Mix 'N Match (No Match for Love) (28 page)

Mitch brushed invisible lint off his tuxedo, then looked at himself in the mirror. After talking to Juliette and Luke’s head of security last night, they’d managed to secure one of the small alcoves in the gardens at Versailles for the ceremony.

Mitch glanced around the visitor’s restroom that had been closed off for his and Zoey’s use tonight. At first he’d balked at the idea of changing for a wedding in a restroom—Zoey deserved better than that, even if this wedding was all for show—but Juliette had assured him that the accommodations would be more than adequate, and she’d been right. An ornate gold full-length mirror stood in one corner, with a crushed red velvet chair next to it. A bench along one wall with a hook to the side was perfect for hanging his garment bag. His everyday shoes, tracker still attached, were neatly lined up beside the chair.

He hoped Zoey’s accommodations were at least as nice. Was her stomach dropping like she’d just plummeted off a roller coaster the way his was?

Mitch artfully pinned a white rose boutonniere to his lapel, then tugged at the gray silk vest. He gave his shoulder one last flick, then took a deep breath.

“This isn’t real,” he said aloud, needing the reminder.

But he wanted it to be. He certainly felt like an eager groom. When had he stopped counting all of his and Zoey’s differences as roadblocks and started seeing them as strengths?

Mitch’s phone buzzed, and he flipped it open to see a text from Bryant, one of Luke’s security team.

Pap located. Hiding in bushes near garden. I’m in position nearby.

Mitch shut off the phone, his hand trembling. This was good. They needed Alan to watch.

A Versailles security guard waited for Mitch right outside the bathroom, and Mitch followed him down a gravel path. The garden at the end was closed to tourists, but Mitch knew both Bryant and Alan were nearby, even if he couldn’t see them. Gravel crunched underneath his polished shoes, making his nerves jump with each step.

Was Zoey as nervous as he was? Did she want this to be real?

The garden loomed ahead, its own private sanctuary enclosed by thick rosebushes. An archway covered in roses marked the entrance. Mitch’s palms started to sweat. There it was—the place he’d promise to love Zoey forever. But she would think it was all for show.

He stepped through the archway, and the calls of excited tourists faded away. Happiness warred with fear inside him.

Perfect.

A small fountain gurgled in the center of the alcove, and the fragrant scent of roses wafted on the breeze. Another archway stood at the back of the garden, but this one had rosebushes behind it. A man and woman stood underneath the archway, both smiling warmly. The man was tall and thin, with a full head of graying hair and a Bible clasped in one hand. The woman beside him was short and squat, almost grandmotherly, and wore a floral print dress. This had to be the officiant and his wife, the official government witness. Mitch had considering himself lucky to find both of them.

Snap.
Mitch looked around, and realized the photographer had arrived as well.

None of them had any idea this wedding was for show. Mitch was having a hard time believing it himself.

Play the part,
he reminded himself. Alan was watching.

Mitch strode toward the officiant and offered his hand. “Mitchell Harris,” he said.

“Reverend Maxwell,” he said with a wonderfully familiar accent. He motioned to the woman in the floral dress. “This is my wife, Victoire.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Mitch shook her hand as well, then turned his focus back to Reverend Maxwell. “You’re American.”

Victoire laughed. “He was born and raised in Nebraska, but I couldn’t stand to live so far away from my family.”

“We’ve lived here nearly forty years,” Reverend Maxwell said. “Never have managed to lose my accent, though.”

“I’m doubly happy to have you here, then,” Mitch said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Reverend Maxwell’s eyes sparkled, and he put an arm around his wife. “We couldn’t say no to you. Victoire and I eloped as well.”

“We’re so grateful.” Mitch walked over to the photographer, greeting her as well. Then he took his place beside Reverend Maxwell.

Any moment, and Zoey would be here. He suddenly found it hard to swallow. The gurgling fountain grew louder, as though it sensed the importance of this moment. The melodic sound of falling water was the perfect musical backdrop.

Mitch kept his eyes focused on the archway entry to the garden, waiting for a sign of Zoey. The sun was just setting, casting the gardens in golden light.

This wedding was absolutely perfect for him and Zoey. Eloping was just the sort of spontaneous thing Zoey loved, and this natural and elegant setting was so her. Mitch had no desire to go into debt for a huge wedding and reception, so eloping suited him, too.

How would she react if he told her he wanted it to be real?

All Mitch needed to have a perfect wedding was the perfect girl. Someone who was flawed but tried her hardest every day. Someone who pushed him to be a better man.

All he needed was Zoey.

The sun had just fallen behind the trees when Zoey appeared at the entrance to the garden. Mitch’s jaw unhinged, and he struggled to catch his breath. She wore a short wedding dress that barely brushed her knees, with a black, red, and white polka dot flower at the waist. A chin-length veil covered her face, and she held a simple bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in her hands. She gave him a shy smile, and he thought his heart would explode.

Breathtaking didn’t begin to cover it.

A lump lodged in his throat, and he ached to run and kiss her breathless. Her eyes reached across the small garden and grabbed him by the throat.

She took one slow, deliberate step, and entered the garden. He couldn’t believe this beautiful woman was walking toward him.

