Page 29 of Faking it for Gran's Sake

She pushes my shoulder where her hand rests. “There is no wedding night. After the fake wedding, we go back to our separate houses.”

“Come on. Don’t you want to seal the deal with traditional wedding night shenanigans?” I chuckle.

“You’re terrible. Seriously, Mason, you think I’d go along with that?”

“No. Definitely not.” I swing her around. “I wanted the real deal.” A real wedding. Commitment all the way. Like we originally had planned. I pull Lauren into my chest and rest my chin on her head. “Now. Mention Gran again. That was helping.”

She pulls back and stomps on my shoe.

“Ouch.” I limp. “That hurt.”

“How’s that for a reality check?”

“You’re a contentious one. No wonder you and Gran get along so well.”

The sound of heels echoing on the floorboards bounces off the walls.

Page.

I take Lauren back into my hold. “Focus, now.”

“Take your own advice,” she hisses.

“How are you doing?” Page calls as she comes nearer. “Lift your chin, Mason. Remember. Imagine your Adam’s apple is the size of a tennis ball.”

A distorted snicker sounds from my nose. I lift my head and mumble, “She has interesting analogies.”

Page steps beside us, and I drop my mouth into a thin line like a distinguished gentleman.

“Mason, try the twirl again. And don’t swing her too hard.”

Lauren half-snorts. “Yeah, don’t break my wings, remember.”

“We should practice a dance from one of those old movies you always watch. Pride and Prejudice.” I swing her under my arm and back to face me. “Do they do the dip thing?” I circle her waist. Her eyes go wide as I angle her to the ground. Her foot slips, and I nearly drop her. I yank Lauren back to standing, and my face goes hot.

“Um. Maybe avoid that move.” Page offers.

Lauren smooths her hair. “Yeah. You’re no Mr. Darcy.”

“But you, my dear, are certainly like Lizzy.” I take her hand and resume position, accepting that I’m not coordinated enough to bust any tango moves. “And how old are you again, eight-score and twenty?”

“It’s eight and twenty, you dork.” She rolls her eyes. “A score is twenty.”

“Right.” I do a quick calculation in my head. “So you’re not a hundred and eighty years old?”

“No. A little younger.”

Page clears her throat. “Are you two—?” She flicks a finger between us. “Back together?”

Lauren drops my hand and steps back. “No. We’re just friends. And that’s pushing it.”

I clutch my chest in mock hurt, but the words stab at an old wound. I look at Page, her expression not convinced. “I would have her back, but Lauren has unrelenting standards.”

Her jaw drops. “Me?”

Oh boy, now I’ve done it.

Page taps her chin and looks about the ceiling like she sees something interesting. She slowly moves backward and turns around.

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