11. Kiss Rehearsal
WEST
The sun’s barely up and I’m already playing dress-up as part of my best man duties. I’m standing in as Zach, with Eva slipping into Paige’s shoes—or really, a designer imposter version of her wedding gown. Tyson and other camera operators buzz around us like caffeinated bees, their lenses scrutinizing every possible angle of the mock ceremony. It’s all about the perfect shot—apparently, even rehearsals in the reality TV biz are Oscar-worthy.
“Think they’ll make us do the ‘I dos’?” Eva whispers.
“Wouldn’t put it past them.” I keep my voice low. “But hey, if I’m gonna fake-marry anyone this morning, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Flatterer,” she says, but I can tell she’s eating it up.
“Places, everyone!” calls out Darren, the show’s director, who’s clearly fueled by ambition and espresso. We shuffle into position, the sand cool beneath our feet, the ocean our soundtrack.
“West, chin up. Eva, little to the left.” Hayes, who’s taking photos again, is a stickler for details.
Next to him, I can’t help but notice a small boy mimicking his every move with a plastic camera, his tiny fingers fumbling with the buttons.
When Hayes tells us we can relax, I say, “And who is your photograph partner?” I nod toward the kid, curious.
Hayes glances at the boy and then back at us, a proud smile on his face. “That’s my son, August. He wants to shoot pictures just like daddy.”
“Photography clearly runs in the family.” The corners of my mouth twitch upward. Kid’s got spunk, I’ll give him that. And he’s definitely inherited Hayes’s laser focus—he’s aiming that toy camera like it’s the last shot before deadline.
Hayes repositions us, and we have to freeze again.
“I feel like a glorified mannequin.” I adjust my stand-in rental tux, realizing I could’ve really used some coffee and breakfast.
“Maybe because we are.” Eva’s laughter’s a hit of something stronger than the caffeine I missed this morning. “If only we had the power to stand perfectly still.”
“Captain Statue.”
“Defender of the Still.” She holds her bouquet with the solemnity of a soldier, and I love to see her joking around—it really is the best.
“Cut!” Darren’s voice slices through our banter. “That’s a wrap on this part.”
“Come on, West.” She links her arm through mine as we move to our next spot.
“Lead the way, wife.” I feel a twist in my gut that’s got nothing to do with hunger. In these moments—us joking and jabbing—it’s like a glimpse of what could be in a parallel universe.
“Careful,” Eva smirks, “or I might just hold you to your upcoming vows.”
“That’s fine. I was planning on vowing to eat banana curry pizza—always.”
“Gross—scratch that.”
“Hey, I keep my promises, so that means forever.” The words are light but loaded. I follow her lead, pretending I’m not the best friend who pines hopelessly.
Skye’s timing is impeccable as our stand-in father figure. She darts toward us wearing an extra mustard-yellow bridesmaid gown and a shower cap. Nice.
“Ready for your big moment, kiddo?” Skye offers her arm to Eva.
“Let’s make some amazing deleted pictures.” Eva slips her hand through Skye’s elbow. The irony isn’t lost on either of us—Skye, the antithesis of Eva’s buttoned-up dad, stepping into his shoes. It’s like casting a unicorn in a courtroom drama.
“Places, everyone!” Darren’s voice is tinged with caffeine jitters.
I move to the edge of the water, taking my place at the makeshift altar.
When Skye and Eva start down the aisle, Skye tries not to step on the train of Eva’s dress. “Look natural,” Hayes calls out, which makes everything more awkward. When Eva gets next to me and turns around, Hayes yells, “And... hold!”
“Stop breathing, West,” Eva whispers, her smile a silent laugh as we pose in front of the water reflecting the early sun.
I shift my weight to relieve a cramp creeping up my calf. “I’ll be Statue-Man, my villain, the nefarious Dr. Twitch, who’s causing a real muscle spasm.”
“We must take down Dr. Twitch.”
“Go forth, Lady Limbo. My sidekick.”
“Lady Limbo,” she whispers. “Why did I get the cheesy name?”
“You kidding? Lady Limbo rocks the still superhero scene.”
The corner of her mouth quirks as she fights a grin. The air between us crackles, charged with something I can’t quite name.
“Okay, just a few more shots.” Hayes snaps away. Our muttered laughter fades into silence, replaced by shutter clicks and crashing waves. A breeze skims the surface of the water, sending a shiver down my spine as we hold our post-ceremony pose.
I keep sneaking peeks at August, who right now, is lying flat on his belly to get the “right angle,” his concentration fierce.
“Looks like you’ve got competition, Hayes,” Eva says with a grin. “You might be out of a job soon.”
Hayes ruffles his son’s hair. “The world can always use more talented artists, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say. There’s something really cool about seeing a kid so passionate.
Hayes and Tyson circle us like hawks, cameras always ready. I glance at Eva, her dark hair fluttering, and I whisper, “If this were an oil painting, we’d be immortalized with a stiff upper lip for centuries.”
“Imagine modeling for those back in the day.” She clucks. “You couldn’t pay me enough to not scratch an itch for hours on end.”
“Mona Lisa was probably totally over it by the time Da Vinci finished.”
Eva’s shoulders shake in a silent laugh. “So true. I mean, her expression screams, ‘I have to pee and my cheeks hurt.’”
