Page 23 of Never Been Worse

When I agreed to go along with the ruse of marrying Wes, I didn’t think much beyond theyesof it all. I definitely didn’t consider what a wedding would look like if we were going to successfully bamboozle the press.

I didn’t think I’d be in a gorgeous gown I made, the silk fabric grazing over my body, multiple strings of faux pearls draping along my back to keep it together.

I didn’t expect an archway of cream roses, baby’s breath, and eucalyptus to greet me as I made my way down a brick walkway littered with flowers Sophie threw down, as I walk on the arm of my father toward…

My soon-to-behusband.

And I sure as fuck didn’t expect full-blown chills when I saw him standing at the end of the aisle in a well-fitting tux, his dark hair pushed back, a small smile on his lips as he watched me move toward him.

Ididexpect the photographer going crazy and Ava being emotional just because she’s alive, a hopeless romantic, and pregnant.

But most of all, I didn’t expect the way the world would fall away when Wes stepped forward, playing the part of the eager groom as he grabbed my hand once I handed off my bouquet to Jules, pulling me toward him at the altar. I definitely didn’t expect the way his lips grazed my cheek in the most gentle press of a kiss or the way warmth ran through me when he whispered,you look beautiful,in the most sincere way.

The ceremony flew by as we recited traditional vows. Wes slid a heavy diamond-encrusted platinum wedding band onto my finger, and I returned the favor with a thick silver one.

And then it happens.

I’m staring at Wes, his hands moving to lift the lace veil over my face and behind my head, the only tradition I cared for, even if I regretted it halfway through hand sewing dozens upon dozens of tiny seed beads and gems onto the edges. His hands then move to my jaw, tipping my face up, and I take a small step closer, my body melding to his like magic.

“Spontaneous, yeah?” he whispers against my lips, and I smile as my hand lifts, resting along the back of his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because, strangely enough, it feels that way: natural.

“Yeah,” I whisper back, and then his warm lips are pressing to mine, a smile caught up in our first kiss like the jovial, goofy man genuinely can’t keep it out, even in this moment.

His warm, soft lips move on mine, one hand slipping to my lower back to pull me in closer, touching my skin beneath the layer of pearls. His warm, calloused skin on mine soothes me, and I shift closer to him without meaning to.

I simply can’t get close enough as the heat of him fills me, as my lips part, as he shifts my face with his hand just a bit to deepen the kiss. The room erupts in cheers, but I barely register it as he kisses me, long and deep and probably a bit much for an audience, but we’re putting on a show, right?

The kiss finally slows, and then he breaks away before pressing his forehead to mine and smiling. That’s when I feel it.

Butterflies.

But butterflies are dangerous.

Butterflies are big, fat liars, things that make you see possibilities when they are nowhere to be found.

I felt butterflies with Jeremy, and what that taught me was believing in butterflies gets you stuck in four-year relationships, waiting for a ship that will never sail.

I can’t make any more mistakes like that in my life or my career. That’s why I make a decision not based on spontaneity at all this time, but in self-protection and nothing else.

I will keep that wall up between Wes and me because evenstumblingfor my fake husband would spell total and complete disaster for everything: my friend group, my mental health, my career, my reputation, and based on those goddamned butterflies, my heart.

As we’re introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Wes Holden and walk down the aisle to cheers and congratulations, I start making my plan on how to survive the next year without issues.

Step one?

Avoid my new husband at all costs.

I’m pretty successful in my mission to avoid and ignore Wes for the night whenever I can. Especially after we took what felt like thousands of photos together, his warm, calloused hands on my skin scrambling my brain each and every time.

Once we did the required entrance, I got away with the barest of pecks to my lips before I scurried off to speak to our guests.

I barely sit, spending most of the time on whatever side of the room Wesisn’t, but my plans are foiled when the DJ gets on the microphone.

“And now, it’s time for the couple’s first dance as husband and wife!” he says, his voice booming through the room before guests clap and cheer, Ava’s the loudest as she gives me a knowing, conniving look.

I love my best friend, I love my best friend, I remind myself as I glare at her, slowly making my way to the center of the dance floor where Wes is already waiting for me, a hand out like some prince ready to take me away.

Cheers get even louder when I reach Wes, taking his hand only for him to tug hard until I’m flush against his chest. The drinks I’ve had to calm my spiraling nerves make me a bit unsteady on my feet, and my hands shift to his shoulders to catch myself. I think for a moment we can keep this friendly, maybe middle school dance style, but Wes isn’t having any of that. Instead, his arms wrap along my waist, his thumb grazing a stretch of bare skin, and I gasp at the feel of it against my will.

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