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Before I can worry any more about what to do, Luke ducks his head and kisses me. It’s gentle but insistent, rooting me to the moment, and for the first time all day I relax. When my lips part in relief, Luke’s there with me, deepening the kiss with a soft groan only I can hear.
Then Judge Joan is clearing her throat, and Luke’s pulling back, and I’m blinking up at him like someone who’s stepped out of the darkness and into the bright light of day.
Luke truly is stunning, in his black tux and black shirt. He’s got a sprig of white flowers in his pocket that match the ones in my hair. And now, he’s wearing a ring that tells the whole world he’s mine.
At least for the next six months.
“Come on,” Luke says, his smile crooked. “The sooner we make it to the reception, the sooner we can leave.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
* * *
I’ll saythis for the Dewinters. They throw a good last minute wedding reception. The food is delicious. The room—another tasteful hotel function room covered in white flowers—is big enough to fit everyone and a dance floor, but small enough to feel cozy.
Plus, we made it through the big wedding kiss without anyone standing up and yelling “Fraud! You people are clearly faking it!” so I feel like I can relax a bit.
I’m washing down a delicious meal with even more delicious wine, when I notice a delicate clinking that grows and grows as more and more people start tapping on their glasses with their forks.
Shit. I forgot about this tradition.
Luke frowns at me. “What?”
“They’re trying to get us to kiss. Remember, people did this at Cooper’s wedding.”
“Well, it’s a dumb tradition.” He looks so grumpy it would be funny if we weren’t trying to convince people we were in love.
Around us, the clinking increases. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets over enthusiastic and breaks a wine glass.
“Most grooms enjoy an excuse to kiss their bride,” I remind Luke.
“Most grooms don’t need an excuse,” Luke mutters. But he leans down and drops a chaste kiss on my lips.
I inhale sharply, but before I can react, he pulls back.
People cheer, and we go back to greeting the people who stop by our table to say hi.
Unfortunately, now that the guests have unlocked a fun new game, they don’t seem inclined to stop. Luke and I move through the motions of the reception—cutting the cake, accepting a toast from Sarah and one of Luke’s friends from college, tossing my bouquet. But every time I start to relax, someone starts tapping on those damn glasses, and we’re kissing again.
We run through all the kiss options.
Him dropping a tender kiss on my temple.
Me returning the sweet, grounding kiss he gave me during our wedding ceremony.
Him accidentally biting my lip because he was irritated with all the kissing.
Me getting back at him for the lip biting by giving him a showy kiss that has the whole crowd whooping and means he can’t stand up from the table for a few minutes and needs to discretely adjust his trousers.
He glares at me after that one.
But at this point it’s justfunny.
I’m faking a marriage to the hottest man alive, who will always see me as his best friend’s little sister. Meanwhile his kisses are driving me out of my mind.
As Sarah said, the only way out of this crazy mess is through.
While Luke is temporarily trapped at the table talking to some uncle of his, I discreetly step out into the hallway, needing a break from being on display all day.
