Dr. Fake It - A Possessive Doctor Romance

“We got married!” he said, laughed, and kissed his wife again.

She beamed at us, clearly drunk, and let the guy lead her away.

“True love,” Gavin said, sounding wistful.

I gave him a look and followed him inside. The interior wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d thought—a simple waiting room with several chairs scattered around and a bored woman behind the desk. Gavin checked us in as I sat down, nervously playing with the skirt of my dress.

He came over and sat next to me. “They’re setting up for us,” he said. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t need to be nervous, right? Since this isn’t real.”

“True, but it’s still a wedding.” He leaned toward me. “We’re going to have to kiss, you know.”

I glared at him. “I never agreed to that.”

“We need pictures,” he said. “That’s the whole thing, right? We need this to be as real as possible. It’d be weird if we didn’t kiss.”

I hesitated but grunted. “Fine, okay? We’ll kiss.”

“You’re going to love it.”

I glared at him again then stared down at my shoes and wondered if he was right.

They didn’t keep us waiting long. I had the feeling they turned these weddings around pretty fast. The officiant was a thin older man in a brown suit with a calming, easy manner. We moved to our spots and stood facing each other as a photographer moved around us, snapping photos.

I didn’t hear a word of the ceremony. It was all a blur to me as the man droned on and on. I stared at Gavin, trying to come to grips with what we were doing—getting married, for real, a real wedding, an official marriage, even if it was happening in Vegas, even if we both agreed it was just for show—and it was difficult to come to grips with.

Eventually though, the officiant looked at me expectantly. I panicked, looked at Gavin. “Vows,” he said.

“Oh, right.” I laughed nervously, then repeated after the officiant, word for word, ending with, “Until death do us part.”

Gavin went through the same thing, and seemed to enjoy himself.

“By the power vested in me by the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

My heart leapt into my throat. It was the moment I’d been waiting for, the one I’d been dreading and looking forward to, and I wasn’t sure I was ready, wasn’t sure I could do it—but it didn’t matter what I thought. He pressed his hand against my lower back and ran his other up along my chin, into my hair, and pressed his lips to mine.

Fireworks blew up in my mind. His tongue was gentle against mine, but not aggressive, not invasive—his taste was like honey and smoke, his lips firm and soft at the same time. He commanded me, showed me exactly how to kiss him, how to please him, and for that short moment, maybe five seconds in all, I thought maybe I’d made a horrible mistake.

He pulled back and the “Wedding March” played. His smile sent shivers along my spine as he led me down the aisle holding my hand. The photographer went nuts, snapping shots from all angles, until we reached the lobby again—and it was over.

I looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “We’re done?”

He nodded and squeezed my hand. “All done, wife.”

“Congratulations,” the woman behind the desk said. “And how will you be paying today?”

Gavin took care of the logistics while I waited out in the car. I wasn’t sure how I felt, and I kept looking at the ring on my finger and the gold band next to it, and wondered when that had been added—sometime during the ceremony, probably—and I kept wondering how this had happened.

He climbed into the car a few minutes later and put his hand on my leg as the driver headed back toward the hotel.

“What should we do now?” he asked. “It’s our wedding night, maybe we should celebrate.”

“I’m pretty tired,” I said, “and we have a long flight home in the morning.”

“True. I have to work a late shift tomorrow.” He sighed and I pushed his hand away. “I guess we can order room service and go to bed early.”

“Sounds good to me.” I stared out the window, trying to process. We got back to the hotel and didn’t talk much on the way back up. I caught him stealing glances at me and I couldn’t read his expression, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know—I was afraid I’d like the look in his eye.

Up in the room, I took a shower and he ordered food. I put on a pair of sweats and a big sweatshirt, suddenly wanting to look as dumpy as I could, and stared at the ring on my finger for a few moments before I decided to leave it on. I’d better get used to it, and wearing it was the best way to do that.