Chapter 12
“You can do this,” I tell myself as I study my reflection in the floor-length mirror in Grady’s office on the second floor of the tasting room. “It’s not real. And it will be over in nine months at most, at which point you’ll hopefully have had enough time to make your cake business profitable.”
I’ve given myself this same pep talk countless times over the past few weeks, especially as we neared January twenty-first.
When we set this date, it seemed so far off, but it arrived practically overnight. Now, I’m mere minutes away from becoming Beckham Lawrence’s wife.
When I told Maggie last week, I nearly called it off after I saw how excited she was. Because I’ll eventually have to break her heart when we end this charade.
Then I reminded myself why I’m doing this. To give her the life she deserves. So we no longer have to worry about where we’ll live or whether I’ll make enough tips to buy groceries.
“Are you decent, Haley?” Parker’s voice sounds from the other side of the door, along with a gentle knock.
“You can come in.” I refocus my attention on the mirror, smoothing my hands down the satin material of my dress as she slips inside.
“Oh, Haley,” she sighs, walking toward me and wrapping me in her embrace. “You look beautiful.”
“It’s not real,” I say, unsure if it’s for her benefit or mine.
As I went through the motions of getting ready this morning, from having Beckham’s mom style my hair in a classic chignon, then having my makeup professionally done by one of the other girls at the salon, I’ve had to remind myself of that more and more.
That’s been the hardest thing about this entire ordeal. I’m forced to make everyone believe our story is the sort of fairytale romance people love to read about in books or see on the big screen. That we were childhood friends who eventually fell in love. That we never forgot about each other, even when life tore us apart. That we eventually found our way back to each other.
That we’ve been waiting for this day for years and don’t want to wait another second, which is why we’re getting married right away.
So far, not a single person has questioned the story. Probably because it’s true… Mostly, anyway.
“The marriage may not be, but you still look gorgeous,” Parker says with all the sincerity I’ve come to expect from my best friend.
“You don’t think it’s too much?”
Since I was short on time, I went with a non-traditional dress. I didn’t feel right spending Beckham’s money on anything extravagant anyway. Luckily, I found a retro-style cream dress with three-quarter sleeves that’s fit to my waist before flaring out, stopping at my knee. I added a fifties-inspired hat with a birdcage veil to complete the look. Couple the dress with my hair and bright red lips, and I’ve never felt so glamorous.
Never felt so beautiful.
“It’s perfect. Trust me.” With her hands on my biceps, Parker forces me to face her. “When Beckham sees you, he’s going to want to find somewhere private so he can consummate your marriage.”
“Highly doubtful.” I roll my eyes, pushing out of her hold. “Let’s just get this over with. The sooner we’re married, the sooner we can divorce.”
“If you say so,” Parker sings as I open the door and slip onto the second floor landing.
The instant I do, Maggie runs toward me, stopping just short of me to do a twirl in her white dress with a full tulle skirt. “Look, Mama! I’m a princess.”
I crouch down to give her a tight hug. “Yes, you are. But even without the pretty dress, you’re always a princess to me.”
“But you like my dress, right?”
“Of course.” I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?”
She nods, her expression becoming serious. “I’m supposed to put flower petals down for you.”
“Perfect. Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She beams, then furrows her tiny brows. “Does this mean Mr. Beck is my daddy now?”
“No, sweetie. He’s not. He can be like a daddy, but he’s not your real father.”
Although I’m not sure I should even give her sperm donor the courtesy of referring to him as her father.
“Then who is my real daddy?”
I glance nervously at Parker, who discreetly steps away, allowing me the chance to talk to Maggie in private. I knew she’d eventually ask these questions, especially now that she’s around other kids and sees them play with their fathers.
When I chose to keep Maggie, I promised myself I wouldn’t do or say anything that would make her feel like she wasn’t wanted. Which is exactly what telling her about her sperm donor might do.
After all, his solution to my surprise pregnancy was to throw money at me and tell me to make it go away.
Make her go away.
That was the last time I saw or spoke to him. I didn’t even bother reaching out when Maggie was born. I grew up with parents who acted like I was nothing more than a giant inconvenience. At least when they weren’t bossing me around and dictating my life for me. I swore I’d never put Maggie in that situation.
“Your daddy is someone I knew a long time ago who’s no longer in our lives.”
“Is he under the stones?”
“The stones?”
“Yeah. Like where people get buried when they go to haven.”
I laugh at the way her innocent brain processes things.
“No. Your father isn’t in heaven. He’s alive.”
Confusion wrinkles her brows. “But if he’s alive, then?—”
“Some mommies don’t need daddies to help raise their kids. Sometimes mommies are better off without the daddy.”
“And you’re better off?”
“We’re better off.”
She contemplates this for several moments. Then she gives a curt nod. “Okay. When are we having the cake you made?”
I pull myself to my full height. “After lunch, sweetie.”
With her hand clutched tightly in mine, we make our way down the stairs and into the back hallway of the tasting room. While I hate the idea that Grady closed down just for us, especially on a Sunday, he wouldn’t hear otherwise. Said we deserved to get married with the stunning backdrop of the vineyard behind us. And the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the main hall is more than just stunning. It’s breathtaking.
“Ready?” Parker asks once she sees me.
I take a calming breath and nod.
“Okay.” She peeks her head out of the hallway and signals Grady to start the music. Once he does, Parker takes Maggie’s hand and walks out with her.
I close my eyes, taking a few seconds to calm my breathing. I give serious consideration to running out the back door, especially when I hear the music change, my cue to head down the aisle. I’m not sure how many seconds pass before I finally move, but it’s probably enough to make people nervous.
