Page 72 of Faking the Pass
“Of course it was,” Presley’s dad said. “My boy’s found his perfect girl.”
“At long last,” his mom added, and everyone laughed.
Everyone but me.
Chapter 18
Exactly Where You Belong
Rosie
This had been aterribleidea.
I felt stricken as I stumbled along beside Presley, walking back down the aisle toward the open doorway of the chapel.
The camera crew, which had done a great job staying out of the way during the ceremony, was now annoyingly close, all up in our faces as we emerged from the quiet little sanctuary into the disconcerting brightness of the day.
It was all I could do not to throw my hands up at the lenses and turn away… but that wouldn’t be a good look for a “happy newlywed,” would it?
The videographer and photographer and audio crew were a stark reminder of what we were doing here—putting on a show.
Which made me an imbecile.
I’d cried real tears in there, felt real feelings during our kiss.
Waytoo many of them—and in places that were better discussed on a wedding night than at the reception.
And it had all been captured on film, evidence of our wonderfultrue lovestory. The thought of it made me feel claustrophobic—and exposed.
In spite of what his dad had said, I wasnotPresley’s.
And he was not mine.
I reminded myself of that as we walked together through the magical little garden toward the inn’s expansive lawn.
When Presley reached for my hand, I subtly pulled it away, fussing with the blooms in my bouquet—as if anyone would care that a petal or two was beginning to wilt.
I related to those shriveled petals.
Now that the deed was done, I was drained of energy. I just wanted to go home and crawl into bed and pretend I wasn’t living a lie.
This was much harder than I’d expected.
Presley dipped his head and turned it to the side, craning for a look at my downturned face.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. Perfect. I’m great.” I lifted my head and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “The ceremony was very… nice.”
He smiled back, and it almost looked likehiswas real because it was more dazzling than the sun.
“Glad you liked it. Itisyour wedding day after all. How many of those do you get?”
“Haha.” I gave him a humorless laugh. “Now what? We go back to your place? Or do we need to get more film first?”
I was assuming an editor would cut out any non-romantic conversation the mics might happen to capture.
Presley gave me a quizzical glance. “What weneedis some food and some fun. We’re going to our reception.”
