Let's Ruin A Wedding

I didn’t just knock on the heavy wood of Victor’s door; I pounded on it. My knuckles hammered a frantic, desperate rhythm that echoed down the empty, dimly lit hallway of his apartment building. It was one in the morning, but manners had officially left the chat the second my sister dropped a nuclear bomb on my life.

Seconds later, the locks clicked, and the door swung inward. Victor stood in the doorway, blinking against the harsh hallway light. He was wearing absolutely nothing except a pair of blindingly white boxer briefs, his dark hair a sleep-tousled mess sticking up in every direction.

I didn't even bat an eyelash at his near-naked state. He usually slept totally naked anyway, so this was basically formal wear for him.

"Nice boxers," I breathed out, practically tumbling past him into the foyer. "Very minimalist, spiritual monk energy you have going on tonight."

Victor dragged a heavy hand down his face, aggressively rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hazel, it is one in the morning. Did you accidentally set another appliance on fire?"

I kicked the door shut behind me with far too much force. As I did, the heel of my right shoe finally gave up its will to live, snapping clean off with a tragic crack. I sagged against the wall, a physical embodiment of a shattered life. "Just my entire existence."

Victor let out a long, quiet sigh. He didn't ask questions. With his usual unending patience, he knelt down onto the hardwood floor and gently helped me pry the broken shoes off my aching feet.

"Victor," I whispered, staring down at the top of his head. "I did something horrible."

Instantly, his demeanor shifted. The sleepy annoyance evaporated, replaced by cold, calculated seriousness. He stood up, bypassed me entirely, and briskly walked over to the large living room windows. He checked both directions outside before snapping the blinds shut, moving from window to window.

"Alright, how bad are we talking?" he asked, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Do I need to grab a shovel and help you hide a body, or am I just bailing you out of county jail? Be completely honest with me."

"My sister is getting married," I choked out, breathless.

He stared at me, his brow furrowing. "Okay. I'm lost."

"To Caleb Mercer."

Victor froze. "Wait. Hold on. *The* Caleb Mercer?"

I nodded miserably, my throat tight.

"Shit," he hissed. "Can she even legally do that? Isn't there a universal code against that?"

"She announced it to me like she was revealing she just made senior partner at Vogue," I groaned, pacing across the rug. "In freaking pastel tones, Victor."

Victor closed the distance between us and pulled me into a solid hug. "I am so sorry, love. Here's the plan. I am going to make a massive bowl of popcorn and bust out the ice cream. We are going to watch *Scream*, and tomorrow morning, you are going to call in sick to the office."

I spun out of his arms so dramatically that the room tilted. Vertigo hit me, and I swayed on my feet. Victor instantly reached out, his large hand wrapping around my waist to steady me on pure instinct.

"Hazel—careful. Vertigo?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I let my knees give out, collapsing right in the middle of his kitchen floor. I clapped my palms together, holding them up to him like I was begging for a miracle.

"Please don’t kill me," I pleaded. "I lied. I did a very, very bad thing."

Victor squinted down at me. "What exactly did you do?"

"Say you forgive me first."

"Hazel."

"Say it, Victor. Or I am never getting up off this floor."

He threw his head back and groaned. "Fine. I forgive you. Now stand up before I have to carry you."

I scrambled to my feet, dusted myself off, and blurted, "I told Piper we’re engaged."

Victor blinked. Once. Twice. "You what?"

"She was just so smug!" I defended. "She was all shiny and waving her invitation card around like a disco ball, and I panicked. I told her we have been secretly in love this entire time."

He dragged a hand down his face, taking a slow breath. "Let me get this straight. You showed up here at midnight to ask me to be your fake fiancé because you lied to your entire family just to one-up your sister?"

"Yes."

He leaned his hips against the kitchen counter. "I was supposed to be in Tuscany next week. Do you know what happens in Tuscany? There are hot models. Clubs. Parties. Cocktails. Poolside massages. Magnificent D cups, Hazel."

I fluttered my eyelashes at him. "You could still have hot models. Just... add me to the mix."

He gave me a withering look. "Hazel."

"Victor."

"You couldn’t have used anyone else?" he demanded. "Like Toby from accounting?"

"You’re the only one they actually know!"

"That’s fair," he muttered, pacing a short line in front of the island. "The more I think about this, the more ridiculous it sounds. You fake-engaged me to your entire family to outdo your sister who is marrying your ex, and now we are going to drive to Valcrest to pull off this epic lie?"

I nodded vigorously.

