My Big Fat Fake Wedding(96)

“Yeah, well—”

“Excuse me.”

The voice is unfamiliar, but as soon as it comes over the speakers, Violet goes pale and looks toward the stage. “No—” she quietly says in horror.

I follow her gaze and see Colin Radcliffe holding the microphone that Abi just abandoned. He’s sharply dressed in a suit, but his face is twisted in smug satisfaction. “What is he doing up there?” I ask out loud to no one in particular.

“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but I figured before this . . . farce went on any longer,” Colin says to the stunned crowd who are looking at each other with questions in their eyes, “well, I wanted to put my two cents in. I’d have spoken at the wedding, but a certain maid of honor saw me and made sure a couple of the bride’s cousins escorted me out.” He glares at Abi, and even from here, I can see a couple of guys getting up to make their way toward Colin. I’m pretty sure the one in the front is Rafael, and I’m glad he’s putting his muscle to good use today.

“Get off the stage!” I call out, standing to lend Violet’s family a hand.

Colin must sense that his time is running out because he begins talking faster, his face turning red with impotent fury.

“What’s the problem, Ross?” Colin taunts with an ugly sneer. “Afraid everyone’s going to learn the truth? That this wedding, this whole romance, is nothing but a lie? It’s all fake.”

Shit. Fuck. That motherfucker.

I move toward the stage, but out of the corner of my eye, I see the camera crew moving, and a sick dropping feeling hits me. If I go after him, I’m damned. If I don’t, he talks, and I’m damned.

I try to remember what Violet told me about this guy, which admittedly isn’t much because we’d spent most of our time talking about each other and the future. But she said he’s all about image, so I play to that weakness with an insult, hoping to put questions in folks’ minds about whatever he’s going to say.

“Sour grapes are so tacky. You’re insane, Colin.”

“Jilted lovers often are,” Radcliffe replies, his voice not shaky at all, though he’s feigning sadness as he looks at Violet.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Violet’s previous fiancé, or one of them, at least, because it does seem like she’s collecting them.” He laughs harshly into the microphone like he told a joke with his salacious suggestion. People murmur and look to one another in confusion.

“You broke up with me, Colin. What are you doing? Why are you doing this?” Violet yells hysterically, standing up but staying behind the table when Abi puts a hand on her arm, keeping her in place.

Colin whirls on Violet, “I did, but I made a mistake. This was supposed to be our wedding–our venue, our ceremony, our day. You should have fought for us. But nooo, Violet Russo’s too good for that. Hell, I even tried to get you back and you turned your back on me. No one does that to Colin Radcliffe.”

The furious proclamation has weight, floating dangerously in the air. That he’s talking about himself in third person only amplifies how crazy he sounds, which I hope works in our favor.

“But you’ll pay,” he threatens darkly.

He pulls out his phone and clicks the screen. A video begins playing, too small to see from where I am, but he holds it up to the microphone, and I recognize Violet’s voice at the same time everyone else does. It’s muffled, like she’s on a speakerphone, but it’s obviously her.

“I’m scared, Abs,” Violet says on the recording. “I’m scared everyone’s going to find out this is all fake and it’s all going to fall apart in flames of glory. I’ll be the laughingstock of the city, and Ross will be a pariah, any hopes he has of improving his reputation at work dashed by our secret arrangement.”

Then we hear Abi’s answer. “No one is going to find out that it’s a fake marriage so you can both save face. You’re going to walk down that aisle and make your Papa proud for his last days, and Ross is going to get Dad off his back and kick ass at work. And—"

It’s like a bomb just dropped on the whole reception.

Abi and Violet are pale and look like they’re going to be sick. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maria Russo burst into tears, and suddenly, everyone’s talking over one another, yelling and gesturing and just trying to figure out in two different languages what the fuck’s going on.

On my side of the room, Mom also looks horrified while Courtney looks betrayed. Dad, for his part, is turning a pinkish purple of rage, and I can read the ‘I knew it’ in his glittery eyes.

“So congratulations to the whore and groom on a well-done performance.” He gives a light golf-style clap against the microphone with a satisfied smile. “May your fake marriage be as real as your fake romance,” Colin says, standing up and dropping the mic on stage.

“What’s he talking about?”

“How could you!”

“Violet!”

“Ross!”

I can’t put voices to faces. There are too many people yelling at once and too many of the same questions being asked. I look at Violet, who’s got tears running down her cheeks, and I know what I need to do.

Pushing through the crowd, I beat Rafael to the stage and jump up next to Colin. I’m already murderous, but Colin looks so self-satisfied, it angers me even more. “You’re welcome. She’s such a cold bitch, right?”