“Get out so I can get dressed,” I demand, pouting at him for his comment. I don’t need him reminding me that he’s already seen me naked. It was a long time ago but still, he didn’t need to remind me.
“I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready. I made homemade waffles and bacon.” He throws the pillow back at me before turning towards the door.
My face falls as I stare at his back, practically forcing my eyes to stay on his shoulders instead of falling any lower.I love waffles and bacon.
“With sprinkles and chocolate chips?” I ask, keeping my voice small.
He turns to look at me, flashing me his dimples when he does. “It’s the only way you take them.” He shrugs before heading down the stairs.
Of course he would remember my favorite breakfast.I roll my eyes and am annoyed by how hard he’s making being mad at him. Every time I try to remind myself that he broke my heart then ran away, he does something like tell me how the stupid little stone I gave him is his favorite memory or makes me my favorite breakfast without being asked. If only he was ugly or something.
Stepping out of bed, I pull my suitcase out and rifle around for the outfit I packed for today. We fly out again tomorrow, only in town long enough to get married and getback home. Slipping into the dress I brought, I pull my hair back behind my head, braiding the sides of it together so it isn’t in my face. I wash my face quickly in the bathroom sink, brush my teeth, and look at myself in the reflection of the mirror.
“It’s only temporary,” I whisper to myself. “Completely fake. Don’t let your heart run away with itself. Keep your wits to you. You’re doing this for Holly House and nothing more. You can do this.” Giving myself a confident nod in the mirror, I head downstairs to meet my husband-to-be.
Reaching the bottom of the steps I can smell breakfast from the end of the hallway. The classic smell of a waffle iron entices me closer to the kitchen. Stepping into the room, my eyes flash to the small stone sitting in the window sill, reminding me of the exchange we shared last night.
“There she is, my beautiful bride,” he beams, spinning around and sliding a plate across the island.You’re only his fake bride and he doesn’t really think you’re beautiful.His eyes narrow and his nose pinches up when he looks at my outfit. “Is that what you’re wearing today?”
I raise a brow at him, offended by his question. “Yes? Do you have a problem with it? I’ll have you know this isn’t one of those marriages where the husband is all controlling or whatever. While this is all pretend, we sure as hell aren’t pretending that way.”
“First off, I’m hurt that you think I’d be that kind of husband,” he starts, bringing a hand over his heart. “And second, I think you look beautiful in what you have on, but you can’t get married in that.”
I look down and take in my dress before looking back at him. “And why the hell not?”
“It’s black? It’s your wedding day not your funeral” He talks as if wearing black is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.Asif marrying him for the sake of my family inheritance isn’t worse.
“And what, you want me to wear white like I’m some sort of virgin sacrifice? We both know that’s not true, Nick.” I slip onto the stool and eye him as I pull the plate he’s offered me closer. The air grows thick at the mention of how he would know particularly well about my lack of virginism seeing as he’s the one who took it away.
He clears his throat after a beat and turns to turn another waffle out of the iron.
“This is our wedding day, Noelle. I think we should do it right.”
“This is ourfakewedding day,” I remind him. “Fake, as in not real? As in, we don’t have to do it in any sort of way other than just doing it? It’s fine if I wear black.”
“We’ll go shopping before we go to the courthouse. We need to get you flowers and our rings anyway,” he says matter-of–factly.
“We do not need flowers or rings,” I argue. “This isn’t real, we don’t need to play into all the tradition.”
He leans with his hands on the counter and looks at me with conviction. “Noelle, we are going to go home tomorrow and have to convince the entire town that we got marriedfor real. A piece of paper isn’t going to convince your grandmother, we have to sell it. And selling it means doing it up the right way. White dress, bouquet, rings, photos.”
“Photos?” I nearly shriek. “You want to commemorate our fake nuptials forever in pictures?”
He leans over and adds whipped cream to the top of my waffles and smiles at me. Part of me wants to punch him and the other desperately wants to kiss him.
“Eat up, sugar. We have a lot to do today.”
I slump down on my stool and stare at my plate.
“I can’t believe you made my favorite breakfast,” I mumble.
“I can’t believe you’d think I’d be able to forget anything about you.” His eyes are soft as he says it and my heart does that thing that makes me feel like I’m going to blush. Instead, I turn my brows down and scowl at him.
“Shut up and eat your waffle. We have a lot to do today,” I mutter before taking an overly aggressive bite of my waffle. And much to my dismay, it’s the best damn waffle I’ve had in years.
Several hours, a trip to the florist, and one white dress later, we’re waiting for our names to be called in to be married by the judge. Nick happily paid all the fees to waive the normal rules to get married the same day. I guess he meant what he said when he told me he’d help me with whatever I needed. Excited couples sit around us, snuggled up next to one another in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, ready to be named husband and wife.
Meanwhile I’m sitting in my seat, leg crossed over my knee, trying to create as much space between me and him as possible. My stomach is in knots as our appointment time draws closer and the reality of calling Nick Winters my husband becomes more and more real. I know we have agreed to do this, but now that it’s here and it’s actually happening my stomach is trying to eject itself from my body.
