Chapter 49
ASK ME ANYTHING
REMY
Already, Caroline’s broken the heel on her satin pump. I fixed it since superglue was already stocked in my bridal emergency kit. She’s lost the barrette hair clip. I tracked it down in her car, under the spare tire kit.
The tasks keep me from worrying too much about my life.
Right now, I’m focused on the makeup artist, who arrived early. She’s applying Caroline’s Fresh Face foundation here in the bridal suite at The Luxe hotel in the Presidio, with a breathtaking view of the Pacific.
The main videographer’s here too, naturally, capturing the makeup application for the live stream.
So is Fallon, with her hair cinched back in a tight ponytail.
She’s dressed in peach today, like the camera crew, and it’s weird to see her in that color.
She’s only ever worn black, but she said she wanted her team to blend into the champagne roses so it’d be like they were not even here. “NEH,” she’d said.
I won’t mind that part of the wedding being over at all. No more acronyms. No more Fallon, skulking around.
But one more day, I keep telling myself. The pressure will end tomorrow.
With her tablet in hand, Fallon reviews what’s next on the live stream with Caroline.
“Our research shows your viewers are connecting with the MOH, so we’ll follow her as she checks on the seating and the floral setup in a few,” she says, the direction itself recorded live, all part of Caroline’s efforts to show authentic behind-the-scenes content.
“Of course they love her.” Caroline beams, clearly proud of me. “My sister’s incredible.”
“Remy put this all together like that,” my mother chimes in with a snap of her fingers, facing the lens. She’s polished and put together in a mauve mother-of-the-bride dress that shows off her toned arms, because of course she has toned arms.
I wave a dismissive hand, not wanting or needing the praise, especially on camera. “I just want it to go well for you,” I say to my sister.
“And it will. Because we planned for it. Everything is set up perfectly in the waterfront ballroom," my mother says as the makeup artist sweeps highlighter over Caroline’s cheekbones. “Just like we wanted.”
Perfect. That word pokes at me. A reminder of how often I try to be perfect. But I have to be okay with just being me, however that looks, Elena would say.
Elena, who I need to tell about my fake boyfriend.
But I can’t focus on me now. Tomorrow is for me.
“I’ll do the floral review shortly. I already checked the flowers in the reception room as well as the seating arrangements.
Everything there is great too,” I say, then lean closer to Caroline.
“I also peeked in on the live stream on my phone when they were in the groom’s suite, and the guys look good. ”
I didn’t even see Jameson trying to horn in on the shot with a bottle of beer in hand, and that was a nice surprise.
“I can’t wait to be married to Parker,” Caroline says, with a rare sort of girlish vulnerability in her voice that’s lovely to hear.
She turns to the videographer next, looking the lens dead-on as she talks to her audience.
“And my sister is the reason everything is coming together. She’s helped me with every detail.
She is a badass babe who lives life on her terms, just like I tell you all that you should do.
Live the life you’ve imagined.” She turns back to me.
“Remy, are you living the life you imagined?”
Oh. I didn’t know she was going to toss that question to me on the live stream, but I do my best to catch it.
“Answer honestly,” Caroline continues, then turns to the camera again. “You can always tell my sister is bluffing if she blushes.”
“Like beet red,” Mom says, playfully ganging up on me.
My face isn’t blushing at all when I say, “Can confirm.”
It’s true enough.
I am finally chasing the job I can imagine myself in. But there’s that little matter of the lie of my romance, and the reason for it. I glance away from the camera, lest my cheeks pinken from the thoughts of the falsehood I’m fabricating for them.
I run a finger along the smooth metal surface of the watch Lake gave me—a reminder that appearances can become real. It settles my nerves.
I turn back to my sister, my mother, and Fallon, scanning their faces for any evidence that they saw through me.
I don’t see it.
“I should go meet Lake,” I tell them, since he texted me a few minutes ago that he was almost here. “I’ll pop into the ballroom on the way back for the floral check.”
“One of the videographers will be there in the doorway. She’ll be in peach.”
“Of course.” I smooth a hand over my black maid of honor dress, then leave to meet my plus-one. It’s a relief to escape the cameras for a bit.
