Chapter 4 Bunny
four
Bunny
Patricia looks like a wedding magazine threw up on her—perfect dress, perfect hair, perfect smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Bunny! And this must be John!" She air-kisses my cheeks, eyes already dissecting him. "Aren't you... rustic."
John's wearing a dark suit that makes him look like a sexy hitman. The tie I picked out, pink, to match my dress, is the only soft thing about him.
"Patricia," he says flatly. Not congratulations. Not nice to meet you. Just her name like a military report.
"Well!" She laughs nervously. "Bunny said you were... intense."
John puts his hand on my lower back, protective and possessive. His hand spans so much of me, reminds me of when he lifted me like I weighed nothing. "We should find our seats."
"Oh, but I have questions! Bunny's been so secretive about you two!”
“Has she?" His thumb strokes my spine through the pink fabric. I nearly moan.
"Just a few quick ones! How did you meet?”
“Her shop. Buying candy for my niece." His answers are clipped, efficient.
"And you fell for our little Bunny?" She says it like she can't believe anyone would. "I mean, I’d guess she's not exactly your usual type, is she?"
The implication is clear—what's a man like him doing with a fat girl like me?
John's hand tightens. "You're right. She's not my type.
My type used to be shallow. Complicated.
Difficult." He looks down at me, and something in his eyes makes my stomach flip.
"Bunny's soft. Sweet. Genuine. She was wearing reindeer antlers that lit up, singing off-key Christmas carols while covered in frosting. Never seen anything more beautiful."
I stop breathing. Patricia stops talking. That's not what we rehearsed.
"Well," Patricia finally manages. "That's... sweet."
The ceremony is beautiful. My brother looks happy. I cry. John hands me his handkerchief without looking, like he knew I'd need it.
"No crying, Little Bunny," he murmurs. "You'll ruin your pretty makeup."
God, why is that hot? Why does him calling me pretty in that gruff voice make me want to climb him like a tree?
The reception is where things go sideways.
Patricia corners us during cocktails. "So! Two months! Getting serious?”
“Yes," John says before I can answer.
"Meeting families? Discussing futures?”
“Patricia," Keith intervenes. "Let them breathe."
"I'm just curious! Bunny's never had a serious boyfriend before.”
“That's not—" I start.
"Remember college? You dated that boy who turned out to be gay? And the one who was married? Oh, and that phase where you only dated men from your romance novels wishlist? What was it? 'Must be protective and dominant'?"
I want to die. Want the floor to open up and swallow me. John's hand tightens on my waist.
"Good thing she found me then," he says calmly. "I'm very protective. And dominant."
Patricia chokes on her champagne.
I might be having a stroke.
"Dance with me," John orders. Not asks. Orders.
He leads me to the floor, pulls me against him. We're barely swaying but I feel like I'm spinning. His hand on my waist reminds me how easily he lifted me, how small he makes me feel despite my size.
"Ignore her. She's right though. I'm bad at relationships. I pick wrong, or they get bored, or—"
"Bunny." His command voice. I shut up immediately. "You're perfect. Anyone who couldn't see that is a fucking idiot. You don't have to—"
"I'm not pretending right now."
We stare at each other. The air feels electric.
"I know this is supposed to be fake, but right now? You're mine. And I take care of what's mine."
A whimper escapes. An actual whimper.
"You like that? Being mine?”
“Yes," I breathe.
"Good girl."
I'm going to combust. Right here on the dance floor. Death by praise from a grumpy mountain man.
Patricia appears again. "You two look cozy!”
“We're leaving," John announces.
"But it's only nine!”
“Bunny's tired." He's not asking. He's telling. "Say goodbye to your brother."
I hug Keith, who whispers, "He seems intense but good. You happy?"
"So happy," I whisper back, and realize I'm not pretending.
John takes us to the lodge's hotel wing. "I have a room.”
“What? Why?"
"Always have an exit strategy. Also figured you might need escape from Patricia.”
“You got a room just in case I needed to escape?"
"Yes."
My heart melts.
We stand outside his room door. This is it. End of the night. End of fake dating.
"Thank you," I say. "For everything. For pretending, for protecting me from Patricia, for—”
“I wasn't pretending."
"What?"
"When I said you were beautiful. When I said you were perfect. When I said you were mine. Wasn't pretending." He kisses me.
It's nothing like I imagined. It's consuming, demanding, his hand in my hair controlling the angle, his other arm banding around my waist holding me exactly where he wants me.
I melt into him, whimpering against his mouth.