By the time he’s fully inside me, I’m gasping for breath. I love the way I can feel every inch of him, the way his cock glides into my tight pussy and makes me feel so fucking full.
He makes me feel full. Not just in the bedroom, but in every area of my life. In the time we’ve spent getting to know one another, I’ve learned more about how a man ought to treat a woman than in any of my previous relationships combined. He listens to me, he respects my opinion, he takes care of me.
If this isn’t love, then I don’t know what the hell is. The realization makes my pulse skip, my hands tighten around him. He takes that for encouragement and starts to move faster, thrusting his cock in and out of me, until it’s all I can do to keep breathing properly, let alone think about what this realization means.
I lose myself in the moment. In his kisses and my hands around his strong, sturdy body, the feeling of his cock inside me.
When he comes, with a guttural, possessive growl that I echo with a breathy moan, not far behind him, we both collapse back against the sheets in a tangle of sex and sweat, our chests heaving together, and it just slips out. The words I thought to myself as we fucked. The words that, if I’m honest, have been lurking at the recesses of my awareness for a while now, just begging to finally be let out into the wild.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” I whisper, and the air around us goes still, frozen. It’s like time itself has slowed, as Charlie pauses to turn and gaze down at me, his cock still inside me, his deep blue eyes unreadable in the dark.
I swallow hard. But the words are out now, and all I can do is explain them. “I think I’m falling for you, Charlie, and I don’t know if we should do this marriage thing. Not because I don’t want to be with you, but because… maybe I really want to be with you. I don’t want to break up with you after all this.”
He huffs, a small sound that might be a laugh. Then he reaches up to brush my hair back from my forehead, and leans his against mine, our eyes inches apart. “We don’t have to, Lila. This can be whatever we want it to be.”
I nod, because it’s what he wants me to do, to agree that maybe there’s a chance for us, that maybe this could be real. But deep down, for a million reasons, I know it can’t be. I have the articles to write, we have a plan, Fiona is counting on me. And anyway, I’m not the kind of girl marriage would work for.
My parents are proof enough of that.
14
The next weekend is our wedding ceremony.
We planned for a small wedding—just our families and close friends, really. My older brother, after being informed by my mother that the whole wedding is just for show, a stunt, declines to fly home from medical school for it. As for my friends, I only invite a couple, with Fiona acting as my maid of honor, of course. My mom will walk me down the aisle. Charlie’s brother will be his best man.
But it’s not until I see the officiant gathering the papers together that I notice the signature lines on them, the official-looking stamps along the top. “Those look so real,” I comment in an undertone to Fiona, as we’re getting ready in the hall where the ceremony will be held. Charlie and his family are still in another room, getting ready.
My mother is looking grumpy from her place near the door, although when I walked out in my simple A-line wedding dress—no train, thank you, not practical, and anyway I prefer a simple style—even she couldn’t resist tearing up. “I know this is all for show,” she murmured, hugging me, “But you look beautiful, Lila.”
Now, though, Fiona gives me a sly little smile, side-eying me. “Because they are, silly.”
“What?” My eyes go wide, and I glance from the papers to the officiant to Fi and back.
She shrugs, looking innocent. “We want this to be as real as possible, right? So we can recount every little nitty gritty detail. What better way to add verisimilitude than to make the wedding real? Then we could do a spinoff article about the divorce, how messy all the paperwork is…”
Panic floods my system, makes my heart rate jump. But maybe it’s not just panic. Because something else leaps into my throat, takes over my imagination.
Imagine marrying Charlie for real. Being together as husband and wife. Starting a family… I suck in a deep breath to try and clear my head. Stop talking nonsense. This whole time, I’d been preparing myself for a show, a fake marriage. Now, though, I can’t help the kernel of hope that springs up in my chest at the idea of making this fake relationship real.