I dart down the hall, lined with champagne roses as far as the eye can see. Pulling up my skirt, I race-walk to meet Lake at the front entrance when Jameson pops out of the groom’s suite, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet.
“Hey, Remy. Would now be a good time to talk about the best-man toast?” His words are a little slurry, but his smile still friendly. Or performatively friendly. “You were busy yesterday at the spa.”
I flash him a smile that I don’t mean. “I’m still busy.”
“I totally get it,” he says, laying on the charm. “But listen, I know this wedding is a big deal with the live stream and all, so I just wanted to let you know I’ll be giving the best man speech with my own brew.” He taps the bottle in his hand.
Screw smiling. “No!”
“Remy,” he says, all playful and too sweet. “I didn’t have to ask for permission. I’m doing it to be nice. And who cares if I use champagne or beer, right? Everything will still go perfectly. I know that’s important to you, so I wanted to give you a heads-up. Cool?”
My blood boils. He thinks by giving me a heads-up that I’ll play along? Like my desire for things to go smoothly is stronger than my protection of my sister from being used? He dumped the wrong woman then.
“The answer is still no. Caroline has a sponsor for her wedding, and it’s not your brewery. This isn’t about product placement.”
He tilts his head. “Can’t we talk about it as friends and all?”
“We’re not friends, and we don’t actually need to talk.”
He waggles his phone at me. “Don’t we though?”
What is he going on about? “Jameson, you can’t do this. It’s that simple. I need to go get Lake.”
“I imagine you do,” he says with a knowing smirk I want to wipe off his face.
I snap my gaze away from him, beelining to the front entrance and trying to shake off that uncomfortable encounter, and this foreboding feeling nipping at my ankles. And I do forget it momentarily as Lake pushes through the revolving door.
My heart speeds up. He’s so staggeringly handsome in his dark sapphire suit that hugs his muscular frame, his short hair that he cut for me, that trim beard that sends sparks across my thighs when he rubs it against me, and his cool blue eyes, intense and vulnerable and locked on me.
Memories of last night crash back into me, and I reel from the emotions that rushed through me as we came together. Maybe Caroline was right. Maybe romance can happen on its own terms, in its own time.
Maybe a rebound can become something more.
I hope.
I walk right over to him, grab the lapels of his suit jacket, and speak from the heart. “You look amazing.”
His eyes roam over me. “So do you,” he says, his voice a raw scrape. “You’re just…wow.”
I reach for his hand, and he sighs happily. Like all he’s wanted is for me to take it. We walk back through the hallway.
“I need to slip inside the ballroom where the ceremony’s being held to check on things,” I say, “and then it’ll probably be a little chaotic.”
He stops walking, spinning me around and tugging me toward him.
“What is it?” I ask.
He’s quiet though. Just squeezes my hand, like he’s sending me a private message. A new sense of calm floods me. This is the man I shared a secret with. This is the man I learned to trust. This man makes me feel…like myself.
I squeeze back and he draws a deep breath, squares his shoulders and shakes his head as he looks me over, like he can’t believe his eyes. “I was going to wait till tonight, but seeing you now—I can’t wait to ask you something.”
My pulse spikes, half in worry, half in excitement. I swallow past a knot of tension. “Ask me anything.”
“Would you like to go—”
A harsh laugh slices through the air. I jerk my gaze away from Lake, whirling around to face the noise behind me.
My ex leans against the wall, in the corner of the hallway several feet away, holding a beer bottle and his phone while sporting a closed-mouth smile that reeks of arrogance.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, but I try to ignore it and to ignore this twisting in my chest.
“Let’s go,” I say to Lake.
“No, let’s stay,” Jameson says, pushing off the wall. “So I can hear what you two have planned for your next performance. I’ve been dying for this moment since I saw the comments on the photo.”
I freeze, all the color draining from my face.
“Oh, you’re probably wondering how I know, right?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my neck flushing hot as I lie.
“Maybe stop talking,” Lake cuts in, stepping closer to Jameson.
My ex cackles, his breath smelling of beer.
“A picture’s worth a thousand words. Or really, a comment is.
