Page 33 of A Bossy Roommate
When the flight attendant serves drinks and food, Carter has me fill out and sign the “wedding paperwork” that includes the notation about the incredible bonus I’ll be entitled to (and my account will be shocked to see deposited). His attorney overnighted the contract from the Easter Islands (Carter made him work during his vacation!), and he’ll stop by in person with the NDA later this week.
The successful meeting and the positive atmosphere between us makes it easier for me to actually go through with the scheme.
However, despite my attempts otherwise, the whole experience makes me think about Rob. He had done everything he could to avoid marrying me, and yet with Carter, it’s like he can’t tie the knot soon enough. A sham marriage, of course, but still. When I said I was ready to be married, this wasn’t exactly the unexpected turn I had in mind.
As soon as the jet lands, Carter whisks me away to a high-end jewelry store, foiling my plans of visiting a more affordable place. Seriously, I see a necklace that costs ten times more than my Kiki. We buy two wedding bands, which I can’t stop staring at because they symbolize the eternal bond we donotshare. At first, I’d opted for a simple gold band, but he insisted on me getting a diamond ring. He picked out a dazzling sparkly diamond set band that could probably fund a small country. It wasn’t like I could refuse my boss’s demands—so I politely andhumblyaccepted. (As if! I jumped on that opportunity like a frog on a lily pad.)
I’m deeply touched by his generosity, even though it doesn’t change the fact that this marriage is a strict business arrangement. Just when I think I’ll end up blinded by all the diamond-sparkles reflecting back at me from my new ring, Carter decides that I need an engagement ring too, with a diamond bigger than the moon. I mean, at this point, let’s just say I don’t protest too much. But I tell him we needed to get me sunglasses to protect me from all the brightness.
Of course, I’ll return the rings to him once our fake marriage is over, but until his aunt flies back to France, I’ll wear them, feeling like a princess. For a whole weekend, I’ll relish the bliss of being the woman NYC’s most eligible bachelor had walked down the aisle and taken as his “forever” wife.
It takes several hours for the wedding clothes to be custom altered to fit perfectly. Carter wants to make sure that everything is authentic. (Sidenote: If thiswasan authentic wedding, we would have used the waiting period to visit the Clark County Marriage License Bureau, where an authentic couple would have filled out the necessary paperwork and obtained a marriage license, but since we don’t have to do that, we spend the time working.) Waiting for the custom alteration to arrive seems like an eternity. Boy, is it worth it though. Carter looksdashingin his tailor-made suit, and my wedding dress is a dream come true, fitting me so perfectly that I feel like a delicate flower snugly nestled in its petals. (It doesn’t even come close to the simple dress I’d worn not too long ago, which now in comparison, likely made me look like a wannabe bride in a glamorous white potato sack.)
The photoshoot itself takes place in a small chapel on the strip. Even though I know it’s all for the camera and Carter’s aunt, I’m a little disappointed that there’s not an Elvis impersonator to “fake” marry us. I’d done my best to get one, but Carter had said no when I’d told him my idea. I should have seenit coming that he wouldn’t go for “such nonsense”—which I find hilarious given how funny our entire situation is.
The funniest part, though, is our photo session. It’s a bit awkward at first, posing for romantic photos with my boss. Once or twice, the thought of Rob crosses my mind and I imagine how our photos would have turned out, but to my surprise, amid all his grumpy, bossy behavior, I find myself preferring to be Carter’s fake bride than Rob’s real one.
At one point, Carter accidentally steps on my dress and rips it. I burst out laughing, and the photographer captures the moment perfectly. Carter says he doesn’t see the humor in it—however, Idosee his lips quirk a bit. And so will the camera.
That’s as close as I get to witnessing Carter smile.
I guess it’s the closest thing we have to a romantic moment too.
Normally, the kiss istheromantic moment. Not in our case.
When the man pretends to pronounce us husband and wife for the camera, Carter doesn’t kiss me on the lips. He doesn’t even give me a quick peck. He doesn’t kiss me at all. Not even on my cheek.
Jerk. He could have at least planted one on me.
I know this isn’t a real marriage, but still.
Kissing wouldn’t have been against my rule, but who knows, maybe Carter wants to be respectful and not breach our boss-assistant line. Maybe he’s worried that an intimate moment—like a kiss—would be too much. And he’s right. It would be. I don’t need the temptation after the heartbreak I went through.
Still, I can’t help but wonder how it would feel to be kissed by a man like Carter Bancroft.
At least once.
Come to think of it, seriously, does this man not know how to kiss? When we were together last Sunday, his mouth had been busy exploring all parts of my body, and I wasn’t about tocomplain. But in his rush to have me (because that’s what it was: ananimalistic, unstoppablesurge), he’d forgone kissing my mouth. To make things even more infuriating, he has the most gorgeous lips on the planet. I can’t stop staring at them when he’s not looking: they’re soft, inviting, kissable.
Somehow, it bugs me that I don’t know if he’s a good kisser or not. I’m in the dark about his hand-holding skills too. I mean, he doesn’t even hold my hand as we exit the chapel!
Double jerk.
I force myself to think of something else other than kissing or holding hands with my boss. My fake husband. My fake boss husband. Fake husband roommate. My bossy roommate.
Damn, no matter how many combinations I try, it feels weird.
I stare out the window at the dark night, my fingers idly playing with the two sparkling rings on my finger.
Well, I guess I still get to be a sort of wife after all.
Silver lining.
We’d both changed back into regular clothes before we’d boarded the plane.
Carter sits a few seats away, still on the phone with work. It gives me a glimpse into how demanding his job really is—being here right next to him instead of just sitting outside his office has opened my eyes to his efficiency and to why he wants certain things done the way he does. He’s under a tremendous amount of pressure. How does he even sleep at night? No wonder he hasn’t gotten married or doesn’t have a long-term girlfriend. He doesn’t seem like he has the time for either.
We’re about a half an hour shy of landing when he finally puts the phone away. He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes.