The Fiancée Farce

by Alexandria Bellefleur

Whatever magic Tansy was made of, Gemma wanted to drown in it, revel in the honeyed heat burning her up from the inside out.

Dating gives me anxiety. Or I guess it makes the anxiety I already have worse. Or the anxiety I already have makes the dating worse? Point being, I know dating is, in theory, supposed to be fun. And it’s not. Add in the fact that I don’t trust very many people . . .”

So you want us to have a wedding wedding? With a cake and . . . I don’t know, cake?”

Weakness wasn’t tolerated,

knowing was different than feeling.

“I take care of what’s mine, okay?” Gemma’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And you are mine, aren’t you?”

Everyone she’d ever dated, everyone she’d ever loved—family included—had never loved her; they’d loved some idea of her.

The truth is like a lion. You don’t have to defend it. Let it loose. It will defend itself.