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“Leave it alone. Sorry I said anything.” She entered the bakery, zeroing in on a wedding cake display.
“May I help you?” a clerk asked.
“We need a simple wedding cake,” Paisley said.
“How many guests will you be expecting?”
“Just the two of us. I mainly want it for our wedding album—something special to commemorate the occasion.”
“Of course.” The clerk’s name tag read Daisy. “But an option many of our brides choose is our fake cake.”
“Perfect,” Wayne said. “I heard about them.”
Paisley’s furrowed brow read confusion. “I’m not sure about this.”
Daisy laughed, leading them to a corner display. She plucked up a seriously swanky, three-tiered cake, tossing it to Wayne. “Catch.”
He did, bracing for the impact of fifty pounds’ worth of cake and frosting. Instead, the thing must have been made of Styrofoam and couldn’t weigh over five pounds. “Impressive.”
“I know, right? We’re famous for them and ship worldwide. Our fake cakes have been featured on hundreds of feature films and TV programs. We even make simple sheet cakes for your guests to enjoy, but if you choose to buy rather than rent, your wedding cake can be the perfect keepsake of your special day.”
“Sold,” Wayne said. What could be better for a fake marriage than a fake cake? He turned to his betrothed. “Pick which one you want. Maybe it’s my affinity for all things Western, but I’m vibing on the one with all those little cacti and the cowboy hat topper.” To Daisy he asked, “Do you rent by the hour? We just need it for pics. Oh, and we’ll need one piece of real cake to smoosh in each other’s faces.”
“Perfect. We do rent by the hour, and there’s an adorable park just at the end of the street with a rose garden perfect for photos. For an additional fee, we can set the cake on a banquet table and even take professional photos. We call this our Social Media Wedding Package. It has all the panache of a spectacular wedding event for the price of dinner and a movie. We can also handle your floral needs—arrangements, bouquet and boutonnieres—the works. They’re made from the finest silks and trust me, from photos they look real enough to smell. Your friends and family will be impressed.”
“Sign us up.”
“Wayne,” Paisley said, “isn’t this all moving a little fast? Plus, I think your mom will be less disappointed to have missed our wedding if we make it a simple, courthouse ceremony. Frills will only upset her.”
“Relax. Considering we have to be married and on the family ranch with photo proof by Easter, which is in only three weeks, this is the perfect solution. And I think Mom would be more disappointed if I didn’t treat my bride to a good time. She’ll understand that because of the baby, we needed a rush job.”
Paisley’s thunderous expression said she wasn’t so sure.
Back in the truck, before he started the engine, he angled sideways to face her. “So, what’s bugging you? And don’t tell me nothing, because we shouldn’t be lying this soon into our relationship.” He winked, trying to keep things light.
“Honestly? Besides your faulty rationale in regard to your sweet mother’s potentially broken heart?” She gazed out her window rather than at him. “It may sound stupid, but I’d like more regular communication between us. You go days without so much as a text, then pop in unannounced. Even as your pretend fiancée, I’d appreciate more consideration. I don’t expect a full accounting of your every move, but regular updates would be great.”
“Noted.” Interesting. One part of him was annoyed by having to check in. Another part was flattered she cared...
Chapter Four (#ub3821314-c271-5fae-bcf3-c6cbac9742b7)
“What’s got you so damned smiley?” Wayne was hating every second of their 0500 six-mile beach run. A three-mile ocean swim was next on the PT agenda. Most days he didn’t mind, but ever since learning of his father’s condition, he felt as if his time would be better spent on the ranch.
“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Hell—I still don’t believe it.”
“Knock off the chitchat!” Their CO passed them as if they were standing still. “You losers aren’t a SEAL team, but freakin’ cheerleading squad. Move it, move it, move!”
“Such a charmer,” Logan said once their commanding officer passed them to harass the next guys in line. “But not even his hard ass could bring me down. You’re not the only one around here getting married—only mine’s the real deal.”
“Wait—what?”
“You heard me. I popped the question to Monica last night and she accepted. She wanted me to ask if you’d mind us tagging along to your family ranch. We want to get hitched over Easter. No big deal. I’m sure your dad isn’t up for a major production. But since that’s the only leave we have coming for a while and I want you to be my best man and Monica wants Paisley for her maid of honor, it makes sense.”
“No, man. Nothing about this makes sense. You hate Monica. She hates you. My dad’s dying. Like seriously, what the hell?”
“What can I say? We kissed and made up. And I couldn’t be happier. Not only is Monica obsessed with the photos I’ve shown her of your family ranch, but your dad has always been like a second father to me. Your mom, like my mom.” Tears shone in Logan’s eyes. He swiped them away. “Since my mother passed, they’ve been there for me. It would mean a lot for them to share this special day—especially, since your dad is—well, since he’s not feeling his best.”