She made the trek down the gravel path look effortless, despite the red heels that made her legs go on for miles. Mitch forgot all about why they were here. He stopped worrying about whether Alan hid in the bushes, and whether they’d be able to fool him with this false ceremony.

All that mattered was Zoey. It wasn’t just her physical beauty, although that certainly didn’t hurt. It was everything about her. The way she dived into life headfirst. Her tireless efforts to help her best friend. The way she could make him laugh. The way she didn’t blame him for his shortcomings. He liked the person he was around Zoey.

She stopped right beside him, her eyes glistening. Was she about to cry, and were they happy tears or sad? Her smile widened when she caught him staring. Definitely happy tears.

I want her. Always and forever. I’m ready for this to be real.

“Welcome,” the reverend said, giving Zoey and Mitch both a warm smile. “You make a stunning bride, Zoey.”

Her cheeks pinked, and she gave him a shy smile. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. All of you.” She shifted her bouquet into one hand and reached for Mitch’s with the other, then gave it a squeeze. “We couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Well then. Shall we begin?” Reverend Maxwell said.

Mitch nodded, his mouth drier than the desert.

“We’re gathered here today to join Mitchell Harris and Zoey Carlson together in matrimony,” Reverend Maxwell said. He opened the Bible and read, but Mitch was too lost in Zoey’s gaze to pay attention. He tightened his grip on her hand, never wanting to let go.

“Do you have vows you’d like to exchange?” the reverend asked.

Vows. Mitch’s stomach dropped to his toes. How could he have forgotten such an integral part of making this ceremony believable? His palm turned damp in Zoey’s hand. Should they say they didn’t have any? What would Alan think?

“I do,” Zoey said quietly.

Surprise coursed through him. Was she making this up on the fly, or had she thought it out?

The reverend nodded, and Zoey met Mitch’s eyes. “Sometimes you drive me insane. Sometimes I want to wrap my hands around your neck and throttle you.”

Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected. The reverend chuckled, and Victoire laughed, and Mitch raised an eyebrow at Zoey.

“You question everything I do, and we pretty much have nothing in common,” Zoey continued.

Mitch swallowed hard, his mirth disappearing. Is that really how she saw their relationship?

Zoey blinked quickly, and when she spoke again, her voice was thick. “But you also make me want to be a better person. I don’t feel whole when we’re apart. Sometimes, my feelings for you scare me. I don’t know what to do with them, and it freaks me out that they’re so strong. But it’s a good kind of scared. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who doesn’t make consistency seem unbearably dreary. Because I would do the exact same thing every day for the rest of my life if I could do it with you.” She swallowed hard, then laughed. “Now it’s your turn.”

Mitch’s mind whirled. Was she saying this for the benefit of Alan—who probably couldn’t hear their words over the gurgle of the fountain—or did she really mean them?

He was scared too. Scared she would reject him. Scared she couldn’t overcome her fears and commit.

But he was more scared of doing nothing.

“You’re the only person who’s made me want to take a risk,” he said. “You make me want to try new things. No one has ever scared me as much as you do, Zoey. No one has ever tested my limits or forced me out of my comfort zone as much. But you’re worth the scary, and I will spend every day of my life fighting for the right to go through life with you.”

Reverend Maxwell wiped under his eye. “That was beautiful,” he said. Then he laughed. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Zoey stared at Mitch, her wide eyes filled with uncertainty. But Mitch didn’t hesitate. He tugged on Zoey’s hand, urging her forward.

Her body molded into his, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, the bouquet still in one hand. Mitch lowered his head, his lips covering hers with the lightest touch. She pressed herself closer, her lips parted. A hand slid up his back, cupping his neck.

And he was undone. He deepened the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest. He kissed her over and over again, heedless of the minister and Victoire looking on, not caring that the photographer they hired was busily clicking away on her camera. His lips devoured Zoey’s as she clung to him.

He was never letting her go.

Zoey pulled away, staring at Mitch. What had just happened? She shook her head, trying to clear it.

This was for Alan’s benefit. It wasn’t real.

Was it?

“That was quite the kiss,” the minister said with a chuckle, and Victoire playfully slapped his arm.

Zoey blushed, avoiding Mitch’s gaze. “Sorry,” she said.

The minister shut the Bible, tucking it under one arm. “Don’t apologize. I can tell you two love each other very much, and we’re honored to be a part of your wedding.”

Victoire handed them the marriage certificate. “Signed and witnessed,” she said. “Make sure you sign it yourselves and file it with the courthouse within seventy-two hours so it can be recorded.”

Zoey stared at the paper, her heart hammering in her chest. The line between pretend and real was so, so thin.

Mitch took the certificate, carefully placing it in a binder propped against the archway. “Thank you,” he said.

Reverend Maxwell held out a hand, shaking first hers, then Mitch’s. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

A lifetime of happiness. Right now, Zoey felt like all she had was a pocket full of lies she desperately wanted to be real.

The minister took his wife’s hand, and they walked away, disappearing around the rosebush wall of the garden.

The photographer motioned to the sky. “We should hurry so we don’t lose the light.”

Right. Photos to memorialize the wedding that was all for show. Zoey felt like she was in some all-too-real version of a child’s playacting.

While Mitch and Zoey posed for photos, the caterers arrived and set up a small candlelit table in a corner of the garden—all part of the charade to fool Alan.