Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Lottie
“I think Mom likes Wes more than she likes us,” Harper says, nudging me with her shoulder from where we stand together in the kitchen scraping leftovers into a container. She isn’t wrong.
Through the doorway, I have a clear view of Wes and Mom on the couch, my dad settled back in the same leather chair that’s occupied that corner of the room for as long as I can remember.
“See?” Harper says. “They both can’t get enough of him.”
Dad laughs at something Wes says. Mom immediately smiles.
They’ve only known Wes for a few hours, but there’s no doubt they’re already halfway in love with him.
Mom has spent most of the evening making sure his drink is full and his plate is loaded while Dad’s worked his way through baseball, airplanes, Cove’s waterproof jackets, and a handful of stories from when Harper and I were kids.
Wes listened intently to every single one.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my dad laugh this much or smile this often.
Beside me, Harper laughs. “You know they’re keeping him, right?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind her that eventually Wes is going to walk away, but I decide tonight isn’t the time to dwell on the expiration date looming over my marriage. Not when we’re standing in my parents’ house celebrating it.
Wes’s gaze finds mine and holds it, making my chest do this weird, jittery thing. The weight of it settles low in my stomach, but instead of looking away, I keep my eyes glued to my husband’s.
My mom notices and gestures for me to come join them, scooting over to make room for me next to Wes. The second I lower myself onto the couch, my Aunt Karen drags a dining room chair across the hardwood floor and sits down next to us.
“Now, nobody move,” she says, scooting her chair closer. “I’ve been waiting all night to hear the story.”
“Oh, yes.” Mom perks up from her seat. “Grandma should hear this too.”
Within minutes, a small crowd has gathered around us.
“So,” Aunt Karen exclaims, folding her hands in her lap. “Tell us all about the proposal.”
“Oh.” I look at Wes, not expecting that question. From the look on his face, he wasn’t expecting it either. “The proposal story.”
We talked about this with Victoria during one of our media prep sessions, but the reality of telling this made-up story to my family is very different.
Wes’s arm settles across the cushions behind me, and I can see everyone in the room melt a little. His fingers brush over the curve of my shoulder, reassuring me without words that he’s here. My heart beats smoother and my pulse slows. Wes’s touch is a powerful thing.
He clears his throat. “I think that’s your story to tell, Peach, unless you want me to.”
Mom lets out a dramatic sigh. “Peach…if that isn’t the cutest! You two are adorable. I bet it was romantic.”
Over her shoulder, my gaze catches on Harper standing in the kitchen doorway drying her hands on a tea towel. She’s watching me with a smug smile on her face, her expression a mix of sympathy and amusement.
I begin carefully, not wanting to lie to my family. “It was private. It wasn’t an elaborate or over the top event. It was just the two of us.”
I fill in the key details—a surprise dinner date, a quiet patio, the ring. Victoria had advised us to keep it simple. It’s not much, but it seems to be enough to satisfy their curiosity.
Dad smiles from his recliner. My aunt and my grandma listen with big smiles on their faces, and my mother’s hand presses against her heart. “That’s sweet. I bet it was just lovely. We need photos!”
My eyes meet Wes’s as I silently plead with him to step in. If I have to lie to them for much longer, I’m afraid my resolve may crack.
I could kiss him when he rescues me. “No photos, unfortunately,” he tells my mom. “I wish there were.”
“There aren’t any photos?” she echoes.
“It wasn’t exactly planned, Mom.”
Before anyone can ask another question, Harper picks the perfect moment to appear from the kitchen carrying the most beautiful three-tier cake I’ve ever seen.
It’s topped with white buttercream icing and has fresh flowers cascading down one side and tiny gold details painted around the edges. A miniature bride and groom has been placed on top.
“Isn’t it just beautiful?” Harper says as she gently sets the cake down on the edge of the table. She winks at me as if to say, You’re welcome.
“After we ran into you both, I came straight home and ordered it,” Mom says. “I couldn’t resist!”
“It looks like it belongs in a bridal magazine,” Harper says.
Mom looks very pleased with herself as she rises from the couch and circles the table, admiring the flowers from every angle.
My aunt and grandma aren’t far behind, debating whether it’s too pretty to cut.
Just like that, the interrogation is forgotten.
I remind myself to thank Harper for the well-timed interruption.
As the room gathers around the table, Dad plants his hands on the arms of his recliner and begins to push himself up to stand. Wes quietly offers him a hand, letting go as soon as Dad is steady and on his feet.
