The Wedding Wrecker

15. James

15

JAMES

N either of us had wanted to drag out the awkward dance of getting ready for bed, so we'd both retreated under the covers way too early, pretending to be more tired than we were. Now, we had both been laying in silence for several minutes, both obviously awake but neither willing to acknowledge it.

The quiet felt charged, filled with unspoken words and the memory of the day’s events. For my part, I kept replaying the kiss at the tasting. I hadn’t planned it, of course, but fuck. I found myself wishing she was mine to kiss like that whenever I wanted. If she was, I wasn’t sure we’d ever leave this damn room.

And yet…

Before Katie, I wanted to find “the one”. I believed there was actually somebody “right” for me out there. Now, though? I felt like happy couples were just unaware—they were the ones who hadn’t had the misfortune yet of figuring out their partner’s fatal flaw.

Relationships were opportunities for pain. They were foolish acts of giving your trust to somebody you could almost guarantee would betray it. And why would I willingly wade into those waters?

But this strange flirtation between real and fake with Emma was… well, it was the best of both worlds, I guessed.

I got to play the doting boyfriend when we were in front of people. I got to let that old part of myself out again, but we both knew it wasn’t real. That meant the hurt wouldn’t be, either, when things inevitably blew up between us again.

It was safe.

Except something in my gut said I was playing with fire.

I ignored my gut, rolling my head to the side slightly so I could see her profile in the dark. The moonlight cast everything in soft shadows, and I found myself oddly mesmerized by a reflective spot of white on her bottom lip. I found myself wanting to reach out—to touch it with the pad of my thumb and follow it with a kiss.

A few more minutes passed while I silently studied her before her eyes opened and she spoke.

We’d been pretending to be going to sleep for nearly half an hour, but it seemed like she was tired of acting like she wasn’t awake.

"I need to understand something," she said, voice oddly tight. "That wedding in Ireland... why did it have to be so public? You could have told them privately, saved everyone the humiliation. Saved my—" She broke off.

Apparently, rule number three was out the window. I thought back on that day and the conflict I’d felt. It was a nearly impossible choice. “I didn’t know you were the wedding planner at first,” I said softly.

“I’m pretty sure I made it obvious,” she snapped.

“I was… I really enjoyed our time together that night. I don’t think I was in the most perceptive mindset. I thought you were just a really overly helpful relative, or something.”

“But you did know eventually. And you still wrecked the wedding. I’ve tried, but I can’t understand why you did it. What’s the point in making a big scene when you could just tell them before everybody travels and wastes their time and money? It seems needlessly cruel and dramatic.”

I felt a surprising amount of bitterness rise in my throat. They were all questions I’d asked myself, of course. Hundreds of times. I wasn’t a monster. I didn’t enjoy watching weddings go up in flames. But I did care about doing what I thought was right, and these were the methods I’d eventually decided worked best. "You ever try to tell someone their partner's cheating?" I asked quietly. “Or that their husband has a gambling addiction? Or their wife is hiding hundreds of thousands in debt and they’re about to be financially ruined? Or that he is wanted for a crime in another country?”

"No, but?—"

"It doesn’t go well. Sometimes, they simply won’t hear it. Other times, they confront their partner and end up giving in to their excuses and promises that it won’t happen again. They’ve changed. The wedding is already planned, and won’t they think of the embarrassment of canceling now. People believe in the lie of the perfect day fixing all their problems, as if a memory and some legal papers are going to change who their partner is. And the power of not wanting to go against the grain or embarrass themselves by admitting the engagement was a mistake is a powerful thing. Trust me. I’ve seen the kinds of shit people will put up just to avoid going down that road.

“But exposing the truth in front of everybody? That actually works. Something about seeing the horror on other people’s faces has a way of driving the truth home. It’s not love. It’s not meant to be. It’s just over. And if I wreck the wedding, then it should be over. I make sure of that.”

"So you just decided to become judge and executioner of other people's relationships? You get to decide if the problems between them are fatal or not?"

"The wedding in Ireland was already ruined, just like the rest of them," I said, sharper than I intended. "The moment he decided to cheat, it was over. I only made sure everyone saw the truth before legal documents got signed."

"There had to be a better way."

"Like what? Should I do the thing I know doesn’t work and try to tell them before the wedding? Or should I just stay out of it and let the wedding happen? No,” I said firmly. “I don’t want people to go through that kind of hurt. Promising to love someone forever… putting yourself out on a limb like that and placing all your trust in someone… saying the vows? You do all that only to find out they betrayed you, and how the hell are you ever supposed to trust someone again?"

