Chapter 14 #2
“Well, my one and best brother might have spilled a little bit of his plans to make this whole thing easier on you when he stopped by for roses. Did you like them? They’re a special heirloom variety with a Dutch history going back centuries.
” She smiles like I know what she’s talking about, but I have no idea beyond roses are pretty and smell good.
“I loved them,” I tell her honestly. I do remember to leave out the part where Ross tore the fancy flowers down to their petals for my bath, but I can feel my face heat at the memory of last night.
Abi grins big and wide, wolfishly devouring my reaction. “That look right there,” she says, pointing to my cheeks. “What’s that all about? You’re blushing, Vi, which means something happened. Spill it, girl!”
“Nothing. The flowers were just a really nice surprise, and he offered to help with a lot of the wedding prep that’s stressing me out.” Even to my own ears, it’s a weak explanation of the continually growing redness, which is creeping down to my chest now.
Abi narrows her eyes, searching mine. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”
My heart stutters and then stops. “I’m so sorry, Abi. You know I would never do anything to risk our friendship. We just got carried away and . . .”
My tumble of words dies out as she bursts out in laughter. “Fina-fucking-ly. Took you long enough. I figured you two would’ve boned that night after Club Red, but then you got pretty sloshed, so maybe my brother’s not a total Neanderthal, after all.”
My face blanks. “You’re . . . not mad? Isn’t that like some red-line girl-code thing? You shall not pass?” I intone.
Her quirked brow communicates quite easily that she thinks I’m a dolt.
Droll and sarcastic, she summarizes, “Yeah, Vi. I totally hooked you up with my brother, the one I know you had a schoolgirl crush on for years . . . and the guy who quickly gets bored of vapid bank account chasers . . . for a fake wedding and at least a six-month relationship where you live together twenty-four seven . . . and thought you two would never bump uglies.”
She rolls her eyes. “What kind of moron do you think I am? More importantly, what took you so long? Is he still being an asshole to you? I’ll kill him if he is because he needs to get his head out of his ass and wake up to the awesomeness that is you staring him right in the face and figure out how to make you love him for real, forever, so we can actually be sisters. ”
That’s a lot to process. Abi’s not mad. She assumed we’d have sex. She wants us to get together? For real?
Oh, my God. She is such a schemer!
“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I stammer.
Abi is having no such tongue-tied problems, though. “So, are we talking casual, no-strings sex, or are we talking ‘I love you, you’re my sun and moon’ sex? What step are we at so I can advise accordingly?”
“Casual?” I say it as a question even though it’s what Ross and I agreed on just hours ago. What step? She thinks there are steps from casual to sun-and-moon? “That’s all this is, Abs. There’s nothing serious between us, I mean, other than the fake marriage. This is still Ross and me.”
As if that’s explanation enough.
She smiles knowingly. “Yeah, but you’ve been living together for days now, have already weathered battles against both of your families, and are planning the event of the season in less than two weeks now.
And you know what?” She pauses and I shrug.
“You haven’t killed each other. Oh, wait, unless you killed him with sex.
Did you fuck my brother to death, Violet Russo? ” she accuses.
I can’t. I don’t know what to do with her.
She’s acting like this is no big deal. And that’s putting ideas in my head.
Ones I don’t know what to do with, like how his smoothies are just the right blend for my sweet tooth, how he stopped at the store and picked up an industrial-sized bottle of my favorite conditioner ‘just because’, and a dozen other little things.
And last night, the bath and nerf war silliness that I didn’t even know I needed.
And the way he knows how to hug me, or to kiss me, or . . .
“Oh, God, Abi. I’m falling for Ross Andrews,” I say, horror-stricken.
She smiles victoriously and does a little shimmy shake of happiness. “Okay, so now that my work there is done . . .” She reaches behind herself, literally patting herself on the back. “Let’s talk wedding preparation. Hit me.”
My mind is running in a thousand different directions.
How in the fuck did this happen? How do I stop it?
I cannot allow my heart to get tangled up in this mess, especially when we agreed hours ago to be cool and casual.
We’re basically fuck-buddy roommates with some messy paperwork attached, but it’s not supposed to be emotional.
It’s not supposed to be real.
Abigail snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Okay, you’re panicking, so I’ll go. Archie and I went shopping last night while you were doing dinner with the fam. I picked out my dress and he got a matching suit, so your bridesmaids are ready to go. Wanna see?”
