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“Hold on, put these on.” She puts heels in front of me, and I place a hand on her shoulder for balance as I nudge my feet into them.
“Huh, these are actually comfortable.”
“Good. Heels make this outfit work, and you still need comfort.”
The top is a fitted blazer with a deep plunge that makes my cleavage pop without being trashy. It’s pristine white and all clean lines, the pants high-waisted and tapered at the bottom. The heels are an accessory I’m not used to, but they fit the outfit perfectly. With the soft waves I put my hair in earlier and the heavier-than-normal makeup I’ve applied, I look like I’m walking a red carpet more than having a fake wedding.
“Wow,” I say, looking over at Gemma and raising a brow in appreciation. “You’ve got excellent taste.”
“I know,” she says and then walks over, grabs a hanger, and goes into the dressing room.
In a flash, she’s out wearing a nearly identical outfit, except hers is sleeveless, and the brilliant red makes the white I’m wearing pop. Her blonde hair is in a low but expertly placed bun, and she could easily rock a runway somewhere.
“Dude.” I give her a friendly hip bump. “Quit trying to upstage me on my wedding day.” She smiles, and my mouth gapes open. “I got you to smile!”
“Whatever,” she grumbles. “Come on, I need to find a place for a weapon in that outfit of yours.”
We pay for our clothes and make our way back to the hotel room where Gemma finds a way to hide a gun on my body for emergency purposes. If all goes well, I shouldn’t have to worry about firing it, but since we’re referencing the last few weeks…well, let’s just say this firearm really completes my look.
And here we are, my wedding day.
It wasn’t what I expected, although I did dream of my wedding day like most young girls do, dressing up dolls to get married and making Barbie kiss Ken, secretly dreaming it was me marrying the too-perfect Ken doll. I highly doubt little Margaret ever dreamed her wedding day would end up like this.
I walk slowly down the aisle, an organ playing out Pachelbel’s “Canon”, and my eyes shyly look up at the man waiting for me at the end of the aisle. A nervous giggle escapes my lips, and he lets loose a wide grin. I let myself, just for a moment, believe this is real.
The amused look suddenly leaves his eyes and is replaced by a tenderness as he watches me slowly approach. He has his hands clasped in front of him and his tux is sharp and clean, fitting him so perfectly I wonder exactly where he went to get something so right so quickly. His expression looks real, genuine, and I savor the moment. The man I’ve come to respect, the man I’ve come to love is marrying me today.
When I reach him, he grasps my hands in his and pulls me to stand across from him, Elvis on my left and Gemma behind me.
Liam’s grin stays on mine as the officiant recites something out of a book. It’s generic, and his impersonation is terrible. When I see Mike here, standing up for Liam at our fake marriage, I give Liam a questioning glance, which he answers with a shrug.
Elvis finishes and I hear Liam recite words after him, slipping a ring on my finger—Where’d he get a ring? Gemma hands me a matching band as I recite the same words to him, following the motions of putting a ring on his finger.
Oh God. My heartrate skyrockets as things progress, and I hear Liam say the infamous words ‘I do.’ When it’s my turn, I say them back, giving him a questioning gaze. He tells me to stick with the plan by nodding his head, and I do, mostly because there’s no turning back now.
“I now pronounce ya, husband and a-wife.” Elvis makes the proclamation, terrible accent and all, and I’m about to break character when Liam leans in for a kiss to seal the deal. Just as he’s about to cover my lips with his, I hear slow, mocking clapping coming from the entrance.
He’s here.
“Well, isn’t this a wonderful turn of events,” Anton says, looking at us with hatred blazing in his eyes.
“Anton,” Liam replies. He’s looking at him head-on, and the members of our ‘wedding party’ act stunned. “What do you want?”
“I want my passports,” he says, his anger visible in his clenched fists. “I want my fucking deal to go through!” His temper gets the best of him and he spits out his words.
“Deal’s off,” Liam says with cool confidence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turns to me and cups my jaw, leaning in for a kiss. We slowly release each other, our heads still close, and he stares at me with a stony resolve. He’s bracing himself—I can feel it in his hold—and when he nods, I know the shit is about to hit the fan.
I open my mouth to speak, but then, as if in slow motion, my eye catches something in my periphery. Several men file into the room, Mike and Gemma moving fast. Elvis follows suit, as does the man I just married.
Forcing myself into the moment, I reach into my jacket, grasping what I need, and throw myself behind one of the pews as shots ring out over my head. I steady myself, catch my new husband’s eye, and nod, ready for the fight.
Bullets start flying without warning, and the pews splinter above my head. Liam’s firing back along with everyone else, and I cast a glance over the pew, not aiming before shooting back at Anton and his men.
I hear a groan as Elvis goes down and I gasp, hoping whatever injury it is can be fixed, praying this shooting will stop before anyone else takes a hit. I’m so busy staring at Elvis that I don’t even notice when Liam clutches my arm in his, dragging me farther down.
The room is still loud with the gunfight. Where is the FBI? They were already supposed to be here.
As if my thoughts are heard, men filter in from behind Anton and his men. I breathe a sigh of relief as the notorious man is handcuffed, screaming and cursing the entire time, and Liam walks over there, leaving me on my knees, half-hidden from view, watching Liam as he reads Anton his rights himself, finally putting an end to this mission.