She was quiet for a moment. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Smart woman. Too smart for her own good, maybe.

"My ex wife," I said finally. "She was sleeping with my brother. And three other guys. Probably more I never found out about."

Emma's sharp intake of breath was the only sound for a long moment.

"People knew," I continued. "They all knew. I think some of them even tried to tell me in their own ways, but I wasn’t hearing it. The truth didn’t stick for me until I was confronted with it at my own wedding. Only I found out after we said our vows, so I was dumb enough to try to stick with her to make it work. I was dumb enough to think the fact that we’d sealed the deal changed anything. I believed her promises to change, right up until I found out she was still cheating a few months later."

"James… I’m sorry. Nobody should have to experience that."

"Exactly,” I said, voice charged with meaning. “Maybe my methods are debatable. Maybe you still disagree. But I can promise you this much—I’m genuinely trying to help people. I don’t want anyone to feel what I felt, and that’s what gets me out of bed every morning. Well, assuming a beautiful woman isn’t dry humping me in her sleep and moaning my name already, that is.”

Emma glared, but her expression softened as she turned to face me. “I think your methods hurt people. Not just the cheaters. A wedding is a celebration. Relatives, friends, and co-workers fly in from all over to support the bride and groom. You’re not just sabotaging the bride and groom—you’re planting a seed of cynicism in everybody who attends.”

“Good,” I said. “People shouldn’t be so blind about love and marriage. They should know what they’re getting into.”

“You’re so caught up in how bad it hurt you that you’re the one who is blind.”

“Am I?” I asked, voice edged with anger. “Because I feel like I’m seeing pretty fucking clearly.”

“I think there has to be a better way. A way that doesn’t leave so much destruction in your wake.”

“Destruction of things like your career?” I asked, forcing the anger out of my voice.

"That too." Her voice shook slightly. "The wedding in Ireland was supposed to be my breakthrough job. It was my chance to prove I could handle a high profile, high budget wedding and knock it out of the park. Instead, it became the reason no one would trust me with anything bigger than a backyard ceremony."

"I'm sorry about that. I really am. But I'm not sorry I exposed him."

"And what about now?" She pushed up on one elbow, moonlight catching the curve of her hip and the swell of her breast beneath a thin shirt. "Is that what you're doing here? You’re only keeping my sister’s best interests in mind?"

“I want to do what’s right. And… if I was actually hired to work this wedding, I would only act if I found something worth acting on.”

“You’re still pretending you aren’t working the wedding?”

“I sign a confidentiality contract with my clients when I do work weddings. If I was working this one, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

Emma’s face darkened. “I’m not stupid, James. But… I love my sister. And if you hurt her somehow in this mess, I will never forgive you.”

“That’s not what I do,” I said.

“No,” she said softly, eyes falling to my lips. “You just… show up and complicate things.”

“Pardon?”

“You arrived and had your mouth on mine within seconds. You convinced everybody we’re a couple. And now I’m in your bed, James. Tell me that’s not complicated.”

Her soft voice, the moonlight, and the cold sheets… It all felt so damn intimate, and I wasn’t sure if I was reading too much into her body language, but?—

"Emma..."

“You talked about trust,” she continued. “How do you think it felt for me when I trusted you with my body in that wine cellar? And then the next day you were destroying everything. Imagine what that does to a girl’s mind. And her heart.”

“I didn’t think I meant anything to you. I wanted to tell you that night, but I knew you’d probably go to the groom and bride. You’d try to talk them into working it out, and it would only lead to more pain for them.”

She was quiet for a long time. “And what about now, James? Why are you doing this? Why spend so much of your time here selling the lie about us to everybody? I don’t see what’s in it for you.”

“I thought I owed you after everything. I saw a chance to help. That Dick asshole was going to be all over you. I could see it the moment I walked in the door, and I just did what I thought was right.”

“You thought kissing me was right?”

“It certainly felt that way,” I admitted.

Emma swallowed hard. “Sometimes, I wonder if you’re really pretending. Sometimes, it feels pretty damn real.”

My pulse kicked up. "Does it?"

"You know it does. That first kiss when you showed up, maybe that was just for show. But today, at the tasting..."

"What about it?"

"It felt different. Like maybe you weren't just pretending to be possessive."

I reached out to brush hair from her face, noting how her breath caught. "Maybe I wasn't."

"James..."