” He shoves his phone toward us. I study the image of Lake and me from last night at the game, him blowing a kiss my way.
When my gaze swings to the comment, I haul in a stuttered breath.
There’s a comment from Jameson saying That’s so interesting.
And it’s right under one from Cedric.
The innkeeper in Evergreen Falls. The guy who checked us into the Chestnut Inn. We claimed we were friends, then told Cedric we’d become more.
With dread swirling in every cell I read Cedric’s comment. It’s harmless, really. A sweet, supportive remark. But I gulp because the damage is done.
Love this! And pretty sure I’m the guy responsible for taking these guys from friends to lovers! When they checked in at the Chestnut, they were definitely just friends…but like many of our guests, they left as something more.
I look up, my face hot.
Jameson grins, clearly pleased he’s caught me in the act. “You were faking it with him all along, weren’t you?”
I’m sick that he found out. That he, of all people, put it together.
Lake drops my hand to wrap an arm around me, holding me close. “There’s nothing fake here,” Lake says, firm and commanding.
Jameson rolls his eyes. “Touch her all you want. It’s clear it’s fake. Because why, Remy? You wanted to show me up? Prove you could get a date for the wedding before I did? Some friend you turned out to be.”
He’s awful. Absolutely horrid. What did I ever see in him? I scoff, ready to tell him off but another voice cuts in from behind me, stitched with worry and disappointment. “Is this true, Remy?”
My mother. My shoulders fall, and I go fire engine red as I whisper a feeble, “No.”
But my mother’s seen through the lie, and my own tell. She knows me too well. She raised me, after all, to fix relationships, so she can spot all the cracks too.
“It is true.” She clasps a hand to her mouth, devastated I’d do this. Ashamed I’d trick her and my whole family.
“It’s not fake,” Lake says, squaring his shoulders, standing up for me over and over again.
But I feel even worse now that he’s piling a lie upon a lie.
My mother lowers her hand, ignoring him, turning to me. “Why would you do this? You can just be honest.”
Sometimes, you have to stop doubling down. You have to stop lying. You have to stop pretending. No matter how much a man defends you.
I take a breath, ready to face the truth. “Because—”
“You want to know why we faked it?” Lake cuts in, letting go of me, closing the distance between him and Jameson and getting right in his face.
“Because I insisted on it,” he bites out, taking all the blame once more, protecting me again.
“Because you were such a dick to her. You’re such a selfish ass all the time.
Who does this? Who breaks up with someone on a Jumbotron?
Who tries to be friends to pitch his beer at her sister’s wedding?
Who claims he wants to help make dating profiles?
Then turns around and does this shit? Who shoves his stupid fucking beer in every picture?
No one wants you crashing every photo. No one likes you.
You’re a fake and a fraud, and guess what, buddy? ”
“What?” Jameson asks, apparently unable to shut up when he’s buzzed.
“No one in the entire world wants beer at a bakery.”
Jameson lunges for Lake, headfirst into the hockey player’s chest, like he’s wrestling. With barely an ounce of effort, Lake peels him off, pushes him back, and holds him at bay easily with one hand.
It’s sexy as hell but also the exact opposite of what I wanted to happen today.
I’m the scene. I made a mess of my sister’s wedding. This is the antithesis of a preemptive strike. I struck myself and my sister and my whole family.
But when I catch a flash of peach, my stomach drops.
I turn around slowly, dread curling tight inside me as I spot the videographer in the ballroom door.
She must have migrated down the hallway, blending in with the flowers, as she caught the authentic behind-the-scenes moments with Caroline’s viewers’ favorite subject—me.
She caught everything. And live streamed it for Caroline’s audience.
It’s official. Nothing in my life is private, and I just ruined my sister’s wedding and, probably, my job prospects all in one short, heated minute.
Even worse? I’ve hurt Lake too. He’s trying to protect me, but now his sweet, wounded father will know he lied. The man who doesn’t leave the house. Who’s facing his own demons. The man who’s been rooting for the two of us.
In that one short, brutal minute, the tender piece of my heart that hoped a fake romance might become real breaks off. Once again, I’m the fool, but this time it’s all my doing.