Page 71 of Heart Breaker

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.