Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Perfect. That word pokes at me. A reminder of how often I try to be perfect. But I have to be okay with just being me, however that looks, Elena would say.
Elena, who I need to tell about my fake boyfriend.
But I can’t focus on me now. Tomorrow is for me. “I’ll do the floral review shortly. I already checked the flowers in the reception room as well as the seating arrangements. Everything there is great too,” I say, then lean closer to Caroline. “I also peeked in on the live stream on my phone when they were in the groom’s suite, and the guys look good.”
I didn’t even see Jameson trying to horn in on the shot with a bottle of beer in hand, and that was a nice surprise.
“I can’t wait to be married to Parker,” Caroline says, with a rare sort of girlish vulnerability in her voice that’s lovely to hear. She turns to the videographer next, looking the lens dead-on as she talks to her audience. “And my sister is the reason everything is coming together. She’s helped me with every detail. She is a badass babe who lives life on her terms, just like I tell you all that you should do. Live the life you’ve imagined.” She turns back to me. “Remy, are you living the life you imagined?”
Oh. I didn’t know she was going to toss that question to me on the live stream, but I do my best to catch it.
“Answer honestly,” Caroline continues, then turns to the camera again. “You can always tell my sister is bluffing if she blushes.”
“Like beet red,” Mom says, playfully ganging up on me.
My face isn’t blushing at all when I say, “Can confirm.”
It’s true enough.
I am finally chasing the job I can imagine myself in. But there’s that little matter of the lie of my romance, and the reason for it. I glance away from the camera, lest my cheeks pinken from the thoughts of the falsehood I’m fabricating for them.
I run a finger along the smooth metal surface of the watch Lake gave me—a reminder that appearances can become real. It settles my nerves.
I turn back to my sister, my mother, and Fallon, scanning their faces for any evidence that they saw through me.
I don’t see it.
“I should go meet Lake,” I tell them, since he texted me a few minutes ago that he was almost here. “I’ll pop into the ballroom on the way back for the floral check.”
“One of the videographers will be there in the doorway. She’ll be in peach.”
“Of course.” I smooth a hand over my black maid of honor dress, then leave to meet my plus-one. It’s a relief to escape the cameras for a bit.
I dart down the hall, lined with champagne roses as far as the eye can see. Pulling up my skirt, I race-walk to meet Lake at the front entrance when Jameson pops out of the groom’s suite, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet.
“Hey, Remy. Would now be a good time to talk about the best-man toast?” His words are a little slurry, but his smile still friendly. Or performatively friendly. “You were busy yesterday at the spa.”
I flash him a smile that I don’t mean. “I’m still busy.”
“I totally get it,” he says, laying on the charm. “But listen, I know this wedding is a big deal with the live stream and all, so I just wanted to let you know I’ll be giving the best man speech with my own brew.” He taps the bottle in his hand.
Screw smiling. “No!”
“Remy,” he says, all playful and too sweet. “I didn’t have to ask for permission. I’m doing it to be nice. And who cares if I use champagne or beer, right? Everything will still go perfectly. I know that’s important to you, so I wanted to give you a heads-up. Cool?”
My blood boils. He thinks by giving me a heads-up that I’ll play along? Like my desire for things to go smoothly is stronger than my protection of my sister from being used? He dumped the wrong woman then.
“The answer is still no. Caroline has a sponsor for her wedding, and it’s not your brewery. This isn’t about product placement.”
He tilts his head. “Can’t we talk about it as friends and all?”
“We’re not friends, and we don’t actually need to talk.”
He waggles his phone at me. “Don’t we though?”
What is he going on about? “Jameson, you can’t do this. It’s that simple. I need to go get Lake.”
“I imagine you do,” he says with a knowing smirk I want to wipe off his face.
I snap my gaze away from him, beelining to the front entrance and trying to shake off that uncomfortable encounter, and this foreboding feeling nipping at my ankles. And I do forget it momentarily as Lake pushes through the revolving door.