Page 142 of Fake As Puck
“Then you speak from your heart,” Linda says. “That’s all you need to do.”
I suck in a breath. “What if I embarrass myself? What if I embarrass West?”
“Honey,” Tessa says, zipping up the dress, “trust me on this one. He feels the same way.”
Linda adds, “I’ve been watching him watch you all night. The way he looks at you? He’s in love with you.”
“Okay,” I breathe, smoothing down the skirt. “Okay. Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”
“You look beautiful,” Linda says, squeezing my hands. “Now go get my son.”
They’ve set up everything in the garden by the fountain, just like we planned. Twinkle lights strung between the olive trees, the vineyard rolling away into the distance, the sound of water trickling in the background.
It’s perfect. Too perfect.
Which makes me even more nervous.
I check my phone: 9:47 PM. Right on schedule.
Through the windows of the reception hall, I can see Tessa approaching West at his table. She’s saying something about family photos, gesturing toward the doors that lead to the garden.
He looks confused but follows her outside, along with Linda and his dad and his cousins.
This is it.
My hands are shaking as I pick up the microphone the wedding coordinator helped us set up.
I can do this. I can tell him how I feel in front of his entire family and hope for the best.
I can be brave.
I have to be brave.
“West?” I call out as he emerges from the reception hall.
He stops dead when he sees me, his expression shifting from confusion to shock to something I can’t quite read.
“Liv? What are you—why are you wearing—”
“I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice echoing slightly through the garden.
“Okay,” he says slowly, looking around at his family, who are all watching this unfold with barely contained excitement.
“This may have started as fake,” I begin nervously, and he goes very still. “This whole thing. The weddings, the arrangement, all of it. You needed a girlfriend, I needed money, and it seemed like a perfect solution.”
“Liv—”
“Let me finish. Please.”
He nods, and I can see him trying to figure out where this is going.
“It started fake, but every moment with you was real. Every laugh, every conversation, every time you made me feel like I mattered—that was real. The way you bought my favorite cereal and remembered how I like my coffee and made sure I had everything I needed to feel at home in your house—that was real.”
I take a breath, looking at his face in the soft light of the twinkle lights.
“The way you are with Charlie and Emma, the way you fit into my tiny apartment, the way you make me feel like the best version of myself. I was just too scared to admit that this was so much more than what either of us asked for.”
“Liv,” he says again, softer this time.
