

“Don’t you dare mess me up. You have no idea how many people and how many hours it took to get me to look like this,” she says lightly, and I can tell she had fun today. “You sure the short length is okay for the gala? The sales associate swore that it’s seasonally appropriate, especially since the gala is an outside event. But . . .” she looks down, turning her leg back and forth. I can read her mind and hate the voice of doubt that I helped to put there with my thoughtless teasing when we were younger.

“It’s perfect and you look stunning. An absolutely ravishing lady in red.” Her sweet smile means more to me that her flush from my dirty talk . . .almost. Okay, maybe important in equal measures. But it’s enough to make me sway toward my gentlemanly side, for now. When we get home, all bets are off and that dress will be on the floor.

But for now, I offer her my arm, which she takes elegantly. “Shall we?”





*



We take my Camaro to the mansion, pulling up a little early, but that’s what Mom wanted. “When did you arrange for my family to arrive?”

“They’ll be here soon,” I remind her, thinking of the chauffeured limo I sent for them. I’m sure their whole block is going to be on their front porches, watching them leave this evening, and the image of Nana and Sofia waving to their neighbors like they’re queens makes me smile.

The grounds of the mansion have been turned into a fantasy, with twinkling lights hung from the branches of the trees in Mom’s manicured garden, round dining tables arranged in one area and lush couches for lounging set up on the rich, lush lawn.