WEDDING BELLS

His eyes scan the coffee shop that promised a twenty four hour service like he’s mapping out exits.

 Taking him home would have been easier, also a mistake.

My house is off limits to everyone except Court.

 “What do you drink?” I ask. It comes out tired.

“Nothing if it hurts you so much.”

I open my mouth to explain myself and end up shutting it, whatever, I don’t need this right now.

 When I come back with a double espresso for myself, and the same for him, he slips a ten across the table, I leave it there.

 A sip and my brain finally comes back online.

“This is the shit you drink?” Ivan pulls the cup away from his mouth in disgust.

He retrieves the ten and goes to the counter himself.

Yeah. This is going to be a long arrangement.

I pull up immigration requirements on my phone. Every line makes my chest tighten.

Marriage certificate.

Joint finances.

Proof of shared address.

Photos.

Interviews.

 This isn’t just paperwork. It’s a performance with witnesses.

  I can’t imagine putting myself through all the stress just so….

A message from my Freddy.

 “Ryan is gay! He expressed disappointment that you were getting married. Maybe if he doesn’t work out?”

 Oh hell no.

Another message,

 “Not like gay marriages don’t work out, they do. Just in case yours don’t.”

I snort.

 Whatever the requirements are, they are definitely better than what would become of my life if this doesn’t work out.

 “We’ll need a government issued marriage certificate.  We could go to the court house for this.” I muse the second his ass touches the seat.

 He consumes the space around him, reminding me again just how large he is.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult.” he takes a sip of his drink, noting that he was most likely drinking an iced Americano, not so different from mine, but to each his own.

 “They check more closely after the wedding.”

  Taking a deep breath, I let it sit in my lungs for a few seconds before I start speaking again,

He nods,

 “It won’t be a real wedding.”

I almost roll my eyes,

“A gay man is helping you out, the least you can do is curb your homophobia.”

“We’re helping each other out.” he quips immediately, making sure to hold my gaze with his strangely intense eyes.

 Looking away first I clear my throat.

“I don’t care that you’re gay, I care about complications.”

My eyes return to his, the intensity forces me to avert my gaze again.

“We need photos from before the marriage,” I say, clearing my throat again, unsure what the protocol for taking pictures were.

 He sighs, plucks my phone from between my fingers, drags my seat to his side, a yelp leaves my lips, it doesn’t stop him.

 While I am staring right at his face in shock, he clicks a couple of photos.

“Relax,” he mutters, “You look like I kidnapped you.” he grumbles, his low voice rumbling.

 I flush. “Sorry.”

He takes a couple of photos and none of them come out right.

He glared, i looked uncomfortable.

 “This isn’t going to work.”

“Court will fix it.” I blurt. Already calling her.

  When I hang up, I clear my throat.

“We should set rules.”

“Yes.” The way he says it suggests he already has.

“I don’t have a place to stay at the moment, so we have to use pictures of your place.”

That was not a rule, but it would be rude to point it out so I let it go.

 “About that…” I want to say my home was personal to me, but he won’t be living in it, technically.

 “Sure. My rules are simple, don’t touch me without asking, just show up every time we have to meet with my parents.”

 He nods,

“Come for interviews and shit. Couple outside, not inside.”

I nod, that was fine with me.

Court’s tell tale pink hair swishes into the coffee shop and I almost melt with relief. This is the longest conversation I have held with anyone that wasn’t Court in the longest time.

“Court!”

She walks over to us, and I do a countdown in my head.

 “Oh my. There’s something much hotter than what I create living in this world.”

I sigh as she sits beside me, crossing her legs as she gives Ivan her signature smile.

 “Courtney Quinn. Queen Court, owner of The Queen’s Court.”

“Court is my best friend, and Court meet Ivan, my fake husband.”

She throws her hand against her chest the information was life threatening.

 “If he’s your fake husband, he’ll never be my real one. The gays get everything.”

This pleases Ivan, a smile blossoms on his face and it takes him to a new level, he is breath taking.

 “You flatter me.”

“I called you here to take pictures for us.” I say quickly, so this could end and I would be on my way home.

 Her pictures end up looking better than anything we could have ever done ourselves. He doesn’t glare anymore, and I look less constipated with a familiar face around.

