Chapter Two
Just like that, all hell broke loose.
“Married?” Madison’s friend—the one sporting a god-awful shiner, whose name Gemma couldn’t remember, and didn’t care to—screeched.
If the guests weren’t already staring, they certainly were now.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Tucker’s obnoxiously square jaw clenched. His eyes, the same flinty blue as his father’s, were already scanning the crowd, no doubt searching for daddy to come fix this, the way Sterling fixed everything for Tucker. Brat. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at—”
“Ow.” She lifted a hand to her chest, feigning injury. “That hurts, Tucker. I hoped you’d be happy for me.”
Gemma smothered a laugh, barely able to keep her composure as the vein at Tucker’s temple pulsed, his face purpling. He was always so easily riled, always rising to the bait. Good to know that some things in this world never changed, that at least the ease with which she could provoke her cousin could be counted on, ever constant.
Though, come to think of it, Tucker was looking exceedingly apoplectic. More furious than she’d anticipated at the news of her impending nuptials. Or maybe, given his initial reaction to learning she was supposedly embroiled in a six-month relationship, it was news of Gemma’s impending nuptials to Tansy. Interesting. Very interesting. Gemma would file that observation away for later.
Save for fanning her face obnoxiously with both hands, Madison kept her cool surprisingly—ah, spoke too soon. Like something out of a poorly staged junior high play, Madison swooned, swaying and sagging as if her strings had been cut. Utterly self-absorbed, Tucker very nearly let his new bride hit the floor, catching her at the last second with a pained grunt and muttered swear.
“Madison!” Whatsherface stood with a shout.
“Oh dear.” Madison’s aunt fluttered about anxiously. “Someone do something.”
Reaching across the table, Jackie grabbed a glass of champagne and threw it at Madison.
“What the fuck, Jackie?” Madison shrieked, remarkably coherent for having just fainted.
Voices rose, everyone speaking at once, no one bothering to listen, as the reception devolved into complete and total chaos.
Amidst the pandemonium, forgotten in the center of it all, Tansy sat silently, pink lips parted, big blue eyes round and unblinking. Shell-shocked.
Gemma tilted her head, stealing a second to study her brand-spankin’-new fiancée.
The long, dark hair she’d swept up in a bun was coming undone, too thick even for the combination of claw-clip and bobby pins she’d used in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it into submission. Tendrils floated freely around her ears and the sides of her heart-shaped face, flirting idly with the edge of her jaw and the neckline of her truly odious cardigan.
To be perfectly frank, Tansy wasn’t the sort of someone Gemma would’ve glanced at twice under any other circumstances. But these particular circumstances being what they were, unusual, Gemma was looking. Inspecting. Because she must. And, hmm. Well, well, well. Appreciating. Because she could. It was easy to see the harried updo and fugly cardigan for what they were—camouflage. As if Tansy wanted to disappear into mediocrity. As if she believed an old sweater could do the trick.
Despite the grandma cardigan buttoned to practically her chin, it was plain to see Tansy was pretty. A touch timid, not exactly Gemma’s type, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Gemma’s type was there for a good time, not a long time. Just how Gemma preferred it.
Until now.
Now her proclivity for temporary was a problem. Now, preferences be damned, her only type needed to be marriageable. Moreover, be willing to marry her, willing to stay married to her for two years, capable of keeping a secret, and accepting that the only happily-ever-after Gemma was interested in entailed inheriting what was rightfully hers.
With such simple requirements, Gemma had figured the list of candidates would be lengthy, her choice of spouse just that—a choice. And yet here she was, ring finger worrisomely bare, a deadline to wed breathing down her neck, pickings slim, prospects grim.
Until now. Until Tansy.
Fate was funny that way. There Gemma was, minding her own business, crashing Tucker’s wedding, her greatest aspiration for the evening to cause a little ruckus, and bam! Tansy had practically landed in her lap, a perfect solution to an utterly fucked up—not to mention antiquated—problem. Gemma might not have asked for any of this, but as far as spouses went, she supposed she could’ve done worse.
Madison snatched a napkin from the table, cursing Jackie for her carelessness as she mopped Dom Pérignon from her décolletage.
Much worse.
Granted, there was the tiny detail of Tansy telling tall tales, but lucky for her, that wasn’t a deal breaker. If anything, a knack for subterfuge was a point in her favor. Given the circumstances.
Most likely to distract from the scene unfolding, the DJ chose that moment to start up the music. Good timing.
She ran her fingers down the back of Tansy’s arm to her wrist. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d love a dance with my fiancée.”
Fiancée. That rolled off the tongue surprisingly well.
Tuning out the clash of voices, Gemma wrapped her fingers around Tansy’s wrist and tugged her out onto the empty dance floor. She stopped dead center and turned, dragging Tansy closer, hands gripping her by the shapely hips hidden beneath the sack Tansy apparently considered a dress.
Tansy’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air, uncertainty swimming in her eyes before she played along, resting her hands delicately on Gemma’s shoulders. Eye contact remained fleeting, Tansy’s gaze flitting between Gemma’s face and the space over her right shoulder. Skittish. Endearing as that was, if they were going to pull this off, they had a lot of ground to cover, and fast.
“Six months, huh? Where was I?”
Tansy blinked twice. “I—I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be.” Gemma laughed at the flush creeping up Tansy’s throat. The girl was honest to god blushing. How fucking adorable. “I’m certainly not.”
Sorry was the last thing Gemma was tonight.
“What a nightmare,” Tansy muttered, blush deepening, inching its way up the sides of her face, the tips of her pert little ears turning fire-engine red.
“A nightmare?” Gemma quirked a brow. She’d been called worse, and by her family, no less. “Some might take offense to that.”
Lucky for Tansy, Gemma was practically impossible to offend.
Tansy’s eyes widened, her fingers tensing on Gemma’s bare shoulders before relaxing. “No. Not you. I meant—”
“I’m teasing you, Tansy. Now, enlighten me . . . how exactly did we meet?” She paused, frowning as a thought suddenly occurred to her. “We haven’t actually met, have we?”
It was possible they had, that Gemma hadn’t paid attention. Because if she had, she’d have certainly remembered meeting Tansy. A face like hers wasn’t one Gemma was likely to forget. Striking brows, dark and thick, framed eyes the color of the sky right before a storm. Maybe the color of the sea, placid water belying hidden depths.
Gemma snorted. She seriously needed to ease off the champagne if she was on the precipice of composing sonnets about a pretty stranger’s eyes. No amount of inebriation excused shitty clichés, even if she kept them to herself.