Chapter 26
Dash
The entire bridal party has taken their places around me at the altar—my two brothers, my sisters, Lucas, my best man, and Mallory’s maid of honor. My dad sits in the front row under the shade of an umbrella and stares straight at me with a bemused smile on his face, but I sense that he has no idea where he is.
His nurse told me he’d take a sedative before the ceremony to ensure that he stays calm and relaxed. She says he sometimes confuses reality with what he watches on TV, and for once, I’m sort of glad that’s the case.
But this isn’t the time to retreat into my head and worry about anything except getting through the day so we can ensure that Felix Sutton takes a hike and doesn’t come back. I know that’s Mallory’s only concern, and it’s the only way I’ll ensure that Buttercup Hill has a future.
I just need to keep reminding myself of why I’m here. It’s business. It’s my chance to do something for my family when it’s most needed.
Keep telling yourself that lie, buddy. Maybe you’ll believe it.
When the music changes and it’s time for Mallory to walk down the aisle, my heart beats a little bit faster. Every time we’ve talked about our wedding, it’s been with a wry wink and acknowledgment that it’s all just a game designed to hoodwink her ex, and we might as well have fun in the process.
“We might as well enjoy ourselves,” she said when we first agreed we could handle being fake fiancés with benefits.
Now, it doesn’t feel like a game. It suddenly feels very real when Mallory appears at the back of the garden with her parents. She’s a vision pulled out of a mythical story. A simple long dress that slinks over her body and emphasizes the gorgeous curve of her breasts and hips while being wholly appropriate for a wedding day. It couldn’t be better suited to her, and it sends a pang of guilt through my chest that I’m not here as a real groom. She deserves that.
As she moves down the aisle toward me, beaming and looking every bit like the bride I’ll never be lucky enough to have for my own, my thoughts snap back to the present. Today, she’s mine. She’s marrying me.
Even if it’s just for show, I might as well enjoy myself, right?
Mallory’s hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, and her eyelashes frame those sultry eyes that swallow me whole every time I look deep into them. Pink cheeks. Cherry lips.
My cheeks ache, and I realize it’s because I’ve been smiling at her so hard since she began walking toward me.
I can’t help reaching out and running a finger down her cheek and watch her eyes soften when I touch her skin. I’ll never get tired of that reaction, even if someday she realizes she’s doing it. I hope she never realizes.
Mallory’s parents each kiss her on the cheek and step back to take their seats in the front row. She turns her face up to mine and smiles.
At that moment, I’m so fucking gone for her that it’s pointless to tell myself otherwise.
Our minister clears his throat and begins the ceremony.
It’s surreal. In all the years I wondered if I’d ever meet a woman I’d love so much that she’d lead me to this moment, I never expected to be standing here like this—faking a wedding in front of half the people I know.
And never in my wildest imagination did I imagine marrying a woman who seemed so perfect for me—someone who barely knew me but looked at me under shooting stars and saw me better than I saw myself.
The minister’s words blur into the background as I sneak sideways glances at my bride. I want to remember this moment because I may never get another one that feels quite this good.
“We might as well enjoy ourselves.”
Yeah. I’m going to enjoy the hell out of her today and all night long.
When it’s time for my vows, I reach for Mallory’s hand and cup it in mine. Her fingers are warm and delicate in my hand, and I immediately feel steadied by the contact.
The piece of paper in my pocket is wrinkled and crinkly, but I hold it in my clammy hand and read the words I wrote without bothering to censor myself. They sounded like good vows, the kind of thing someone worthy of Mallory would say to her.
I didn’t overthink. I just wrote.
Looking at her face, I feel my nerves disappear. Pink cheeks. Bright eyes. I see every bit of beauty I’ve loved looking at over the past couple of months. I also see beneath it to a person who’s stronger than most people I know and fiercely loyal to her family, even as they’ve misunderstood her ambitions and intentions. I see a woman I respect and love spending time with, and I feel confident that being married to her for a year will be one of the easier things I’ve ever done.
The minister speaks, and a few people recite poetry. There may even be a butterfly release, but I’m not paying attention to any of that. I can’t stop staring at the most stunningly gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.
She has me so gobsmacked that I’m worried I won’t be able to form words when it’s time to recite my vows. The minister points at me, and even though he sounds like he’s speaking in a fishbowl, I realize he’s telling me it’s my turn to talk. I turn to Mallory and take her hand in mine.
“Mallory, you are the light of my life. It’s true today, and it’s been true since the day we met, although I could have done without the pickle bath. But that’s just proof that even when the world seems imperfect, there’s something magical if you know where to look. With you, I never see darkness. I never worry about falling.
“I want to see the sun shine on your face in the morning, and I want to kiss you in the moonlight at night. I want to be there when the seasons change, and when I have good news, you’re the first person I want to tell.
“My world is better because I met you. I feel lucky to be your partner in sickness and in health for the rest of my life. And I feel lucky that after today, you will forever be my wife.”
My voice catches on the last two words, and the minister jokes about me being nervous about commitment, but that’s not what’s happening here. It hits me when I say the words that I really do want Mallory to be my wife.
When I meet Mallory’s gaze, I see her blinking rapidly as if to push back tears. I mentally pat myself on the back for doing a convincing enough job of saying my vows that she seems moved. No, wait. The tears are just for show.
Probably.
She knows how to sell this moment, and she’s doing a fine job of it, so fine that I almost forget it’s not real. Maybe that’s because I really am falling for this woman who I’m about to wed and spend every day with, even if it tears at my very last shred of iron will.
I take a shaky breath and try to steady myself. I need to get a grip if I’m falling for the playacting we’re doing up here. She’s my wife in name only. And only for one year. I’d do well to remember that.
My knees buckle, and, for a second, I worry I’ll be the subject of future stories about the groom who face planted after saying his wedding vows.
I regain my standing and swallow hard.
Mallory squeezes my hand and begins reciting her vows, voice clear and soft at the same time. I don’t care if anyone else can hear her words because I want them for myself.
“In my business school program, they taught us to research, run through all the possibilities, and come up with the best course of action. But I didn’t need to do any of that with you. I just had to spend an hour with you to know that marrying you was the right and best choice. I knew it in my bones when we met. I felt something that day in the grocery store that was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was the kind of magic I didn’t believe in, but I knew it was real like I knew my own name.
“This is the easiest decision I’ve ever made, and I know it will make me happy for the rest of my life. Because I love you.”
My heart jumps into my throat. People say “I love you” all the time with varying degrees of seriousness—they say I love you to a friend who needs an extra bit of support or to a coworker for bringing a cup of coffee when they’re dragging. I’m under no delusion that the words have deep meaning just because someone says them.
But this is a new level.
Those three words sound so damn good winding their way from Mallory’s lips to my ears that I want to hear them again. And again. Fuck.
Even if she doesn’t mean them, even if she’s just doing what’s expected at her wedding, her words hit me like a wrecking ball.
It’s my heart that’s getting destroyed. Because I love this woman for real, and I have no business telling her any time except for right now at our fake wedding…much less feeling like they’re the truest thing I could say.
“I love you. Truly,” I tell her. She smiles and squeezes my hand.
We exchange rings.
The minister says, “It is my honor to pronounce you husband and wife.”
And I kiss the hell out of my wife until our guests whistle and applaud, and I don’t regret it one bit. Not one fucking bit.