My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Violet sighs heavily. “I want you to remember that when you move on to the next exciting thing, she’s going to be left behind and I’m going to be the one supergluing the pieces of her heart back together with ice cream while we curse your entire lineage.”

The line goes quiet, and I hear Violet murmuring in Italian. It’s not spot-on, more Americanized, but I catch something about my daughter’s pigs never bearing . . . cabbage? The curse might be wrong, but the meaning is clear, as are her good intentions.

“Violet,” I interrupt her blasphemy before it gets any further, now that she’s moved on to my grandchildren’s feet smelling like cheese and attracting owls. Does she even speak Italian, I wonder? “I hear you loud and clear. I won’t hurt her.”

“I hope not. She’s more fragile than she seems. Remember that.” She sighs, changing the subject from my potential failure. “So, how bad is Emily? Please tell me she’s ugly and has a hunchback and smells like rotten cheese.”

Huh, maybe she did know what she was saying.

“She’s fine, I guess.” I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Blonde, tall, slim, married a guy named Doug. He’s okay, a bit of a ‘polo shirt at the golf club’ sort, if you know what I mean? The competitiveness is off the charts, though. Just when I think Abigail can leave it be and we can just enjoy the day, Emily will come along and sour it. And Abigail lets her, time and time again. I don’t understand it.”

This is something Abigail and I have touched on, but the nuances of female hierarchy are as foreign to me as they are to most men, I suspect. Though I didn’t want to talk to Violet, maybe this is the perfect opportunity to get some clarity on this because I sure as fuck haven’t a clue about Queen Bee hive dominance fights.

“Oh, God,” Violet says dramatically, “you have no idea. Back in school, Abi was clueless for the longest. We kinda stuck to ourselves, I guess. She had this heavy name and Ross’s reputation casting a big shadow, and she just wanted to do her own thing. But Emily would never let her. Abi let it go on too long, I guess, but when she decided to fight back, she did it right. You’ve heard the expression ‘the best revenge is a life well-lived’?”

“Yes,” I hum.

“That’s what Abi did. She didn’t attack Emily, though she could’ve. She didn’t kill her reputation, though she could’ve done that too. She ignored her, which ate Emily up inside. Abi simply did her own thing and excelled at it in every way. Emily couldn’t keep up and it pissed her off so much. That’s why, eventually, Emily went after Abi’s guy. He was just a pawn, though I don’t feel sorry for that asshole either. But I think Emily saw it as the ultimate win. Has she flirted with you at all?”

I flinch in shock. “No. Not at all. She seems devoted to her new husband. She and Doug have moments of happiness and a few arguments here and there, but that’s normal, right?” I realize that I have no idea. I’ve seen decades-long marriages in my family, and that’s how they behave, but a recently-wed, young, happy couple? That’s entirely out of my wheelhouse.

Violet laughs. “Yeah, totally normal.”

“But Emily hasn’t flirted with me.” The very idea is repulsive.

“Hmm, that’s good, I guess. Just watch her and look out for Abi. Emily has an end game. She always does.”

“Thanks, Violet. I will do that,” I reassure her.

“You’d better, or the threat of a curse remains.”

With that, she hangs up, leaving me with much to think about.Chapter 15LorenzoI considered something quiet and romantic for this evening, something for just the two of us, but after talking with Violet, keeping things more casual seems prudent so my actions don’t make promises I’m not yet prepared to uphold.

After scouring the resort’s options, this sunset cruise seems like the perfect activity.

A way for Abigail and me to have fun, play at being a couple, and touch and caress each other.

And maybe tease a little deeper, my heart begs. I want to see if there’s a chance this could be more.

Violet has made my heart and mind at odds with my past and my future. But I’m focusing on the present. Forcefully.

We only have this evening left. Tomorrow, we will be beyond busy with the rehearsal dinner, and Saturday, with the wedding. And then we fly out Sunday afternoon to go home.

And then what?

For the first time ever, the fact that I don’t know and have zero plans feels empty and meaningless, not exciting and full of possibility.

“Absolutely not.” Abigail sounds like there is no budging her, zero chance of changing her mind as she sits on the couch with her feet curled up underneath her.