“This is for Maggie,” I say softly as I take that first step into the main hall.
The handful of guests immediately stand, everyone turning to look at me. Including Beckham’s mother, who has tears in her eyes. If I felt guilty about deceiving her earlier as she was going on and on about how she always imagined we’d get married, even after everything fell apart, I feel even worse about it now.
I do my best to remain steady on my heels as I make my way down the aisle, trying not to look at his mother for fear the guilt will become too much and I’ll blurt out the truth.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally reach Beckham. I’m momentarily caught breathless by how handsome he looks. I didn’t really take a moment to appreciate him as I walked down the aisle, too uneasy about the prospect of being married in mere minutes.
But now that I’m standing in front of him, it’s impossible to ignore.
I thought he looked handsome when we went out to dinner all those weeks ago. But that’s nothing compared to how he looks in his gray suit. Being who he is, he kept it casual by foregoing the tie. But he still looks good. Hell, he looks better than good. He looks good enough to eat.
Based on the way his hungry eyes skate over my frame, I get the feeling he’s thinking the same thing about me.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly as he takes my hands in his, his warm skin sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
I resist the urge to remind him he doesn’t need to say that to me. But several pairs of eyes are on us, including Grady’s as he stands mere inches away, about to marry us.
It’s better than having a minister perform the ceremony. I need as many karma chips as I can get, and I’d rather not get on God’s bad side any more than I already am.
“So do you,” I tell him, my voice trembling from nerves. “I mean, you don’t look beautiful. But you look good. Better than good, really.”
“Ah, young love,” Grady remarks, which earns a laugh from everyone.
I look away from Beckham and smile at our guests.
Like we agreed, we kept the guest list small. Just Beckham’s immediate family, as well as Parker and Grandma Estelle. Not surprisingly, my parents didn’t show up. I sent them an invite as a courtesy, but I didn’t expect them to be here. They didn’t approve of Beckham all those years ago. They certainly don’t now, as evidenced by my mother’s scathing phone call last week. It doesn’t matter how successful he is. How much he’s overcome. How much he’s changed since high school.
He’ll always be the boy who tried to corrupt their daughter.
“Friends and family, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the long-awaited marriage of Beckham Lawrence to Haley McBride,” Grady begins, pulling my attention back to him.
Beckham squeezes my hands, and my eyes lock on his as I listen to Grady go through the short ceremony we insisted on. It’s probably for the best, considering the longer I stand up here, the more I fear someone will take one look at my expression and realize the truth. Beckham always teased me about having a terrible poker face. That hasn’t changed with time.
“It’s my honor to be the first to announce you husband and wife,” Grady proclaims a short while later, finally bringing the ceremony to an end. “You may now kiss your beautiful bride.”
Over the past several weeks, Beckham and I have spent as much free time together as possible to make everyone believe we’re a real couple. Thankfully, Maggie was often with us, which proved beneficial for cutting through the tension between us. But even when she wasn’t, the one thing neither of us thought to discuss was the inevitability of having to kiss at the end of our wedding ceremony. Aside from a few pecks on my cheek when we were in public, he’s barely touched me. If my knee somehow grazed his, he’d immediately increase the distance between us.
Now that we’re here, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
Well, I know what I’m supposed to do. We’re supposed to kiss. I just don’t know if I’m ready to feel Beckham’s lips on mine again. Not ready to experience all the emotions I’ve fought to bury for the past fourteen years.
It’s just one kiss. We’ll get it over with, then never have to do it again, and I can keep pretending I feel nothing for him.
With painfully slow movements, Beckham licks his lips and curves toward me. My heart thunders in my chest as I hoist myself onto my toes to meet his height, closing my eyes. The seconds tick by, yet his mouth still doesn’t touch mine.
I’m about to open my eyes to see what he’s doing when his lips finally brush against mine. His kiss is firm and stilted, lasting less than a second. It’s even more awkward than our first kiss was.
“Is that the best you can do?” Grady jests, slapping Beckham’s back. “You’re married, son. Kiss your wife like you mean it.”
“My wife,” Beckham muses, almost bewildered by the term. As if he’s just realized the reality of what we’ve done.
By the furrowed expression on his brow, I half expect him to tell everyone the truth. Then his eyes darken and he loops an arm around my waist, tugging my body against his, his eyes focused on my lips.
I inhale a sharp breath, caught off guard by his sudden motion, my pulse kicking up when I peer into his lust-filled eyes.
“My wife,” he growls again before pressing his mouth more firmly against mine.
This time, his kiss isn’t even remotely awkward. And certainly nothing like our first kiss. Instead, he takes total command of my body, coaxing my lips to part, our tongues tangling briefly. His kiss is warm. Firm. Intoxicating. So much so that a tiny whimper falls from my throat, my veins heating.
There’s something familiar yet different about his kiss. I lost count of the number of times Beckham kissed me during our short-lived summer fling. But kissing him as an adult is much different than when we were teens. It’s much more charged. The way he explores my mouth as if he’s uncovered a priceless artifact turns me to putty. I thought I’d be able to control myself better. Thought I could separate the lies from reality.
Instead, nothing seems to stop me from unraveling in response to his expert kiss.
“Now that’s how you kiss your wife,” Grady says once Beckham brings our kiss to an end, his hand on my hip the only thing keeping me upright.
“My wife,” Beckham repeats, his eyes flaming as they remain locked on mine.
And for a moment, a part of me can’t help but think he wishes this were real, too.