Page 66 of Fake To Forever

“It’s almost time,” she says with a soft smile. “Haven’s ready.”

She’s ready…

The thought makes my breath catch in my throat as the nervousness I was trying to push down begins to surface.Let’s do this.

I nod and turn to head up the aisle. The guests are seated now, and I spot Leila in the front row, sitting in her wheelchair with a nurse on one side of her and Garrett standing on the other, his hand resting protectively on the back of the chair. Her mom looks fragile, her skin pale, but there’s a brightness in her eyes and her smile is wide. This day means as much to her as it does to me and Haven.

Reaching the altar, I stop and stand under the arch, my pulse quickening as I hear the soft rustle of movement behind me. The music starts, the quartet playing a gentle, familiar melody. I glance over at Oliver, who stands tall and proud beside me, his little hands gripping the ring pillow with all the determination in the world.

Then I see her.

Haven steps into view, and everything stops.

She’s wearing the dress she found in New York, the one that took her breath away, and now it’s taking mine. The delicate lace hugs her in all the right places, and the soft, flowing fabric moves like water as she walks. Her auburn hair is swept back, loose tendrils framing her face, and the look in her eyes when they meet mine…

I can only stare at her, stunned.

Her stepfather, Peter, walks beside her, his arm linked with hers, steady and supportive as they move down the aisle. She’s smiling, that soft, radiant smile that I’ve come to love, and I feel the world narrow down to just her. Just us. When they reach me, her stepfather squeezes her hand and kisses her on the cheek before stepping back, letting her go. Haven steps forward, and we just look at each other, the weight of the moment settling in. I can see the emotion in her eyes, the same mix of excitement and disbelief that I’m feeling.

The officiant begins, and I hardly hear the words. All I can focus on is Haven, her hands in mine, the way her thumb brushes against my palm, grounding me in the moment.

The vows feel like a blur, but I mean every word. I promise her everything—love, support, partnership—every promise that I’ve felt growing inside me since the day we decided to make this arrangement something real. Haven’s voice is steady as she says her vows, but I can see the glint of tears in her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her right then and there.

When the rings come, Oliver steps up, beaming with pride as he hands me the pillow. His eyes are wide, watching closely as I slip the ring onto Haven’s finger, and then she does the same for me.

The moment hangs in the air, filled with anticipation. Then the officiant speaks the words I’ve been waiting for: “You may now kiss the bride.”

I don’t hesitate. I pull Haven close, my lips meeting hers in a kiss that makes me hungry for more. When we break apart, she’s smiling up at me and my heart clenches with some emotion that is both familiar and foreign. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was love, but that can’t be it. I’m not capable of that… not anymore.

Though if I were, there’s no one else I’d rather feel it for than Haven.

***

The reception is in full swing, the soft glow of string lights illuminating the dance floor where laughter and music blend into the warm evening air. Haven is laughing, her head thrown back as she twirls with Oliver, her dress billowing out around her as he tries to keep up. I stand back, a drink in hand, watching them, feeling a deep contentment settle into my chest. This is everything I’ve ever wanted—everything I didn’t know I needed.

I glance over at Haven’s mom, who’s sitting in her wheelchair near the dancefloor, her nurse by her side. She’s smiling, her eyes bright as she watches her daughter. It’s a good moment, a perfect moment, and I’m savoring it. This is everything Haven and I had hoped for when we started this wild plan. Everything and so much more.

But then, like a dark cloud sweeping in from nowhere, I hear her voice.

"Isn’t this a sweet little scene."

My heart drops and a cold shiver runs up my back. No… no, it’s not possible. I turn, my entire body tensing. Theresa stands in front of me, tall and willowy, her posture sharp and unyielding, like she’s carved from ice. Her blonde hair—bleached to the point that it looks unnatural—catches the light from the lanterns around the reception, gleaming like some kind of polished trophy. She’s always been meticulous about her appearance, every detail controlled, from the subtle shimmer of highlighter on her cheekbones to the perfect red of her lips. Even now, with her icy blue eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a smirk, she’s every bit the picture of precision.

Her dress, a sleek, tailored number that clings to her thin frame, is designed to turn heads, and I’m sure it did when she walked in—though for all the wrong reasons. She looks like she stepped straight out of some high-end magazine, her makeup flawless, her nails manicured to perfection, but beneath that glossy exterior, I know what lurks—a calculating, manipulative mind that thrives on chaos and control, and I can see it in the way she holds herself now, chin lifted just slightly, daring me to try to stand up to her.

Her eyes meet mine, cold and calculating, and I feel a familiar tightness in my chest—the kind of tension I used to feel when I was with her. She has that way about her, the ability to make you feel like you’re always being judged, always just slightly off balance, but that doesn’t work on me anymore. Not today.

Her gaze flickers briefly to the crowd behind me, then back to my face, the smirk deepening.

"Christian," she says, her voice smooth and sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. "I see you’ve been busy."

The way she talks with amused condensation only fuels my anger. I struggle to hold it in, knowing that reacting the way she wants me to will only feed her satisfaction.

What the hell is she doing here?

The guests are starting to notice her, whispers spreading like wildfire through the crowd. My grip tightens around the glass in my hand as I stride toward her, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Theresa," I say, my voice low, barely keeping my anger in check. "This is not the time or the place."

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