Page 5 of If the Suit Fits
“Only for the week.” I settle back and cross my arms, one leg folded over the other as I rhythmically swing my foot and tap theleg of my table. “I’m not leaving my home, and I need us to be able to sell this story. The wedding is next Saturday, so I figure you can go home tonight and take care of whatever business you have, then pack a bag and come back here tomorrow. You’ll have your own room, but a shared bathroom. You can use my kitchen as you please, and you can eat alone if you wish. But I’ll cook a main meal each evening, so if you want to join me, you can. I’ll make enough for us both. If you’d rather not, then I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge and eat them for lunch the next day.”
He scans the contract, his eyes moving from line to line, each as important as the one before it.
Having a lawyer for a best friend comes with its perks, for sure.
“Meet the groom?” Curious, he lowers the papers and scowls. “Like, on a day other than the wedding? And why doIhave to meet him? I’ve been to countless weddings in the past, and almost always, I’ve gotten through without having to talk to anyone except my date.”
“Society.” Screw society. Screw pretense. Screw it all. But I still have to follow the rules until this deal is done. “You cannot bemyplus one and not expect our families—his and mine—to attempt to bring us all together. That’s the point of forced and fake pleasantries, no? Making everyone else believe all is right in the world.”
“Suit fitting?” He goes back to reading. “With the groom? What the fuck, Mel?”
He’s crass and rude and rough around the edges. He lacks filters, and though it makes me feel snooty and gross to think it, I doubt he’d have any clue which fork goes with which dish being served.
“I can get on board with attending a wedding you don’t wanna go to,” he rumbles slowly. “Believe it or not, but folks dothat shit where I’m from, too. Meeting the bride and groom even could be passed off as good manners. But suit shopping with him?” His eyes swing back to mine. “Why the fuck would anyone do that?”
“Because you’ve been invited.”
“Buthewon’t wanna shop with the date of the chick he fucked over, and I sure as shit don’t wanna shop with my fake-girlfriend’s ex-fiancé. Make it make sense.”
“I’m the Hamilton family charity case,” I explain. Though God knows, it doesn’t truly make sense to me either. “Outside of my immediate family, the world thinks Drew and I simply grew apart. It happens, so sad, yada yada yada. It is what it is. But to those whoknow—my parents, especially—I’m the poor girl whose heart was broken and whose life was tossed upside down. They’ve asked me at literally every opportunity for the last two years if I’ve met a new man since,obviously, life is not worth living without the approving presence of a male in it.”
Across the table, Nick’s lips twitch with a small, sly smile. “Obviously.”
“So every time my answer was no, that I had not met the love of my life, their expressions grew a little more sour. Their hope dwindled, and their expectations for my future, clearly, turned bleak. They’re waiting for me to adopt a dozen cats and officially change my title from Miss to Spinster.”
Again, he smirks. “Obviously.”
“I’m sick of it all, and I refuse to go to the wedding alone. So the last time they asked and my answer was a resoundingyes, I was bringing this man whom I love very, very much, the grapevine came alive again, and what I thought was a conversation between my parents and I became news repeated to the neighbors. NowMr. and Mrs. Taggart—Drew’s parents—have voiced a desire to meet you.”
“The parents, too?” Like an adolescent asked to empty the dishwasher, Nick sits back with a huff of exasperation. “Seriously, Mel?! I have to meet your parents, his parents, his new bride, him, and the fucking priest, too?”
“Don’t sayfuckingandpriestin the same sentence. It’s bad luck.” I sit forward, resting my elbows on the table, and reach out with one hand to point at the contract. “You’ll meet Drew and my father on the day of the suit fittings?—”
“Which is when?” he cuts in. “What day?”
“Thursday.”
“During the day? Or evening?”
“Day. Eleven o’clock appointment, I believe. Why?”
“Because I have a thing on Thursday night. I can’t not go, so a suit fitting overlapping with that would be an issue.”
Just like it did at The Coffee Bean, my stomach jumps with nerves, and my brows come down to shadow my eyes. “You have athing?” My words come out harsher than I intended. Colder than I want. But rejection, whether it be from my actual boyfriend, or in this case, a business associate, is real and mean and a painful memory I’d rather not relive. “You’re signing a seven-day contract right now, Mr. Ramos. It almost sounds like you’re double-booking yourself. That will not work for me.”
“My abuela is turning ninety-two.” Completely relaxed, he settles back and peruses the contract. “She existed some sixty-something years before you did. So even thoughwehave a contract, I feel her birthday supersedes this.” He peeks over the top of the pages. “Respectfully. It’ll just be a few hours. Dinner with my family. I’ll kiss my abuela and remind her how ninety-twois the new thirty-five. Then I’ll be back here and your little scheme goes forward. Drew won’t know any different. Besides,” he picks up the pen again and waggles it between us. “I haven’t signed yet, and I’m informing you of my other obligation prior to putting pen to paper. Thus, no contract has been breached, and you’ll know well ahead of time that we must block out Thursday night.” He frowns and pokes at the contract. “You need me to escort you to your dress fitting, too?”
“No.” I lick my dry lips and ignore the way his eyes drop to the movement unashamedly. “I’m the idiot who is now a bridesmaid for my ex-fiancé’s slut side piece. My dignity is already flapping in the wind as it is, so I’ll be getting in and out as quickly as humanly possible.Yourjob would be to worship the ground I walk on at the wedding. Be loud. Be obnoxious—but classy,” I add, when I consider his level of obnoxious and mine are not the same. “Perhaps even make her wandering eye wander. She had no ethical objection to sleeping with my fiancé, so I doubt she’ll feel any less entitled to my boyfriend.”
“You… want me to sleep with her?” He clears his throat and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m notactuallyselling sex for a payday, you know that, right?”
I snicker and grab my wine glass, if only to wash away the bitter burn of thinking about this man and Karla in bed together. Or, well, in Drew’s parents’ bathroom. “No, I don’t want you to sleep with her. But it would make my ego purr if she attempted to hit on you and you turned her down. Harshly.” I lean forward, though my table is large enough for six, so I have no chance of touching the contract despite my outstretched hand. “See paragraph twelve. Something about doting on me, adoring me, bigging me up to anyone with ears, and when Karla is inevitably temptedby how perfect you are as a partner and tries her luck at seducing you, your job is to shut her down and break her spirit.” I settle back and smile. “I paraphrased, but you get the idea.”
“You’re mean.” He flips to the next page to check paragraph twelve, no doubt, scanning each line and shaking his head. “Real healing comes from within.” His eyes, darker than night and captivating enough to turn my throat dry every time he looks my way, come up from the page and hold me prisoner. “You’re not supposed to want revenge. Healthy human beings heal, no matter what those who wronged them are doing.”
“I’m healed,” and yet, I sip a little more. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy seeing her squirm. If she thinks hitting on another man on the day of her own wedding is okay, then Drew deserves to know what kind of trash he’s marrying.”
“So you want to be his hero?” He flattens the contract against the table and pins me with a glare. “Is that your plan, Melanie? Go to the wedding, present yourself as adored and in love, sweep the home-wrecker off the table, stroke his dinged ego, and in the end, you get to be the new Mrs. Drew all over again?”