“Thanks, son.”
“Wouldn’t want you to miss the main event.”
I catch the way Wes pauses, taking a deep breath before nodding toward the cake.
Tears prick my eyes instantly, and I blink them away as I meet Wes at the table. Every time I look at my dad, I find myself wishing things were different. Wishing he wasn’t sick, wishing we had more time, more dinners like this one, more celebrations. I wish this engagement was real for him.
“Pictures first before you cut the cake,” my mom says, interrupting my thoughts.
Right away, one of Wes’s arms settles around my waist, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. I lean into his side as my mom snaps a few pictures.
When she’s done, I pick up the knife that’s tied with a satin ribbon and slice it down the center of the cake. The first slice lands neatly on a plate, and that’s when my cousin whistles. “Kiss the bride, Wes.”
“Oh, yes! Of course we need a picture of the newlyweds kissing. You got married without us. We missed everything.” Aunt Karen points her fork at me. “Everything.”
I look at Wes apologetically. At this point, if he bolts for the door, I wouldn’t blame him. Not many fake grooms are required to sit through a surprise wedding reception.
Mom is already pulling out her phone, sliding her reading glasses onto her nose, fumbling with the screen. “Come on,” she says, waving a hand impatiently. “You can’t deny us every wedding tradition.”
“Kiss! Kiss!” my cousin chants as I make a mental note to cut him the smallest piece of cake.
I glance over at my dad and even he’s smiling. The whole room seems to hold its breath.
When I look at Wes, his gaze is already pinned on me.
We never even kissed at our wedding.
I’m fairly certain my entire family can hear my heartbeat when Wes leans in, his big hands framing both sides of my jaw, eyes meeting mine as he towers over me.
My pulse beats so hard I can feel it in my throat, my wrists, in the hollow space beneath my ribs. His gaze softens in a way that makes me feel entirely too exposed.
The last sensible thought I have before Wes kisses me is that we really shouldn’t do this. We just agreed that we need to have boundaries. We need to keep this arrangement uncomplicated. But then he moves closer and I am powerless to stop it.
Wes dips his head down and brushes soft lips over mine in a slow, lingering kiss, the edge of his tongue tapping at the seam of my lips.
This feels like the kiss we skipped, the one that should have happened at the courthouse.
The one that got lost between signatures and paperwork and acting like none of it mattered.
For a moment, I let myself linger in the feeling like it’s the first time we’ve kissed, until Wes pulls back and reality finds me again.
“Well,” Aunt Karen murmurs. “I suddenly need a minute.”
Laughter breaks out around the table, and I’m grateful to have the attention shifted off of me.
“All right,” Mom announces, clapping her hands together. “Everyone back up, you’re crowding the cake.”
She hands the slices out one by one while Aunt Karen follows behind with forks. When Wes crosses the room to bring a plate to my dad, I wrap my arm around my mom, kissing the side of her face.
“Thank you,” I tell her, giving her a waist a squeeze.
“For what?”
“For all of this.” I gesture toward the table, at the cake, and the flowers. “You didn’t have to do any of it.”
“I’m so happy for you and Wes,” she says, sliding her hand up my back. “He’s wonderful, Charlotte. The way he looks at you. That man is madly in love with you. I’ve never seen you this happy.”
I feel a sharp ache of guilt press against my ribs hard enough to hurt.
“When are you two taking your honeymoon?”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth just as Wes reappears at my side.
“What did I miss?” he asks.
My mom turns to him. “I was just asking Charlotte where you’re headed for your honeymoon.”
I glance at Wes, but neither of us says anything because fake marriages come with an alarming number of details nobody thinks to discuss ahead of time. My brain searches frantically for an answer that is believable, something that won’t unravel the second someone asks a follow-up question.
Before I land on something, Wes clears his throat. “I’ve got something planned.”
My head swivels toward him, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Oh?” Mom says, delighted.
I keep staring at him, trying to figure out whether he’ll elaborate on the spot to save us both. When Wes finally turns to me, the look in his eyes is calm.
“I haven’t told Lottie so I can’t spoil the surprise just yet.”
My eyebrows nearly disappear into my hairline.
“Oh my.” Mom clasps the necklace around her neck. “Lottie isn’t usually one for surprises. She likes to know exactly what’s coming.”
His mouth twitches. “I like to keep my wife on her toes. It’s more fun. Right, Lottie?”
I almost choke on my cake.