My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Because as of now, we’re still sitting dead in the water.

“Okay, Boss. I think I’m going to grab some food—they opened the buffet back up. When I walked by earlier, it was all crappy chips and raisin granola bars, and I passed, but now I’m desperate enough that I’ll take even that to fill this void in my belly.” As if on cue, her stomach makes a loud growling noise and she pats it softly. “I know, I’m gonna feed you, little fella.” To me, she continues, “And then I’m going to curl up in whatever corner I can find for a catnap. You should do the same. We’re gonna be burning the candle at both ends and in the middle, so a few minutes of shut-eye might be our saving grace.”

Janey is probably right, but I can’t imagine sleeping right now. I’m too worried that I’ll get back late, not get the list done, and will ruin the rehearsal dinner. Meredith would love that, but I don’t want to fail Claire . . . or myself.

“You go ahead. I’ll find you if I think of anything else,” I tell Janey to send her on her way.

As soon as she’s gone, Lorenzo pulls me in for a hug. “Ah, mia rosa, it will be okay. Have faith.”

With my cheek pressed to his chest, I can hear the steady thud of his heartbeat. The relaxed metronome of it soothes me as my breath slows to match. “Thank you for your help. What about you?”

“Esmar was still in the kitchen finishing dinner service. He was able to reassign a couple of people to do what is needed. I feel fortunate that I have assistance in the kitchen right now, making progress while I am here, while you and Janey are both stuck in limbo.”

The announcer happens to be walking by and hears only the last bit of what Lorenzo says and jumps to a very wrong conclusion. “Limbo? Great idea, man! I gotcha, let me get the limbo stick and we’ll get down.” The dark-haired, heavyset man flashes a bright smile that says he’s quite happy to keep this party going as long as needed and holds up a hand for a high-five.

Lorenzo doesn’t have the heart to correct the man and he shuffle-steps away singing so off-key that I want to shove drink umbrellas in my ears, “Limbo, limbo, lim-BO!”

Or maybe those umbrellas would be better in the announcer’s mouth, I think.

I look to Lorenzo, fighting a smile that seems completely out of place, given the situation, to see that he’s doing the same. We’re definitely losing it.

Have you ever been so far gone into things so utterly awful that all you can do is laugh? Like it’s so bad that you can’t even produce tears? That’s absolutely where I am. Like the universe is saying ‘take that . . . and that . . . and how about a little of this . . .’ and I’m ducking and weaving the dodgeballs so they don’t pop my head like a watermelon.

“Oh, my God, we have to get out of here! I cannot limbo!” I cry out in laughing horror.

“Come on.” Lorenzo grabs my hand and leads me through the swarm of people on deck. We keep going until we find a quiet corner on a lower deck with a soft outdoor couch.

I collapse onto it breathlessly. “Hopefully, he won’t find us here. No more dancing. Not tonight, maybe never again.” I’m not serious, but if ever there were a time to making sweeping, melodramatic proclamations, the day your business potentially implodes seems like the right time to do so.

Lorenzo sits down next to me and then rearranges us so that I’m leaning back on his chest between his spread legs. “Relax,” he orders softly, and somehow, I do.

His fingers trace up the bare flesh of my arms, pulling goosebumps to the surface. His touch isn’t sexual this time, merely comforting as he makes his way to my shoulders. He massages them more firmly, prodding at the knots he finds until I groan in relief.

“What was home like for you?” I ask him. I need distraction from the shitstorm looming on the horizon, and learning more about Lorenzo, about what makes him the man he is, is the best possible one I can imagine.

“Home?” he repeats.

“Yeah, Posi . . .Pusi . . .Pussytano?” I’m butchering the name of his home town, but my brain cells aren’t firing on all cylinders because he’s moved up to massaging my scalp. I never knew that was a thing, or at least not a thing I’d enjoy like this. There’s one spot on the back of my skull that has me melting into a drooling, moaning puddle of relaxation.

Lorenzo’s laugh vibrates through my back and bounces me. “Positano,” he corrects. “It is home, I suppose. Where I grew up, at least, and where my family remains.” He’s quiet and contemplative for a moment, and I wonder if he’s back in Italy inside his mind. “The streets are cobblestone and the buildings are bright, rising up from the coast. Tourists come for the beaches, but much like anywhere, it’s simply home to me. Though I haven’t been back in too long.”