Let’s Ruin A Wedding

Chapter 2: Let's Ruin A Wedding.

I didn’t knock on the door, I pounded.

Roman’s door swung open a few seconds later, revealing him in nothing but a pair of blindingly white Calvin Klein boxer briefs and sleep-tousled hair.

I wasn't fazed. Roman usually sleeps naked.

“Nice boxers. Very... spiritual monk energy you have going on,” I said, breezing inside.

Roman rubbed his eyes, “It’s one in the morning. Did you set something on fire again?”

I kicked the door shut behind me, my heel finally giving up and snapping clean off. “Just my life.”

Roman sighed and knelt, without a word, helping me out of my shoes as usual.

“Roman, I did something horrible.”

Roman's face morphs into one of seriousness. He briskly walks to the widows, looks both ways then snaps them shut and proceeds to do that to all the windows.

“How bad is it? Do I need to hide a body or bail you out of jail? Be honest.” He said.

“My sister’s getting married,” I said, breathless.

“I'm lost.”

“To Dean Archer.”

Roman frowned. “Wait, the Dean Archer?”

I nod.

He paused. “Shit. Can she do that? Isn’t there a code against that?”

“She told me like she was announcing she made partner at Vogue. In freaking pastel.”

Roman pulled me into a hug. “I'm so sorry, love. I'll make popcorn and ice-cream. We'll watch Scream and you can call in sick at the office tomorrow.” He suggested.

I spun dramatically, dizzying myself. Roman reached to steady me instinctively, one hand at my waist.

“Savannah—careful. Vertigo?”

I collapsed to my knees in the middle of his kitchen, clapped my hands together like I was begging for a miracle.

“Please don’t kill me. I lied. I did a very, very bad thing.”

Roman squinted. “What did you do?”

“Say you forgive me first.”

“Savannah.”

“Say it, Roman. Or I’m never getting up.”

He groaned. “Fine. I forgive you. Now stand up before I have to carry you.”

I stood, dusted myself off, and blurted, “I told Chloe we’re engaged.”

Roman blinked. “You what?”

“She was smug and shiny and waving her invitation card like a disco ball, and I panicked. I told her we’ve been secretly in love this whole time.”

He rubbed a hand down his face, exhaled, and said, “You showed up here at midnight to ask me to be your fake fiancé because you lied to your entire family to one-up your sister?”

“Yes.”

He leaned against the counter. “I was supposed to be in Tuscany next week. There are hot models. Clubs. Parties. Cocktails. Poolside massages. Magnificent D cups … You know what happens in Tuscany.”

I batted my lashes. “You could still have models. Just... add me to the mix.”

He gave me a look. “Savannah.”

“Roman.”

“You couldn’t have said... like, Jake from accounting?”

“You’re the only one they know.”

“That’s fair.”

“The more I think about this, the more ridiculous it sounds,” he said, finally walking to the kitchen. “You fake-engaged me to your entire family, to outdo your sister who’s marrying your ex, and now we’re driving to New Hope to pull off this epic lie?”

I nodded.

“Okay, okay, counteroffer—I give you my next paycheck. Just the one. And maybe my soul.”

Roman snorted. “Love, your paycheck wouldn’t cover my shoelaces. I bought you a winter coat last Christmas that cost six times your rent.”

“And I love that coat,” I said sweetly. “See? I’m grateful. Please, Roman… I can't survive one week in New Hope without you by my side. I need you with me to fight my evil sister.”

He watched me, his eyes softer now. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

“I love you.” I squealed.

Roman sighed. “When do we leave for New Hope?”

“In two weeks.”

He ran a hand through his messy hair. “Great. Let’s ruin a wedding.”

I practically threw myself into his arms, wrapping my arms and legs around him like a koala.

“Thank you! I knew you would agree!”

“Yeah, don't get too excited.”

I exhaled, finally allowing myself to sit down on his couch.

Roman glanced at me, then walked to the kitchen.

“I’m still making popcorn.”

“Huh?”

“And ice cream too. You need both. Preferably in the same bowl.”

I smiled, heart swelling. “You’re the best fake fiancé a girl could ask for.”

He returned minutes later with a giant bowl of buttered popcorn and another with vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate sauce and crushed Oreos.

He handed me a spoon and flopped down beside me.

“Come on,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “You’re not making me cuddle alone.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You’re in your underwear.”

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

I settled into his side, sighing. “You’re really going to do this for me?”

Roman kissed 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 Chloe.”

“Do we have to kiss?” Roman asked.

The thought struck me like lightning, jerking me up in seconds.

“Oh shit!”

Roman smirked. “You really thought of everything but that?”

“How'd I forget that?”

“I’m sorry… Did you think engaged people do finger guns and fist bumps at dinner parties?” He joked.

“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 image. “I suggest we practice, Roman.”

He shifts closer, slowly, like a lion circling an antelope.

“Practice?”

“Yes! This is a tongue-related crisis.”

Roman laughed.

“One trial kiss,” I insist. “A simulation. For science.”

“You want to kiss me... for science?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Roman stops just in front of me.

There’s only an inch of space between us now, and suddenly the air is different—thicker, warmer, dangerous.

His gaze flicks to my mouth.

“Alright, Hart… Let’s practice.” He grins. “I must warn you, I'm sort of a pro at this.”

My breath catches as I lean in.

Closer.

My eyes locked on his. Roman’s lips part slightly—

Then I violently press my index finger and thumb down on my nose as if getting a bad whiff.

Roman blinks. His face is a mashup of confusion and shock.

“...Are you okay?”

I gasped dramatically, nose pinched.

“Is my cologne too strong?”

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

Roman just stares at me.

I released my nose, looking proud.

“You really thought this was the perfect opportunity for a prank?” Roman asked.

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

He drags a hand down his face. “You’re the most chaotic fake fiancée on the planet.”

“You’re welcome.”

We were halfway through the movie when Roman picked up his phone and absently started scrolling.

I was mid-rant about how I'd have to sell my kidney and my car to look on theme judging from how Chloe overemphasised on the colour and fabric for the wedding when Roman suddenly went quiet.

Too quiet.

“What?” I asked, glancing up at him.

His expression was unreadable, then he turned the screen toward me.

It was I*******m… A DM request to be specific.

“Sav, why is your ex-boyfriend slash brother-in-law sending me a message request?”