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Still…
Something nags at me. I should look good for Elodie. That’s what she deserves. A man who shows up. “We could shop for something fancier since we have an hour and a half free.” I remember the website for the chapel and the list of extras. “Come to think of it, we can rent tuxes, dresses, and flowers at the chapel.”
Do I sound as jittery as I feel? I hope she can’t tell.
With a curious tilt of her head, she asks, “Is that what you want?”
I want to make you happy.
She has to want more than a no-big-deal wedding, even for a fake real wedding. Back in Felix’s office the other week, she provided a road map, didn’t she? Elodie detailed all those romantic venues. Even though this is a temporary tying of the knot, I need to try harder. “Do you want me to take you shopping? For a dress or something? And I can rent a suit.”
Before she can answer, her phone buzzes. She lifts a finger. “Hold on.”
She checks her texts, then meets my gaze with something like delight in her irises. “It’s the chapel. The nine a.m. wedding ceremony was canceled so they’re offering us the slot. Want to get married early and see if we can catch an earlier flight?”
She sounds…ecstatic.
It was ridiculous of me to think she’d want all the trappings. This is an arrangement, and she’s always been a smart businesswoman. I’m not even upset. Not one bit.
“Let’s get hitched, baby.” I take her hand, and I’m strangely eager to get to the chapel.
Just to get a move on, I’m sure.
That has to be it.
But the velour burgundy jacket is irresistible to Elodie.
The second the officiant, a bald white guy with a pro wrestler’s physique and name, Hitch Malone, shows it to us in the foyer of the chapel, she turns to me, eyes glittering, mouth wide with excitement.
“Gage, you would look so good in this on social. So handsome,” she says, advancing toward me. “We could rub Sebastian’s face in it.”
And that’s irresistible too. “How are you even hotter when you go for revenge?”
She smiles coyly. “It’s one of my many charms.”
“There’s a dress for the lovely bride too,” Hitch adds, then swaggers to a mirrored door, swings it open, and gestures to a wardrobe full of gowns. “The missus and I stocked it with all the sizes.”
Elodie rubs her palms and marches straight over, flicking through choices, then picking. The matching dress for the bride is stunning—it’s cut short and it has all sorts of cleavage.
“Sold,” she says, then waggles her credit card and presses it into his beefy palm. “The clothing rental is on me.”
I smile privately. She did want the trappings. I was right. I pat myself virtually on the back for knowing my woman.
Not gonna lie—I’m pleased, too, that she wants some frills.
Because I do.
Ten minutes later, I’m tugging on the cuffs of my wine-colored jacket that makes me look like a lounge singer. I wait at the head of the chapel while Hitch Malone sets the rings I bought from him on a white satin pillow on the altar.
A woman with the attitude and dress of a burlesque singer fiddles with the music. She’s his wife, and her name is Matrimony Maven.
“You want ‘It Had to Be You,’ right, hun?” she calls out to me.
I picked that one, figuring it was one of Elodie’s favorites since she named a line of chocolates after the tune.
But a coil of doubt winds tighter in me. Is this tune sending the wrong message? Will she think I’m making more of this match than I should?
I wish relationships came with recipes, like cocktails. Or rules, like baseball.