“I appreciate all that, but I thought you had that ugly talk with her father?”
“It wasn’t so much ugly as it was a gut check. He basically asked my intentions. When I told him we were having a good time, he told me she was ready for a more serious commitment. He also told me not to even think about seeing his daughter anymore unless I was one thousand percent ready for a lifelong marriage. I got spooked and broke things off. But damned if being without her didn’t scare me more than being with her. I missed her, you know?”
“You’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”
“Is that a yes for the ranch? I showed Monica pics from the last time we were there and she couldn’t get enough of those back-porch views. Oh—and Monica told me your fake wedding is right before we leave. I’m hurt you didn’t ask me to stand up for you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Nah.” Logan flashed a smile. “Just a fool for love. By the way, I ran this past your mom and she loves the idea—although she’s crushed you and Paisley aren’t joining us for a double wedding. Monica and I both think you should reconsider.”
Hours later, Wayne was fresh out of the shower when his cell rang. Caller ID showed his mom, so he answered. “Hey. Is Dad all right?”
All he heard was her crying. The sound wrung his heart like a soaked towel.
“Mom? Is Dad having a rough day?”
“H-how could you do this to me? Y-you’re my only son! Y-you not only got that sweet neighbor of yours p-pregnant, but couldn’t bother to tell us y-you’re getting married again?”
Lord...
Think fast. “Mom, I’m sorry. I thought with everything going on with Dad—the divorce from Chelsea—it would be better to just—”
“When is it ever an appropriate time to break your mother’s heart? Logan told me you and Paisley aren’t married yet, so I worked everything out with Monica’s wedding planner and we’re having a nice double wedding. It’s happening on a whirlwind timeline, but I’m excited. This is all going to be a lot of fun. I can only imagine the cost.”
“What?” Raging heartburn had the protein bar he’d downed doing push-ups in his stomach. Like the entire world wasn’t shattering, he covered his right ear from the sound of guys laughing in the showers.
“Son?”
“Dad?” Wayne gulped. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Fine. Like new man. This news has me happier than June bug dancing in lemonade. I’m finally going to be grandpoppa!” Wayne would miss his Russian-born father’s thick accent and ridiculous analogies that rarely, if ever, made sense, but somehow still managed to convey his meaning. At least he was happy, which was fantastic.
But only if he and Paisley pulled off their charade. He could only imagine what Monica’s nickname for them would be.
#Payne?
The joining of his and Paisley’s names would be hilarious if not so tragic.
“Wayne? It’s Mom.” Swell. “The double wedding will be lovely. The thought of it is the only thing stopping me from permanently grounding you.”
“But, Mom—”
“Not another word. You and Paisley are getting married here and that’s final. Pastor Jim will perform the ceremony, and I’ll trust you to have the license and ring.”
Before he could tell her no, she hung up. Great.
What was he going to tell Paisley? Damn Logan and Monica. This was all their fault.
Not entirely.
His father’s disease was the true culprit.
Was his mother so overwrought with the realization of losing her husband that she wasn’t thinking straight? While tending to his medical needs, there was no way she could handle one wedding, let alone two. What if the added stress made her sick?
On the flip side, his dad had never sounded better. His normally pitiful tone boomed with what Wayne could only guess was anticipation.
But how was he supposed to pull off a fake marriage with a real pastor and marriage license? Suddenly, for a man who’d spent his entire adult life training for impossible missions, Wayne found himself in the untenable situation of being in way over his head.
* * *
“IT WAS SO SWEET.” Monica practically floated to unlock the shop door. “Logan thought of everything. He hired a mariachi band and had the lead singer present my ring. My Instagram followers went wild.”
“You hate mariachi bands,” Paisley said on her way into her office. Since learning of her best friend’s sudden engagement, she’d been downing gummy bears by the fistfuls, and needed the emergency stash she had hidden in her desk’s bottom right drawer.
“This one was different. Incredibly special. Eek! Can you believe I’m getting married?”
“Not really.” Bears in hand, Paisley rejoined Monica in the shop’s showroom. “Just yesterday, you despised Logan. What changed?” And why couldn’t Paisley shake the deep sadness stemming from the fear that she’d never sport an engagement ring. She didn’t even have a fake one.
Her cell rang. Since it was her mom, she hit Decline.
Monica cocked her head and frowned.
Paisley wished for a decline button for her friend’s disapproval.
