My Big Fat Fake Wedding(80)

He freezes deep in my throat, and I feel the hot jets as he comes with a bellow. I swallow reflexively, not wanting to lose a drop, but there’s no risk of that because Ross holds me there, filled with him to the point I can’t even breathe.

But for this quick moment, at least, it feels like he’s all I need. Oxygen be damned. The wedding be fucked. Our families and past are meaningless. It all washes away, and all I can feel is . . . Ross.

I wanted him, and now I have him.

I need him, and he’s given himself to me and keeps giving more and more.

I can’t name it, am scared to, honestly, but I feel it.

I sag to the floor, leaning into his touch as he cups my face. His thumb runs over my lips and I press a kiss to the pad. “We’re in this together, Vi. I swear, we’ll take care of everything and we’re going to pull this off. I promise.”

I nod, taking his hand and placing it on my breast, over my heart. “I know. Together.” It’s all I can give him because he’s got all of me, including my heart. I just hope he’ll protect that too.

Sassy to a fault, I look up once more. “So, better than Savannah DeMiles?”

Ross laughs. “I don’t even know who that is, but I can tell you I never got a blowjob under the bleachers. Not once.”

My bottom lip pouts out. “Well, hell, there went my fantasy.”

Ross flashes me that cocky smile I love now, and I get ready for the zinger. “Too bad for you, because I just had one of mine come true. One I didn’t even know I had, but I will never forget what we just did.”

Sweet, so very sweet. But also, he’s reminding me that whatever this is, it has an expiration date and then all we’ll have are these memories. And my heart cracks just a little.

Stupid, silly heart and stupid, silly girl, I chastise myself.





Chapter 19





Ross—Monday—5 Days Until the Wedding





“So, what machinations are you up to now, dear sister? How scared should I be here?” I ask Abi. She called Kaede yesterday, on his day off, he’d reminded me, and had him add an appointment with the tailor to this morning’s schedule. “You know I have a tuxedo already and I need to get into the office.”

She claps, the smile on her face bordering maniacal. “I know, but that one is black. So outdated.”

My brows dart together. “Outdated? More like classic, I think.” I look to Kaede to back me up, but he throws his hands wide and shakes his head, communicating quite clearly that I’m on my own with my crazy sister and her even crazier plans.

“No,” she says simply.

Deciding it’s better to hear her out before saying no, which I will be doing, I give her the floor. “All right, Sis. Whatcha got in mind?”

She paces as Kaede and I sit, taking full advantage of the dramatics she’s prone to as she paints a picture for us less creatively gifted people.

“You saw the invitations? Peach and white, and Vi’s dress will be white, obviously. I’ve been working my magic with the flowers” —she wiggles her fingers in front of our faces— “and that’s when it hit me. What goes perfect with that pale peachy-blush color?”

Kaede and I glance at each other and shrug. Abi rolls her eyes at our boorishness. “Green,” she declares, as if it’s the obvious answer.

“Green,” I repeat dully. “Okay, so like some greenery or something mixed in with the flowers? I think Vi would be fine with that, but you should probably just ask her.” I start to stand, thinking my work here is done, but I sit back down slowly when Abi glares daggers at me.

Shit, she’s really good at that. Must’ve learned from Dad.

“For the tuxedos.”

My jaw drops. “Uhm, what? You want me to wear a green tuxedo?” I’m already shaking my head. “No way, nope, nuh-uh,” I say, just to make sure my thoughts on the matter are clear.

Abi’s visual daggers get bigger, sharper. She’s basically tossing out eye-swords at me now, and Kaede crosses his legs, protecting his family jewels in case he’s collateral damage.

“Mason, we’re ready for you now,” Abi calls out, ignoring my protests completely. I love my sister, but sometimes, she’s a real . . . something I would never call her and live to speak again.

Mason has been our family tailor for about ten years. He’s young for the industry, only in his mid-forties, but he’s skilled and his work is impeccable. “Would you like to see the fabric choices now?” he asks politely.

“No,” I answer.

“Yes,” Abi answers at the same time.

Mason’s eyes jump from mine to Abi as he tries to decide who the high-ranking person is. I’d love to say it’s me, as the oldest and only brother. However, I’m quite certain it’s Abi, though I’d die before admitting to anyone, most of all, her.

“Perhaps if you told him your vision?” Mason says to Abi gently.

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you making this difficult, Ross? Show up and look pretty, that’s all I’m asking.” I don’t bother to tell her that if I told her that, she’d chop my balls off and fricassee them before feeding them to her dog. She doesn’t even have a dog, but she’d get one just to torture me.