Page 58 of Fake it for Keeps

“I’m assuming that last one can’t move,” I said, grinning.

“What?” he asked, not catching my attempt at subtle humor.

“Stationery? Stationary. Never mind.”

He waved my nonsense away impatiently. “This is what planning a wedding in six weeks looks like.” He still wasn’t looking at me. “Especially when it needs to seem legitimate.”

Right. Because none of this was real. It was all an act.

I tried a different approach. Softened my voice, let a little vulnerability show. “Colt, I know we got off on the wrong foot at the hotel. I just wanted to say⁠—”

“There’s nothing to say.” His tone was flat, final. “We’re fine. This is business. Let’s keep it that way.”

My skin felt like I got stung by twenty bees. His words were that powerful.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll shut the fuck up.”

He finally looked at me then, and for just a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.

But then it was gone, and he was back to scrolling through his phone like I wasn’t even there.

The florist was a tiny woman named Margot who showed us approximately seven thousand pictures of centerpieces.

“Classic roses are always elegant,” she said, pulling up photo after photo. “Or we could do something more modern—orchids, calla lilies, even succulents if you want something unexpected that the guests can take home and never water.”

I stared at the images, overwhelmed. They all looked beautiful. They all looked expensive. How was I supposed to choose? It seemed so wasteful to buy flowers for something that wasn’t real. I was inclined to pick the cheapest. I just couldn’t bring myself to waste money, even if it wasn’t mine. Even if the guy had more than any one man should have.

“What do you think?” Margot asked, looking at me expectantly.

“They’re all lovely,” I said dully It didn’t matter what I thought. Colt would just run rough shod over any choices I made.

“We’ll do the roses,” he said, without a hint of uncertainty. “White and cream. Classic. Simple.”

“Wonderful choice.” Margot beamed. “And for the bridal bouquet?”

“Same,” Colt said. “Roses. Keep it cohesive.”

Margot looked at me, clearly expecting input, so I just nodded. What was the point? This wasn’t my real wedding. These weren’t flowers I’d actually carry down the aisle to marry someone I loved. Because honestly, I would have gone for the cala lilies.

“Perfect,” Margot said, making notes. “I’ll have mockups for you by next week.”

The caterer was next. He was an enthusiastic man named Pierre who had strong opinions about everything from appetizers to plating styles.

“The salmon is exquisite,” he said, showing us photos of delicate pink fish arranged artfully on white plates. “Or if you prefer beef, our filet mignon is very popular for weddings.”

“Both,” Colt said. “Give guests a choice.”

“And for vegetarian options?”

“Whatever you recommend.”

Pierre rattled off a dozen more decisions, and Colt made them all with barely a glance at me. Menu items. Wine pairings. Dessert options beyond the cake.

By the time we got to the event planner’s office at noon, my head was spinning.

If this was my actual wedding, I would be pissed he was making all the decisions. But in our current situation, I was glad he was taking the lead.

The wedding planner scared the shit out of me. The woman, Victoria, had mood boards and timelines and seating charts spread across her conference table.