Irvin cups my face, stroking my bottom lip and gazing into my eyes.
“What’s wrong, princess?”
My chest tightens. Do I really want to go through with this? It seems too good to be true.Heseems too good to be true.
My shoulders stiffen.
“I don’t know about any of this,” I repeat.
His gaze softens, and he cups my face again, his eyes zeroing in on my mouth.
“Regardless of whether you agreed to be my fake wife, I already paid your rent and tuition. As your boyfriend, it’s my job to take care of you. I only asked you to be my fake wife so you wouldn’t feel like you’re taking advantage of me.”
My throat tightens. He’s right. I don’t want to feel that way. And he already paid my bills, so I feel like I owe him. Plus, I don’t want him to think I’m using him. He shouldn’t pay my bills, even if he were my boyfriend.
I breathe in deeply, burning my lungs, and exhale loudly.
I grab the pen from his hand and sign my name on the dotted line.
I’m officially Irvin’s temporary fake wife.
Irvin’s eyes crinkle with warmth.
“We need to discuss living arrangements. In order for my father to believe our relationship is real, I need to move into your place—or you can move in here.”
“I haven’t thought about it. I mean, you can live with me for the time being. I don’t feel comfortable living with Keanu and Jameson.”
He intertwines his thick fingers with mine. “Okay. I’ll have my movers here. Let’s go down to the backyard of the mansion for our ceremony.”
Irvin removes a velvet box from his dress pocket and opens it. A huge diamond ring and silver wedding band gleam in the warm light. He slides them onto my fingers, and I notice a matching band on his right hand.
I look down at the dress I picked out. It’s long and boho—a wedding dress—with white and purple lilacs crowning my head. I spent all night making it. Even though this wedding is fake, I wanted to make it special. This will be the only time I’ll ever get to have a wedding because, after our fake breakup, I’m probably not going to date anyone else.
It sounds stupid to make something special that’s not real. It’s fun to play make-believe, I suppose.
When we step outside, everyone’s wearing coats, but it’s warmed up a bit, and thankfully, it’s not snowing.
The sun shines in the crystal-clear sky. Black cloth covers round tables, with matching black and red roses decorating the chairs. A live band plays soft music in the background. The salty air feels luxurious and intimate. A waft of rosewater and vanilla drifts across the yard. Energy buzzes under my cool skin like a jazz tune.
I glance at my friends, all dressed in elegant gowns, and cock my eyebrow at Irvin.
“You told my friends about this fake wedding?”
He nods. “We have to make it as real to everyone as possible.”
Whoever he really marries after our fake breakup will be the luckiest girl in the world. Despite his controlling, overbearing behavior, he’s a gentleman—kind—and thinks of me in ways that make my heart break a little, knowing he won’t be mine forever.
A man who looks nothing like him—older—appears. His ashy blond hair is slicked back, and he’s muscular, about my height. This must be his father. He stands next to the pastor, palms steepled.
When we arrive at the altar, Irvin stands beside him, and we face each other. The pastor asks us to repeat the vows. We say our “I do’s.”
I have to remind myself this is all an act. We’re only having this wedding to convince the others we’re married.
When the pastor says, “You may kiss the bride,” Irvin pulls me in and cups my face, pressing his warm lips against mine, claiming me like I’m his.
Warmth spreads across my chest, and my eyes widen to the size of saucers. I shouldn’t have enjoyed the kiss the way I did. I shouldn’t want this kiss to actually be real.
I have to remind myself that this is fake. I stroke my lips, as if tracing his essence.