 “The lunch tomorrow, should I come pick you up or?” I ask as we exit the coffee shop.

“I’ll find my way.”

“Great.”

Court and I watch as he walks off.

She squeals,

 “Look at that ass! He’s like… a Greek god or something.”

“He’s Russian.”

“Ugh, even better. Maybe you two could be…”

“He’s straight.”

She sighs, “And I can’t date my best friends left overs, no matter how hot.”

“We won’t even do anything beyond hand holding.”

Her eyes glimmer playfully as she shakes her head,

 “When you’re on a dick high from riding him, I would be the first to tell you, I told you so.”

Yes, Court.

That is one of the things that would never happen.

This morning, I made sure to change the location for lunch, texting the family that I was doing some form of renovation on the house.

 “Just say you don’t want us to walk in on you two having gay sex or whatever!!” With two laughing emojis, from Freddy, and I don’t read any more of their responses.

 I also texted Ivan the address, reminding him multiple times not to be late.

And now, I sit here, at the outdoor table, the rest of my family looking at me with pity.

I gulp down my second glass of water as I send yet another,

 “Where the hell are you?” text,

It shows he’s read it, like my other nine hundred variations of the same text.

I swear to god, I will kill him.

  We wait another hour, my family laughing, casting wearily glances at me.

Finally his text comes,

 “Need gate code.”

“Finally.” I murmur, dashing to the gate.

On getting there, I find him with two bouquet of flowers, his knuckles bandaged.

I swallow.

 “What’s this?”

“For your mother, you didn’t mention a sister. This one is for you.”

My eyes find his face, and there’s a small bruise under his eyes.

“Is that…?”

“Take flower.” He thrusts a bouquet in my hands.

Swallowing the worry, my eyes fall on the flowers, a mix of Ranunculus, peonies and a few scattered red roses.

 Nobody ever got me flowers.

 I hand over the ring I got him, one that arrived this morning, I picked the biggest size and hoped it fit, he had pretty large hands.

 And it does fit.

His eyes are searching the house. One of my family’s rest houses. Court is the only other person I brought here.

 “Billionaire parents, you didn’t say.” he comments offhandedly.

“I didn’t think I needed to. Let’s go, you’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

Every single person goes silent once I rejoin the table, all eyes on us.

 “Big family, you didn’t say.” he murmurs for just me.

I cough.

 “Guys, meet Ivan, Ivan Romanov, my fiancé.”

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Valentine, you have a lovely home.” he says, accent thick as his lie, he gifts my mom the bouquet and the women swoon.

 Good. Now they won’t think of Ryan or Barnabas anymore.

“We started to think Izzy was lying or something, but with the ring on your finger…” Serene gushes.

 Ivan laughs.

“I asked him to keep it a secret for a bit, but when you’re with someone like him… it’s impossible to do it for long.”

 And that’s how everyone welcomes him.

He smiles, nods, charms everyone.

 I sit at the back of the conversation, perfectly content.

Until my mother claps,

 “I hope you guys forgive me, I took the liberty of booking a hall for the wedding.”

“What?!” I splutter.

She smiles shyly,

 “The company just closed a deal with Firetween, and they said it would be good for our image to be inclusive.”

 Ivan glances at me, I don’t miss the question in his eyes.

“Mom, use plain words.”

She laughs.

“It’s a gay wedding. What better way to show that the Valentine group was inclusive than this?”

 “So you booked a wedding hall??”

She chuckles in a way that tightens my temple, a headache already brewing.

“Not just that. We booked everything, the food, the photographers, since your pictures would be splashed across our front pages for the next few months.”

 “Who asked you to do that??”

She looks affronted.

“Well I thought I was helping..”

Shit. Shit.

Ivan looks like he did when we were taking a photo together last night.

 “Izzy, your mother was only helping, and since your wedding is so close, I would expect you to thank her, not blow up.”

 “We haven’t fixed a date for the wedding.” I say with horror.

My mother smiles, my stomach gives.

 “I have.”

There’s a ping sound from my phone, the alert I set up to show me whenever a news article was being published with my name.

 And there it is, a wedding invite.

My name, and Ivan’s.

The date on the invite is… next week’s Saturday.