Page 17 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

“Bryan.” Weland’s hand shoots out and covers her brother’s.

She’s sitting the closest to him while their parents are on the other side. We’re kind of together, clustered around the other half of the circle, where the three of them could watch us as they listened to whatever we said. I’m closest to Weland’s mom, but she also looks like she’d enjoy tenderizing me with some kind of kitchen implement at the moment, despite her admonishing her son earlier for whatever he said.

“It’s true, Welly. We’re not letting him hurt you. This guy is straight up the worst kind of news.”

“I’m twenty-nine. I don’t need defending,” she whispers. “But thank you. This is my decision. I just wanted to come and tell you about it. I was skeptical, and I guess I did say I needed to hear what you thought, and above all, I needed to tell you all the truth. It was past time. But now that I’ve talked it all out, this is what I want. For better or for worse, we are legitimately married, and part of me wants to see if it will work.”

“And the other part is terrified because you know this guy is a jerk and a monster?”

“Oh lord.” Weland withdraws her hand, scowls at her brother—not really a real scowl—and turns to her dad. “I think it’s time for ice cream. Or coffee. Or coffee and ice cream together.”

“Caffeine and sugar won’t make him less of a total douche,” Bryan gripes.

“We don’t say douche in this house,” his mom reprimands him.

“Apparently, we do,” Bryan shoots back. “We do when it’s necessary!” He scowls at me like he’s four and just got soap in the mouth, while I did much worse and didn’t get punished at all. “It’s so necessary. This guy thinks he can just waltz into Welly’s life and suddenly make a forced fake marriage real? He’s a stranger. He doesn’t know one thing about her. He just shows up after lying to all of us for years and forcing her to do the same and then expects the world to drop at his feet as if that’s what is traditionally done because when you’re rich, you can afford to be a…fine. A total D-bag hole. Is that better?”

It’s not really a question, and his tirade keeps on tirading. “I don’t know if it’s an emotional breakdown or what’s even going on, but we’re here for you, Weland. We are. We’ll chase this rich pr…bast…entitled person right out of town if that’s what you want. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t fit in here. He hasno right to get anywhere near you, seeing as he’s already taken more than enough from you.”

I’m not exactly stunned by this. I pretty much saw all this coming. Weland, though, appears surprised. Her lips are slightly parted, there is a soft rose petal blush on her cheeks, and she looks absolutely lovely. She brushes her hair back and swallows nervously. “Umm, first of all, I’m not having an emotional breakdown.”

“We know you aren’t, sweetheart.” Her mom gets up and walks around the table. Then, she fills the kettle in the small kitchen and slides it onto a stove that looks like it’s at least thirty years old but immaculately cared for. The house is a small bungalow, but everything looks that way. The pride of ownership is obvious. The flowers growing in the beds are beautiful and neatly tended, while the white fence around the side yard is straight and true and doesn’t have a flake of paint peeling. The inside is just as nice. Homey, if not very modern. The furnishings are all dated, but they look just like the day they were made.

“You think I am.” Weland’s eyes nearly pop right out, and her hands curl into a bunch on the tabletop. She grasps her knuckles until they turn white. “You’re making tea. You make hot chocolate when everyone is in a happy mood, or it’s freezing outside. Coffee goes with dessert, or early in the morning, or for anything social. Juice is also a happy drink, whether it’s the crystals kind or the real fruit stuff. Milk is either a late-night comforting beverage or strictly reserved for cereal or cooking. Water is always on offer, but tea? Tea is one of those things you only bust out when something or someone needs real comfort. Or serious fixing.”

“Good lord, what is that smell? Is there a gas leak in the house?” Fred jumps up and turns his head from side to side so wildly that it’s a wonder his neck doesn’t snap clean off.

It feels weird to think about Weland’s parents using their first names. I don’t feel like I’ve earned a first-name basis, even in my head. She might have introduced them when we got here, but it doesn’t give me permission to use their names.

“It’s the dog,” Weland groans. “That’s why mom gave him that probiotic first thing when we got here. It’s no joke.”

Bryan wrenches his T-shirt with a stickman doing a handstand on the back of a purple unicorn up onto his nose. “Oh my sweet lord, that is horrific! No joke, you weren’t joking. It smells worse than something dying. This is blue cheese mixed with onions mixed with liver mixed with something dying.”

“I’m sorry.” Weland pushes back her chair. “I’ll take him outside.”

I stand up as well. This seems like a good time to take a five-minute break. Maybe it’s natural. Maybe the dog did me a huge solid, or maybe he needs to take a huge solid. It sure smells that way.

Weland gives me a stricken, worriedI’m so freaking sorry about all thislook. I want to put my hand on her back, her shoulder. I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her close, and hold her. I seriously don’t know what’s going on because I don’t get urges like this. My life has been vastly less complicated due to the fact that Ihaven’tbeen close to anyone. Okay, so I was once a teenager, and then once I went to college…I kind of…alright...once upon a time, I did date, but not after I became serious about my business, and by then, I was far too busy to worry about any of that. Maybe I grew up. Maybe the urges just died off or something.

All the urges are doing all sorts of things to me now, and that’s not a good thing, especially not when I’m standing in a kitchen with a bunch of people who don’t like me and would rather roast my balls on a platter than have them anywhere near their daughter. At a minimum, they think I’m a huge ass, and they’renot that wrong about how I’ve treated Weland. Even if they knew me, they would probably be pretty darn skeptical about me turning over a fresh, bright, and shiny new token leaf.

“Let me take him.” I bend down and urge Beans out from under the table. The odor is worse under here. It’s eyewatering. Some of it gets in my mouth when I try and do the shallow breathing thing through it, and I nearly gag. Upchucking all over the floor on top of just showing up here and being myself isn’t something I want to ever contemplate happening.

It’s just lucky Beans comes out, does a downward doggy stretch, grunts, and then wags his half tail when he looks at me.

And you know what? I don’t like dogs all that much, especially not the decrepit, smelly variety, but the ice blocks I’ve walled my heart up with melt just a little.

“You don’t have to do that,” Weland protests. She looks at her dad and her brother, who is still mostly hiding in his T-shirt, and then at her mom. “Please stop making tea. The world isn’t in crisis mode. We’ll talk right now. Please just sit down, and while Sterling takes Beans out for a ten-minute walk, we’ll work things out. Because this is happening. Me and him, we’re happening. We’re going to do this, and I need you all to be okay with it, at least on a very basic level, because I’m me, and I love you, and I can’t do this without you. I need your love and your support, and I need you not to have this kind of hate for someone who doesn’t deserve it. So, please. Just…let’s all sit down and keep talking.”

“There isn’t anything I will say while he’s gone that I won’t say in front of him,” Bryan insists. He has his nose plugged under his shirt, so it comes out garbled and nasally sounding.

Oh, I’m very sure about that. He didn’t hold back when I was right here.

Weland’s mom moves away from the kettle, which has boiled and turned off anyway, and comes back to hover near the table. Her dad reluctantly sits down. He looks confused and helpless,while her mom looks so worried and horrified. Her brother, on the other hand, is going to be in kick-ass mode for a long time.

I’m the wrench in a family that was doing okay.

Except Weland clearly wasn’t, and I’m solely to blame for that.

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