I blink at least three times but nod. She grabs her phone, flipping through pictures until she finds the one she wants.
She’s posing on a pedestal at Ride or Die Bride in a frothy peach chiffon dress with the tiniest spaghetti straps, a cinched-in waist, and a flowy bottom that swirls around her calves.
She looks gorgeous, slightly vintage but modern at the same time.
“It matches the invitations and the flowers I’ve ordered, so it’ll all look seamless.
I think I’m going to do nude heels, something bare, with just a couple of skinny straps. ”
I’m still nodding mindlessly, only part of what she’s saying sinking in.
“Archie actually found a suit in the same peach color, too. I was afraid it’d look like a 1970s prom picture with him standing next to me, but it was actually divine against his dark skin.
He did say that he’s wearing a black shirt, no tie, and his combat boots with it, if you’re okay with that?
The black will go with the groom and groomsmen tuxedos, but it’s still Archie, you know?
He’s not going to get all monkey-suited up unless you make him, and I’ll admit, he looked pretty cool.
The edge kinda toned down the peachiness a bit. ”
“That’s fine. Sounds great,” I reply, having no idea what I just agreed to. But if Abi and Archie think it’ll look good, right now, I’ll take their expertise as gospel. Because my brain is a bowlful of Jell-O mush.
Ross. Me. Ross. Me.
The loop plays on, images superimposed over one another from our misspent childhood antics to just this morning. But not in a continuous line. Oh, no. The pictures in my mind are mixed up, old and new taking on unexpected meanings with every flip through my mental scrapbook.
Abi plows on as if I’m not a zombie in the middle of an existential crisis.
“Okay, so we’re doing great. Invites and flowers are spectacular, courtesy of moi.
Venue is all set. Kaede told me he called today to update their info and direct everything to him.
And he is meeting with Luciano’s owner this afternoon.
” She looks at her watch and amends, “Right now, to get the food squared away. Bridesmaid outfits are done, and Ross and Kaede have tuxedoes. I sent Kaede a color swatch so he can do ties and handkerchiefs to match me and Archie. We do need to decide who else Ross is going to have stand with him so that it’s balanced, two on your side and two on Ross’s. ”
“Does Luciano’s make cake?” I ask woodenly. I don’t know why that stuck out in the laundry list she just rattled off, especially when I couldn’t tell you half of what she said. But I forgot the cake, even when I was talking to Ross last night.
Who forgets the cake at a wedding? See, this is doomed from the start.
“They do, Italian cream, if I remember correctly.”
Well, I guess that’s one problem solved at least.
“My dress. I still don’t have a dress. Do you know what he did?” I ask, not needing to specify who ‘he’ is.
Abi shakes her head, hope on her face now that I’m reasonably coherent.
“He sent gowns to my office,” I say quietly, the shock of seeing racks of white gowns returning anew as I tell Abi.
“Archie was at Bitch-ella’s.” I sigh, getting my haywire brain to focus.
“I mean, Archie was at Mrs. Montgomery’s, working on her ballroom.
It’s coming along quickly since it’s designed to be a mostly empty space, good for event-specific setup.
He’s supervising the painters today.” I shake my head again, focused but completely off track from where I’d intended to go with what I’m telling Abi.
“Archie was gone, and the office door opened. I went out to greet the visitor, and there was a bridal shop associate there. With a rack of gowns for me to try on right then and there. She said my fiancé made it clear how busy I was, so she was ready to help me try on the ones that interested me quickly so I could return to my schedule.” My eyes bug out as I look at Abi. “Who does that?”
Her smile is pure triumph. “Ross does, apparently, though I’ve never known him to make even a fraction of this effort for anyone before.”
Her words give me pause, and hope tries to bloom. Maybe he’s feeling some of what I’m feeling too? Could it be?
But no. Not Ross, and not for me. This is a big deal, a production to fool everyone. We can’t go at it half-assed or everyone will know it’s fake. That’s why he’s doing this. It has to be.
“So, did you find the dress?” she asks, hands clasped below her chin.
I shake my head. “No, not in that batch. But the associate said another batch—maybe even another store—would stop by tomorrow. I tried to argue about my schedule, but she said it’d already been arranged with my assistant and that he’d blocked out the time. Can you believe Archie?”