My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

The insult is supposed to be sharp, but the truth is, I wasn’t all that good in school. Oh, my grades were excellent, but Vi and I got up to some shit. We were just quiet about it. No need for people who shouldn’t know what we were doing to know, you know?

“Ooh, now there’s a fun idea,” Lorenzo says, taking charge and looking me over. “You know, mia rosa, I went to Catholic school. A girl’s uniform with knee socks and ponytails . . . sounds fun.”

The way he describes the fantasy role-playing sends a little thrill down my spine, and I can’t help but blush a little when he pulls a handful of my hair into a makeshift pigtail on one side. “Honey, you and those powerful appetites of yours. You’re insatiable.”

Lorenzo gives me a smoldering look, again blurring the lines between reality and fantasy, it seems. “When it comes to you, mia rosa, too much is never enough.”

The air burns between us, and my throat goes dry as Lorenzo puts a hand on my knee. Electricity runs up my thigh from where he touches, and my core starts purring again.

“Damn, Doug, why don’t you . . .” Emily starts before catching herself. She snuggles in to Doug, moaning as though she’s the good kind of sore. “Give me a few minutes’ warning before you come after me that hard again, okay? You know, so I can hydrate and stretch out before you bend me up like a pretzel.”

Doug’s confused look tells me all I need to know about that part of their relationship, but Emily is saved from trying to cover for their obvious correction by the waitress coming over.

“If I may order a bottle for the table?” Lorenzo asks politely.

Doug holds out his hands wide and jokes, “As long as you’re paying for it.”

Emily grits her teeth.

Lorenzo has a quick conversation with the waitress and then turns back to me. “I selected a rose champagne, something light and bubbly to celebrate our recent vows, mia rosa.”

“Perfect,” I agree.

Doug interjects, “So, Lorenzo, why do you call Abi mia rosa? I mean, she’s the one into flowers, right?”

“Rosa also means pink. And Abi’s skin is the most beautiful, delicious shade of pink.” Lorenzo looks deep into my eyes and suddenly squeezes my thigh, hard. I gasp and jump in surprise, and he lifts a brow, that sexy smirk returning to his face.

“Pink?” Emily asks, confused. “I always thought her face was, I don’t know, a little pale.”

“I wasn’t talking about her face,” Lorenzo says, his meaning hanging in the air until Emily’s eyes go wide as she gets it.

“Oh . . . ohh,” Doug adds, actually amused. “I guess, well, makes sense then, doesn’t it?”

Damn, Lorenzo’s good at this. At driving me crazy and rubbing Emily’s nose in this mythical, magical marriage.

I jump in, worried we might be taking this too far. The last thing I need is Emily running home and telling the country club debutantes that I’m into whips and chains. Despite every woman from coast to coast singing along with Rihanna that they excite them, the truth is, our sweater-set types would judge me harshly at the reality of that.

“Tell me how you two met,” I say to Emily, giving her the floor. I know she likes to be center-stage, the object of attention, so it’s an easy maneuver.

“Oh, it was the sweetest thing ever,” Emily says romantically, looking at Doug with stars in her eyes. “We were at school—Stanford, you know—and we were both part of the same groups. Sorority, fraternity, Young Politicians, Entrepreneur Club, things like that.”

The only thing Emily Jones would be doing at a political or entrepreneur club meeting is looking for her M-R-S Degree. Seems like she found it too.

“We just hit it off,” Doug adds. “It took me a while to be ready for such a big step, especially with a girl as amazing as Emily. I wanted to be sure I was worth her,” he says, absently touching her engagement ring which is more telling than his words, “and when we said ‘I do’, it was the happiest day of my life.” He smiles at Emily sweetly but then ruins the whole moment by turning to Lorenzo and bro-joking, “Until I make CEO. You know how it is.” His chuckle falls flat, no one else laughing along with him.

Doug clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, how about you two?”

Lorenzo smiles, letting me tell the story.

“We met at a wedding, of all places,” I start.

Emily quickly interrupts, asking Lorenzo, “Were you the caterer?”

It’s a small dig, and Lorenzo lets it roll off his back without so much as a flinch. “No, I was a guest of my cousin, Violet.”

I can see Emily’s mind putting pieces together, so I intercept her foregone conclusions. “You see, Lorenzo had just moved to the area when Courtney and Kaede were getting married. Violet invited him to introduce him to our group, and when we started talking, it was just right.” I sigh happily, staring into Lorenzo’s eyes, and he picks up the story.