“Anyway,” Monica said, “I could never hate Logan. But I won’t lie that he hurt my feelings when Daddy asked his intentions toward me and Logan broke up. When he explained that he’d been scared, I totally understood. And now...” She collapsed onto her desk chair with a happy sigh. “We’re getting married!”
“You already told me. Like fourteen times.”
“Sorry. I’m really excited. Oh—and here’s the best part. I guess Logan is close with Wayne’s family and we’re going with you and Wayne over Easter. I’ve always thought one of those barn weddings would be adorable. Anyway, Logan worked it out with Wayne’s mom—promised her she wouldn’t have to lift a finger aside from eating cake and drinking champagne. Of course, you’ll be my maid of honor and Wayne will be Logan’s best man. It’s going to be perfect. I already hired a wedding planner, and he’ll handle every detail superfast. All we have to do is show up.”
Paisley knew she should be thrilled for her friend. And she wanted to be. Really. But beyond the insanity of this one-eighty regarding Monica and Logan’s crazy relationship, what about Wayne’s father?
Paisley cleared her throat. “Is Wayne’s dad healthy enough for a big wedding?”
“I guess? Logan asked Wayne’s mom and she said that aside from the arthritis in his knees, he’s feeling fine. Of course, I asked Logan not to specifically bring up the cancer. She must be out of her mind with worry. Who knows? Maybe the joy of Easter combined with our ceremony and the news that she and Peter are going to be grandparents will send Peter straight into remission?”
Paisley sat down hard on one of Monica’s acrylic desk chairs. “You’re going to send me into early labor. Wayne and I planned to surprise his parents with our news.”
“Oops. Sorry. Want me to call her back? I could ask her to act surprised?”
“Stop.” Paisley pressed her fingers to her forehead. Just when she thought her life couldn’t get worse, it nose-dived to a whole new level of disaster.
* * *
AFTER AN ENDLESS day of statuary shopping and paint selection for Mickey and Rick Levy’s formal entry hall remodel, Paisley drove home. Exhaustion didn’t come close to describing her level of tired. Her feet throbbed. Her lower back ached, and her boobs had mysteriously swollen to twice the normal size.
She’d just dumped split pea soup in a pan to boil, then headed to her room to change into sweatpants and a roomy T-shirt when a knock sounded on her door. Wayne? Part of her hoped it was him, but another part just wanted to be left alone. In the face of Monica and Logan’s true commitment, Paisley’s sham marriage felt icky and wrong.
A look through the peephole showed Wayne standing outside.
The baby kicked. Was that a good or bad sign?
Rubbing her belly with one hand, she opened the door with her other. “Are you as sick of hashtag #Mogan as I am?”
Wayne groaned. “As part of my best man duties, Logan made me put on a T-shirt that read SEALing the Deal! #Mogan.”
“Eew. I have no doubt I’d have been in the same boat, only Monica couldn’t find a T-shirt big enough to fit over my belly.”
He laughed, then drew her into a welcome hug. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny. For the record, I think your bump is cute.”
“Thanks?” It should be criminal for a man to smell so good. Hints of sweat, sun and Irish Spring wrapped her in the cozy bliss of Wayne’s strong arms. If she were smart, she’d resist, pushing against him until reaching a safe distance that allowed her to think. This close, her only coherent thought was that she could stay like this forever. Which totally wasn’t happening, so she ushered him inside and shut the door before checking on her soup. “I should be scolding you popping in again unannounced, but we have bigger issues. What are you thinking for damage control? I guess the happy couple already told your mom we’re getting married and expecting.”
“Well...” He sighed, helping himself to her fridge. “You’ve gotta get more food.”
“I’d love to—assuming the baby follows this trend of actually allowing me to eat.”
“Right.” He shut the fridge door.
“Want some of my soup?”
He blanched.
“Okay, spill it,” Paisley said.
“Your soup?”
Hands on her hips, she frowned. “Really? Spill the reason why your complexion looks grayer than mine.”
He sighed. “You’re not going to like it. I don’t like it. Honestly? We should bail.”
“Is this about #Mogan?” She poured her soup into a mug, then joined him at her kitchen table that was a repurposed wrought iron patio set she’d painted white. Her protruding belly wouldn’t allow her anywhere near the table’s surface, so she cradled her mug and leaned back in her chair.
“Look, I don’t know any way to say this other than blurting it. My mom called and is expecting us to get married along with the happy couple. She’s arranged for our family pastor to perform the service and told me to show up with you and our license. She’s expecting a real marriage, but we—”
“Are just neighbors! What do you mean we’re getting married? Like she’s expecting a real wedding in front of God and everyone we know? It’s official, you’ve gone off the deep end. I don’t even have a dress.”
“We’ll find one.”
She rolled her eyes.
