Page 71 of Wild Then Wed
“Wren has a boyfriend,” Ridge says with a wolfish grin.
I don’t even look up from my bowl. “No, I don’t.”
He takes a long sip of coffee, slow and smug. “Sure.”
Mom glances over from where she’s stacking dishes by the sink. “Wait—do you?”
I sigh, stabbing a slice of strawberry. “No. Ridge just likes to stir the pot, per usual.”
Ridge lifts a brow. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
“Thatone. Where you’re trying not to smile or something.”
“I’m not trying tonotsmile,” I say flatly. “This is just my face.”
He tilts his head, unconvinced. “You’ve definitely got a crush on someone.”
Before I can stop myself, I chuck a full handful of blueberries at his head.
“Ridge,” Mom says without even turning around, “pick those up.”
“But I didn’t throw them!”
“I don’t care,” she says, grabbing a dishtowel. “That’s what you get for being a little shit.”
Ridge, still chuckling, starts scooping berries into his palm. I stick out my tongue at him and go back to my yogurt like I didn’t just engage in fruit-based warfare.
My phone buzzes again.
Sawyer:Before I forget—what’s your favorite flower?
I stare at the message for a second before typing back.
Me:Why?
His response comes fast.
Sawyer:For your bouquet. And the venue.
I just stare at the screen.
Of course. Of course we’re doing bouquets. And venues. And whatever other things people do when they’re pretending to get married in a very real, very public way.
It’s not like I thought we’d show up at the courthouse in hoodies and sign some papers, but I also hadn’t…processed thispart yet. The visual of it. The way it’s all going to look from the outside. The fact that there’s going to be a dress. An aisle. Photos.
I haven’t let myself think that far ahead.
But Sawyer clearly has, and he’s right to. It’s the end of the year. Venues are probably already booked. Florists, too. Dress fittings. Caterers. Seating charts. This fake wedding is going to require some real logistics.
God, I’mreallygoing to have to do this. Stand there. Be looked at. Be the center of attention for a full day with strategically curled hair and someone blotting my forehead for shine.
My own personal hell.
I stare down at my phone.
Me:Violets.