"Okay, okay, counteroffer," he said. "I give you my next paycheck. Just the one. And maybe my soul."

I scoffed. "Victor, please. Your paycheck wouldn’t even cover my shoelaces. You bought me a winter coat last Christmas that cost six times my rent."

"And you love that coat," he pointed out.

"And I love that coat," I agreed sweetly. "See? I’m grateful. Please, Victor. I cannot survive one single week in Valcrest without you by my side. I need you with me to fight my evil sister."

He stopped pacing and watched me. The harsh exasperation in his gaze slowly melted away, softening. He let out an exhausted breath, running a hand through his messy hair.

"You are lucky you are my best friend," he murmured.

"I love you!" I squealed.

Victor sighed. "When do we leave for Valcrest?"

"In two weeks."

"Great," he muttered. "Let’s ruin a wedding."

I practically launched myself across the kitchen, throwing myself into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and locked my legs around his waist like a koala.

"Thank you! I knew you would agree!"

"Yeah, don't get too excited."

I exhaled a massive breath, the adrenaline finally leaving my system, and allowed myself to sit down on his couch.

Victor glanced over his shoulder at me, then walked back toward the kitchen. "I’m still making the popcorn."

"Huh?"

"And ice cream too," he called out. "You need both. Preferably in the same bowl."

I smiled, my heart swelling. "You are the best fake fiancé a girl could ask for."

He returned minutes later balancing a giant bowl of buttered popcorn and a second bowl piled high with vanilla ice cream, topped with chocolate sauce and crushed Oreos. He handed me a spoon and flopped down beside me.

"Come on," he ordered, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "You are not making me cuddle alone."

I wrinkled my nose. "You are in your underwear."

"And yet, still the more clothed one in this friendship."

I settled comfortably into his side, letting out a long sigh. "Are you really going to do this for me?"

Victor pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I’ve been doing stuff for you since the day we met. This one’s just got better snacks."

"Only if you ignore Piper."

"Do we have to kiss?" Victor asked.

The logistical reality of his question struck me like lightning. I jerked completely upright in seconds. "Oh, shit!"

Victor smirked. "You really thought of everything but that?"

"How'd I forget that?"

"I’m sorry," he joked. "Did you think engaged people do finger guns and fist bumps at dinner parties?"

"Well, I didn’t think we’d need a full kissing strategy! But now I’m imagining us standing awkwardly next to the cake like coworkers who accidentally RSVP’d yes to the same wedding." I cringed at the mental image. "I suggest we practice, Victor."

He shifted closer. He moved slowly, closing the distance between us like a lion circling an antelope.

"Practice?"

"Yes! This is a tongue-related crisis."

Victor laughed.

"One trial kiss," I insisted. "A simulation. For science."

"You want to kiss me... for science?"

"Don’t make it weird."

Victor stopped just a fraction of an inch in front of me. Suddenly, the air between us radically shifted. It grew impossibly thick, warm, and heavy with a dangerous, predatory proximity.

His gaze flicked down to my mouth and locked there.

"Alright, Thorne," he murmured, a devastating grin curving his lips. "Let’s practice. I must warn you, I am sort of a pro at this."

My breath caught as I leaned in.

Closer.

My eyes locked on his. Victor’s lips parted slightly—

Then I violently pressed my index finger and thumb down on my nose, pinching it shut as if getting a bad whiff.

Victor blinked. His face was a chaotic mashup of confusion and shock.

"...Are you okay?"

I gasped dramatically through my mouth, my nose still pinched. "Is my cologne too strong?"

"Your ego," I cackled. "It’s choking me. I needed to make sure I could breathe before I died mid-kiss."

Victor just stared at me with a completely deadpan expression.

I released my nose, looking incredibly proud of myself.

"You really thought this was the perfect opportunity for a prank?" Victor asked.

"I’m legally obligated to humble you once a week. Consider this your dose."

He dragged a heavy hand down his face. "You are the most chaotic fake fiancée on the planet."

"You’re welcome."

We were halfway through the movie when Victor picked up his phone and absently started scrolling. I was mid-rant, aggressively explaining how I was probably going to have to sell a kidney and my car just to look on theme, judging from how Piper overemphasized the color and fabric for the wedding, when Victor suddenly went quiet.

Too quiet.

"What?" I asked, glancing up at him.

His expression was completely unreadable. Slowly, he turned the glowing screen toward me.

It was Instagram. A DM request, to be specific.

He looked at me, his brow furrowed. "Haze, why is your ex-boyfriend sending me a message request?"