Chapter 17
David
Where the fuck have you been, man? Scott texts me. This is one of the many texts he sent earlier this morning. And when I say morning, I mean two or three in the morning, his usual prowling time.
I’ve been mute since the last video he sent me, with the busty blonde, so I get his urgency. But I’m not intentionally trying to ignore him; I just have a fuck ton of shit to do. I’m fucking King, it’s just now that I’m actually acting like it.
That’s also one of the many things Vivienne is good at: keeping me busy, and in all sorts of ways. Some, admittedly, more pleasurable than others.
Like today, for instance. Our plans are fucking torture. It pains me to even say what we’re doing…
Fucking wedding planning.
What man likes to do this shit? Especially me, seeing as it’s the last fucking thing I thought I’d be doing…ever.
But, here I am. Somehow, she just knows how to persuade me into doing things I loathe, and I don’t even see it coming. That’s how good she is.
Charities and galas are one thing, because they include unlimited distractions, an open bar, and some mindless entertainment. And the feeling of gratification makes it all worth it.
But this shit, it requires too much fucking commitment and time.
“What do you think, white or red roses? Or both?” She presents each rose to me, like it’s a decision that’ll end all wars.
I shrug. “It’s a rose.” Sorry, I just don’t give a fuck.
I look back down at my phone, trying to distract myself from this nonsense. Maybe I should just let Scott know I’m alive. I can’t ghost the motherfucker; he’d go fucking crazy.
I glance up and watch Vivienne smell both the roses…literally, she’s smelling the roses.
Fuck, she’s too into this. She looks like a woman in love, and that worries me. But she chooses to ignore my callous answer and turns back to the two wedding planners.
“I think we should do white only. Perhaps add some hydrangeas?” She continues to describe floral arrangements to the women in plaid, and I zone out.
Who cares about what fucking flowers look like? They’ll die the next day anyway.
I walk to the other side of the ballroom, which I do have to admit is a gorgeous venue.
For someone who doesn’t abide by the rules often, St. James Palace is a tradition in my family I didn’t want to break. Call me old-fashioned, but it’s where everyone in my lineage said their I do’s, so I figured we should, too.
There’s some guilt in knowing that my wedding is a sham and not an actual ceremony like the others, but at least I’m doing one thing accordingly, right? No one has to know, other than the few of us.
I’m here, man. Been busy with, you know, King shit, I respond to Scott.
“David, come here. We need to go through the procession. Who will walk me down? Perhaps Charles?”
I open my mouth to speak, but she interrupts me—
“Oh, wait, no. He’s your best man. Hmm…” She continues and paces the length of the ballroom, contemplating who the fuck will walk her down the aisle at our fake wedding.
I go to her and pull her by the elbow, keeping her close to me to ensure she’ll be the only one who can hear me.
“You know this doesn’t matter, right? It just has to look good. Believable.” I emphasize the last word, hoping she’ll understand that we’re not doing this because we love each other—we’re doing to this to make the world believe we do.
At least that’s what I’ve been told. It’s a hefty order, but one that we shouldn’t be taking so damn seriously.
And I feel like Vivienne is doing just that. She’s seems to be caring too much about this.
I’m not sure if this is how she does business, but it seems…
She looks up at me, and her eyes widen. She looks hurt.
What the fuck?
I step back, gauging her reaction. Her mouth falls, and I can feel her body sag against me. It’s like I just popped a balloon, all the joy and hope keeping it afloat escaping, making it now limp and lifeless.
This is not good.
She knows this is fake. This is not me breaking up with her, because, fuck, there’s nothing to break!
“It’s just business. We do have to act the part, though. That’s what I’m doing. It’d be nice if you did the same,” she snaps, but the words come out too sharply, almost like they’re piercing through her skin, causing her physical pain.
She tugs herself away from me and heads back to the planners. They continue to gab over whatever the fuck, and I’m standing there, feeling like I just got punched in the fucking gut.
She might be saying that this is just business and that she’s just playing along, but her body is contradicting her words.
Shit. I run my hands through my hair, frustrated that I let this fucking happen. In some respects, I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted her—fuck, I still want her. But only in the most primal way…right?
Yes, I’ve had fun with her. Ever since she got here…no, shit, even before it. She’s made my days so much lighter and, dare I say, fun. I’ve actually started to enjoy going to these events and becoming the King that I never thought I’d be.
But she can’t be confusing the two worlds, can she? I’m finding it hard to see where the real her ends and the fake fiancée begins, and that fucking terrifies, no, infuriates, me.
Why didn’t I see this sooner? We could’ve stopped fucking. Hah, yeah, okay, maybe not that, but we’ve could’ve at least discussed more ground rules.
Shit, there’s when it began. When she stopped giving me ground rules. I thought it was just because I was being so good…all the time.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Come out tonight! It’s been a fucking minute, man. All these pussies are drying up without you here. Scott’s text vibrates my phone, and I look down at it, and then look back at her. She side-eyes me and forces a tight smirk.
She looks pissed, but I can see her for what she really is: hurt.
I can’t let this go any further. And I should stop it before it’s too late.
It’s better to do it now than, say, the day before our wedding, when all this bullshit is waiting for us. That’ll be way too big of a scandal, one that I’m not sure I’ll be able to ease my way out of.
At least, if I fuck it up now, there’ll be smaller repercussions.
I text Scott back. I’ll be there. I need a fucking drink.