"Maybe we should work on our technique,” I suggested. Was the suggestion just about the oldest trick in the book? Yeah. But fuck if I cared. I wanted her lips on mine again. I couldn’t muster the willpower to care if I was being obvious about it or not.

Emma raised an eyebrow, but I saw how the pace of her breathing had increased. “You can’t think I’m really going to fall for that…”

“A real couple would have all kinds of kisses,” I continued. “Possessive ones, passionate ones, casual ones. It might look suspicious if we have to kiss in front of people again and don’t do the right kind.”

“I feel like you’re full of shit.”

“You can feel how you want. I happen to be a professional, and I’d prefer to know we’re prepared for any situation.”

Emma rolled her eyes, lips slightly pursed in a smile. “So you think we need to kiss here… lying in bed… and you think that will somehow prepare us for any situation?”

I traced my thumb over her bottom lip. "That’s right. It wouldn’t mean anything. We’re both professionals, and we’d only be putting in the work to do our jobs convincingly.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, catching the edge of my thumb. The small contact sent fire through my veins. “I suppose if we can both agree it doesn’t mean anything… I could let you try some practice kisses. Just for the sake of appearances, of course.” Her voice had dropped low, all breath and heat against my face.

I closed the distance between us slowly, giving her time to change her mind. When my lips touched hers, she made a small sound that shot straight through me.

This kiss was different. The others had been for show, even if part of me had deeply enjoyed them.

This was heat and need and three years of wanting.

Emma's hands slid into my hair as she pressed closer. I groaned at the feel of her body against mine, all soft curves and thin clothing barely separating our bodies. When her leg hooked over my hip, I rolled us so she was beneath me.

"James," she gasped as I kissed down her throat. “What context would we use this in, exactly?”

“This would be…” I said, pausing with a small smile. “Unexpectedly interrupted while having an intimate moment.”

Her lips curved at the corners. “And you think we’re really going to need to demonstrate this one in front of anyone?”

“Alright,” I said. “Here’s our casual kiss. No tongue, okay?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

I hooked my index finger under her chin and planted a soft kiss on her lips. A moment later, her tongue flicked out playfully, teasing my lower lip.

I laughed. “Bad girl. That will be the playful kiss. Let’s try casual again. Keep that tongue in your mouth this time.”

“Yes, sir,” she said sarcastically.

I pressed my lips to hers, and then she threaded her hands behind my neck and pulled me deeper, kissing me hard, then biting my lip. “Oops,” she whispered. “Was that too much?”

My hand slid up her shirt, my calloused fingers gliding over smooth, warm skin. “That depends… if your goal is practice? Yes, definitely too much. If your goal is to make me want to fuck you until you moan my name again and again? You’re getting close.”

She let out a soft gasp, arching her back against my touch and pulling me deeper into her hips with the leg she had hooked over me. “James…” she breathed.

"Tell me to stop."

Instead, she rocked herself, sliding her warmth across my cock and drawing a groan from me. I ground against her, loving how she whimpered and pulled me closer.

Her phone started buzzing.

"Ignore it," I muttered against her skin.

It buzzed again. And again.

"It's Maggie," she breathed. "She'll just keep calling."

"Fuck." I pressed my forehead to hers, trying to catch my breath.

"I should..." She gestured vaguely at her phone.

"Yeah." I rolled off her, already missing her warmth. "I'm going to shower."

I practically fled to the bathroom, turning the water on cold. It didn't help. All I could think about was Emma's soft sounds, the way she'd felt under me.

I gave up on suppressing my arousal and turned the shower handle to warm.

The water heated up, and so did my thoughts. I remembered the curves of her body in that silk top, how she'd arched when I kissed her neck. I pictured where things might have gone if we weren’t interrupted.

My hand wrapped around my cock as I imagined her legs around my waist, her nails on my back.

I stroked myself, remembering the little gasp she'd made when I ground against her. In my mind, I was still on top of her, but now I was sliding into her tight heat while she moaned my name.

"Fuck," I groaned, speeding up my strokes. I imagined her coming apart beneath me, crying out as she clenched around me.

My release hit hard, Emma's name on my lips.

As I stood under the spray, catching my breath, reality crashed back in. I was investigating her sister's fiancé. I didn’t believe in love anymore. I wasn’t capable of trust.

I was damaged goods, and a girl like Emma would never settle for somebody who could only give her scraps of himself.

This thing between us was doomed before it ever started, and yet…

I wasn’t sure I had the strength to stop myself if this kept up. She was too damn tempting. I needed to figure something out, though, or I was going to lead us both to disaster.