My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“I think I’m good,” I say dryly.

Emily, who’s likely missing the attention of the last five-point-three seconds, jumps in. “We’re on our honeymoon,” she informs me, as if the entire lobby didn’t hear her say that mere moments ago. She slips her arm through Doug’s, smoothly arranging hers to show off a ginormous diamond ring. I guess Doug does okay at his investing if he can lay out for that kind of rock.

“Congratulations.” I flash a fake smile.

Not getting enough of a reaction, Emily resorts to wagging her hand in front of my face, nearly scratching me with the prongs holding the diamond in place. “Doug proposed with a Tiffany princess cut, just over three carats. And then he gave me the eternity band with our vows.”

“Pretty,” I say, giving her what she wants but also not at the same time.

She looks down at her ring, frowning, and then to my empty hand. Feigning horror, she gasps, “Oh, Abi! I’m so sorry. I forgot that both your older brother and your younger sister got married. Can’t believe I forgot all that scandal, you know? But you never did get married, did you?”

Anger bubbles up—check that, pure murderous rage bubbles up inside me. I hate to admit it, but Emily’s whole act gets under my skin. Even after all these years, I’m sore from her constant fakeness. And we’re not even a few minutes from seeing each other for the first time in years and she’s already trying to pick at scabs.

When I don’t answer right away, Emily continues with a frown on her face as if she’s so, so sad for me. “I mean, I know you’re probably so lonely. I shouldn’t have flashed my ring in your face like that. Please accept my apology.”

Oh, my God, the nerve of this girl!

“I . . .” I began, not knowing where to go with this. I could tell her to fuck off, but I don’t want her to let her know her bullshit bothers me.

I’m still trying to figure out how I should respond when I hear another familiar voice. This deeply accented one hits me very differently, though, especially when it’s from right behind me. “There you are, mia rosa. I thought I’d lost you.”

What the actual fuck?

I gawk as I look up to see the flashing white smile of Lorenzo, who’s dressed in white slacks and a tropical shirt that’s unbuttoned, putting his tanned olive skin on display.

My tongue feels thick in my mouth as I count down his abs. I always hear about six-packs, but unless I’ve forgotten how to count, which is entirely possible right now, Lorenzo is sporting an eight-pack. And the cutest belly button I’ve ever seen. I’d like to lick it on my way down to somewhere even better.

I blink, lost in my daydreams, and Lorenzo smiles as he leans into me, comfortably swinging an arm around my shoulder. “Abigail? What filthy thoughts are running through that brilliant mind of yours? I can see each and every one written in the heat of your eyes.”

What?

He’s being so nice, flirty to the nth degree as he looks deeply into my eyes, begging for something. But what?

I haven’t seen him since he left me at the wedding, having decisively avoided him. The only way that’s been possible is that Violet has been so busy with Carly that she hasn’t had one of her dinner parties, but it’s worked in my favor.

I have no clue why he’s here. Or how the hell he is here.

But he is. And he is saving me from Emily. Somehow, some way, he’s right here to step in when she cuts me down and makes it seem like I’m failing at life. It might not mean that much to him, but it does to me. I didn’t have a rescuer back in high school. Violet and I preferred to handle things ourselves, and really, Emily wasn’t that bad. Just annoying enough, and with an impressive skill to filet me and leave me with self-doubts that rear up when the shit hits the fan. It was more of a death of a thousand cuts than a single slice with her.

Why I’m thinking about that now, I don’t know, but it appears that my brain is spinning like a turbo wheel with ideas, thinking them up and discarding them with frightening precision.

Suddenly, a thought hits my brain with the power of a lightning bolt, an idea so incredibly outrageous and crazy that I almost dismiss it outright.

No. Don’t you do it! I scream to myself.

But looking at Emily as she stares at me with pity, the urge is overpowering to wipe that smirk off her face.

I try my best, but I can’t seem to stop the words that come rushing out of my mouth.

“Emily, meet my husband, Lorenzo.”