“That’s a wrap, people!” Darren claps his hands together. “Great job. Now, can you two stand on the mark and lock lips for the camera? We need to get our angles perfect for the magical moment.”
“The things we do for show biz.” I toss him a mock salute, but inside I’m doing backflips. Act cool. It’s just a kiss. A staged, totally-for-show, not-at-all-real kiss. I look at Eva and wink. “Looks like I’m getting my face kissed off, after all.”
She laughs and playfully slaps my shoulder. “Lucky you.”
But then her smile fades into a smirk playing on her lips, like she knows exactly what’s going through my head. Reading my mind is her superpower.
“All right, let’s make this look believable.” Eva steps closer, looking at me with those piercing eyes. “For art’s sake.”
“Art,” I echo, my voice oddly strangled.
The corners of her eyes crinkle. “Just think, hundreds of years from now, someone might watch this and believe we were madly in love.”
“Madly.” The single word feels like a boulder in my throat.
“And go!” The director’s voice cuts through the tension.
“Showtime,” I murmur, and then, screw it, I close the gap.
My heart’s pounding like it’s got its own set of drums, as Eva’s close enough now that I breathe in the scent of that damn shampoo. “Ready when you are,” she whispers.
“Born ready.” I’m fighting like hell to be cavalier but probably sound like a tween watching porn.
Our eyes lock, hers fiery, and it almost looks like she really wants this.
Our lips meet, and holy shit, it’s like every nerve ending in my body fires at once. The kiss starts off as just a brush, a static shock. I pull back, wanting to keep things respectful given what this is, but then her hand snakes into my hair as her lips seal tightly to mine. I change the angle of the kiss to make it deeper, and my hands find the small of her back, pulling her closer as my pulse races.
I move my tongue around in her mouth in a way that lets her know what it could do for her on her more sensitive body parts, and she responds by doing the same, the kiss morphing, growing, deepening until it’s like we’re trying to solve the mystery of the universe with our mouths.
The world fades. The clatter of camera equipment, the murmurs of the crew—it all disappears under the mesmerizing effect of her mouth moving over mine. We’re lost in the eye of a perfect storm, and for something fake, this is far too real.
She deepens the kiss, and our bodies melt into each other. It’s just me and her, and I never want this to end.
“Cut! That’s a wrap!”
Darren’s voice slices through the haze, yanking us back to Earth like a bouncer at closing time. Eva’s lips linger on mine for a split second longer.
“Seriously—the camera’s got enough footage to make a whole damn telenovela.” Hayes wipes his brow as if we’ve just put him through a workout.
Eva pulls away, a flush of red painting her cheeks. There’s this sparkle in her eyes, a mix of sweetness and something warmer, that sends my heart back thumping against my ribs.
“Gross!” August yells out, and Hayes nudges him.
“Sorry,” Eva whispers, but her grin tells me she’s anything but.
As we step apart, a magnetic pull lingers between us. I catch Eva biting her lip in a way that sends my mind rocketing down to the gutter as I envision her naked with my hands roaming every square inch of her.
Jesus! Play it cool.
I shrug. “Totally forgettable.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Bullshit, West.”
After I shoot her a knowing wink, we’re excused from our morning task, so we start to make our way back to the resort.
“Hey, August, that’s a cool camera you’ve got. Can I see your pictures?” Eva asks, and the kid nods enthusiastically, showing us a screen filled with blurry thumbs and skewed horizons. But it’s art through the eyes of a four-year-old, and it’s pretty damn adorable.
“Where’s Mommy? Does she like taking pictures too?” Her voice is gentle.
His little shoulders shrug. “Mommy’s an angel now. She takes pictures from the sky.” His innocence hits me right in the gut, while Eva’s hand flies to her mouth, eyes glossy.
“That’s... I’m sorry, buddy.” My throat is suddenly tight.
“Me too,” Eva whispers.
“Thank you. Well, I better get back to my dad. Bye!” He waves and runs up to Hayes.
As I watch them, something inside me shatters—a mix of heartache for this kid and the fierce hope that life gets less crappy for him and his dad.
Eva’s hand brushes against mine, a silent vow passing between us, and I know she feels the exact same way.
As we walk, the warm, open Eva is replaced by the cool and distant one—the one that appears when she’s protecting herself.
It has to be about what just happened with August. Since Eva lost her mother too, that had to hit her hard. But right now she’s turned herself off like a switch, and I’m fighting for a way to broach the topic with her. Before I can figure it out, she says, “Let’s make a pact.”
I kick a pebble on the ground. “A pact—that sounds so us.”
“It does, right?” Her mouth curves. “You help me make sure my sister’s wedding is perfect and I impress Foster, and I help you do whatever you need to do to get selected for Groomsman to Groom.”
So something heartbreaking happens, and Eva goes right back on task. That’s what she does, and I’m sure it’s some coping mechanism for her. I should’ve known. I let out a sigh. “Well, this one’s a no-brainer since I’m already helping you. So, now, you just have to help me in return.”
“Right. So a win for you.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” I extend my hand. “We’re Batman and Robin,” I add, just to rib her. She hates Robin.
She lifts her chin. “Only if you’ll be Robin.”
I groan, acting like I didn’t see that coming. “I guess I’ll be Robin.”
We shake on it.