Page 37 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

Ava

The dress doesn’t feel like mine. It never will.

I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back at me. When I insisted on paying for my own Vera Wang, I thought I’d find something simple. You know, a plain white fabric in the $3,000 range I could justify as an “investment piece.” Something I could actually fit on my credit card, if only barely.

Then I saw the price tags.

Turns out there’s no such thing as a “budget” Vera Wang wedding dress, especially not one that could be ready in three days. So here I am, draped in ivory silk that flows like water and hand-beaded lace that probably took some poor soul a hundred hours to complete. The “business expense” Gideon casually charged to his corporate card would cover my rent for the next three years.

Look at you, Ava. Playing dress-up in the billionaire fantasy. Your stepfather would probably choke on his morning coffee if he saw you now.

What a happy thought.

“Five minutes, Ms. Redwood.” A woman in a sleek black pantsuit pokes her head in, giving me a professional smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Everyone who works for Gideon has that same expression. You know... polite, distant, unreadable. I wonder if they train for it.

“Thank you.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

You can do this.

When the door closes, I collapse onto the velvet ottoman, careful not to wrinkle the dress.

“Knock, knock.” Lucy’s voice precedes her as she slips into the room, resplendent in a deep blue bridesmaid dress. “Holy shit, Ava. You look—”

“Like I’m about to throw up?” I offer, twisting the borrowed tennis bracelet on my wrist.

“I was going to say stunning.” She crosses the room and takes my hands. “Like a goddamn princess who’s about to marry a smoking hot billionaire. Which, by the way, you still owe me the full story on. One minute you’re having a meltdown about spilling champagne on him, and the next you’re walking down the aisle?”

I force a smile, guilt churning in my stomach. “It all happened so fast.”

“No kidding.” Lucy narrows her eyes. “Most people date for more than a week before getting hitched. You’ve been so secretive about everything.”

“It’s been... intense,” I manage, which isn’t exactly a lie.

Just breathe, Ava. It’s a performance. Like that time you had to play the tree in the third-grade play. Except with better wardrobe and you’re lying to your best friend.

I should tell her, I know I should. But honestly, I’m not even sure I’m going to go through with this.

Lucy studies my face. “Are you having second thoughts? Because you look like you’re attending a funeral, not your wedding.”

“No! I’m just overwhelmed.” I stand, smoothing the dress again. “It’s a lot to process. I mean, a month ago I was just an art student with mac ‘n’ cheese budget, and now I’m marrying Gideon King.”

“The sex is mind-blowing, isn’t it,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

My face heats up further. “It’s not— I mean we’re not—”

A knock at the door saves me from having to finish. It’s the coordinator again, looking slightly more stressed. “It’s time, Ms. Redwood.”

Lucy grabs my bouquet. White roses and some fancy greenery that probably has a name I should know. She hands it to me. “Showtime, Mrs. Almost-King.”

Oh god.

The venue is a private rooftop terrace at the Four Seasons. Because of course it is. Fairy lights twinkle against the darkening Manhattan sky, reflecting off the glass of the surrounding skyscrapers. Despite the rush, Gideon’s team has transformed the space into something out of a magazine spread. White flowers cascade from seemingly every surface, their scent light in the early evening air. A white carpet creates an aisle between two small seating sections, though most of the chairs are empty. This isn’t a real wedding with family and friends. It’s a business merger with witnesses.

Such a terrible waste of money.

But I guess appearances are important,I think when I spot the cameras present.

I pause at the entrance, my heartbeatthundering in my ears. At the end of the aisle stands Gideon, his tall figure immaculate in what I’m sure is a custom white Tom Ford tuxedo. His cousin Jonas stands beside him, looking almost bored as he checks his watch.

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