My Big Fat Fake Wedding(77)

Archie sent it to me an hour ago, excitedly proclaiming that it had ten thousand views. The counter in the corner says it’s at more than triple that now, though more than a handful of those views are mine.

The bathroom door opens, and a naked Ross comes swaggering back into the bedroom “Vi, stop torturing yourself and don’t watch it again.”

Firstly, he looks good. Downright lickable, in fact. But I can’t even focus on the amazing specimen of man in front of me because . . .

Secondly, our engagement and rush-order wedding are splashed all over the news, we’ve got a who-knows-how-big orchestra slated to play, a news crew coming, my cousins are singing, more family showing up any day now, and I don’t have a dress.

Oh, yeah, and it’s all fake.

“What are we going to do?” I say, shaking my head. “I thought this would be easy, just a quiet ceremony and we’d be all set. This is nuts.” My eyes bore into him. He has to see that, right? Maybe we should cancel it? But that would do more harm than good at this point, I think.

“Violet, have you met your family? I mean, really? You thought you were going to have some quiet little countryside wedding, and it’d all be idyllic and sweet. And most importantly, under your control.” His tone is even, but the sarcasm is heavily implied and virtually dripping from his raised brows.

I freeze. God, I hate that he knows me so well sometimes. True confession—I love it at other times. This is not one of those times. Right now, I want to pretend that this over-the-top craziness is all someone else’s fault and that something, anything, can be done about it.

I cross my arms but glare when Ross looks newly intrigued at the way it pushes my breasts up. I’m as naked as Ross is, but we’d collapsed last night when we got home, both of us quietly letting the wild roller coaster of the evening play out on repeat in our minds.

Remembering one of the earlier oddities of the evening, I ask him, “What was really up with your dad? I know it wasn’t a work thing he wanted to talk to you about. It was about us, wasn’t it? Did you know he was going to make that speech?”

Ross shakes his head and sits down on the side of the bed. His elbows on his knees, he buries his hands into his hair and growls. “No, I definitely did not know he was planning that. Maybe I should’ve seen it coming, though? He definitely increased the pressure on us and put a big old target on our backs with the press. Not sure how he thinks that’s going to play out in his favor.”

I’m quiet, just waiting for Ross to decide whether he wants to tell me about his private conversation with his dad. I know it must’ve been important or it wouldn’t still be eating at him.

After a long minute where I can virtually see his mind tracing steps and possible outcomes, I almost tease him about calling me a control freak. But before I can say a word, he finally speaks. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “You mean he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you,” I say, making the obvious correction.

Ross huffs a humorless laugh, “No, really. He basically told me that you’ve always been a lovely girl, hardworking and honest, and that he and Mom love you. I, on the other hand, am an immature asshole of a brat who fucks up everything in my personal life to the point where my only redeeming quality is my work. He basically said that I had to be paying you or blackmailing you or something because there’s no way you’d actually like me, much less love me, just for me.”

My jaw drops. That’s not at all what I was expecting to hear.

I scoot over to sit behind Ross, my butt on my heels with my legs bent beneath me. I scratch lazy circles along his back, tracing each muscle. “I am so sorry. That’s ridiculous.”

He shudders beneath my hands. “It was definitely not the conversation I was expecting to have with him.”

“What did he say? Like word for word. Maybe you misunderstood or something? Because the obvious outlier here is me, not you. I mean, my family brought a cheesecake to a catered gala affair, and then Sofia basically propositioned the lieutenant governor.”

Ross looks at me, horror and humor in equal measure. “She did not.”

I nod vehemently, “Oh, yes, she did. Told him he was ‘quite handsome for a man of his age’ and then offered to teach him a few things she’d bet he’s never tried. When he politely declined, she tried to play it off that she was going to teach him pinochle, but we all know she’s shit for card games.”

“Oh, my God, how did I miss that? I needed that laugh last night.” He starts to chuckle a little. “Hell, I need that laugh now.”

I laugh too, hesitantly, before dipping my toe into the deep water of his relationship with his dad. “Look, Ross, I don’t know what it is your dad wants from you or sees in you, but to me, you’re a . . .” I pause, narrowing my eyes at him, “I want you to know how much it pains me to say this, but you’re a . . . good guy.”

His smile is soft, just one corner of his lips, really, but it feels like it’s an important step so I keep confessing.

“Once upon a time, you were a jerk. An immature asshole of a brat, as you said—”

He interrupts, rolling his eyes and shoving me back toward the pillows. “Oh, please, stop with the flattery.”

I smirk, returning that cocky one he so likes to toss my way. “Seriously, we were both little shits to each other. But I think we’ve both grown up, moved past a lot of that. You’re a good man, doing amazing things at work, taking care of your family legacy, and doing a ridiculously kind thing for me with this wedding. A selfish bastard wouldn’t go this far for someone, especially not someone you didn’t even really like, unless you’re either a masochist, a brilliant strategist who’s going to do something awful like leave me at the altar, or an actual good person. I think it’s the last one, myself.”