My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“Hey!”

“I’ll cook for you now.”

Uhm, well . . . okay, then. Anything Lorenzo makes is better than the pizzas I only get because they’re fast, cheap, and good for two nights.

“F-Y-I, I’m gonna hold you to that,” I promise. He smiles as though he hopes I do. “I can’t believe that train wreck of a week got us to here.” I gesture from me to him, and okay, to the fresh-cooked breakfast.

“It wasn’t a total train wreck. We had fun, ten of ten, would do again,” he jokes.

“Oh, God, you sound like Violet or Archie when you say that,” I lament, but then I admit, “You’re right, though. You met Esmar, and I told Emily off, which was a fair amount of closure until the whole country club kerfuffle.”

His questioning look tells me that Violet didn’t share that little tidbit with him, so I fill him in about Emily trying to ruin our family dinner and doing so rather loudly. “But now the whole club thinks we’re married too because Dad had to basically defend me by saying we were celebrating my good work and new marriage.”

Lorenzo smiles around a laugh. “So, the scheme continues?”

He doesn’t sound disappointed about that at all. Not one bit.

“And you know how Claire basically told Meredith she was second-choice at the wedding? Well, her whole wedding album online has both Meredith and the original planner tagged. I wish I’d been a fly on the wall when she saw that!” I laugh.

“Fly on the wall?” Lorenzo repeats, looking confused.

“Weird expression. Basically means I would’ve loved to see that,” I explain.

“That woman . . . she is . . .”

He seems to be searching for a word, so I help. “We’ve decided on ‘bitch’. Even my mom said so, and that’s basically a miracle.”

“Yeah, that bitch held you over my head when she couldn’t get me to do her bidding.”

“What?” I screech, slapping the counter with both palms.

I’m going to kill her. Kill her and have Archie give me an alibi.

Sigh. I’m not.

But I am going to skip watering Meredith the cactus. Maybe poke it with a few pins, voodoo-doll style too. I wonder if a pin hurts a cactus? You know, because they’re already full of stabby sticks? I should look that up.

Lorenzo nods as he stirs the eggs, oblivious to my new botany plans. “She has it out for you, more than just the wedding. She told me that she would refuse to work with you so her brides wouldn’t be able to use you as their florist. I don’t know what kind of power she might have in your town, in your crowd,” he warns.

“Not that kind of power, that’s for damn sure.”

I am furious. How dare she? I rocked that wedding, made Claire over-the-moon happy, and created some of my absolute best work. What is her deal? I mean, does she hate flowers on principle or just me?

“What are you gonna do?” Lorenzo asks as he sets a plate of perfectly fluffy eggs in front of me.

He doesn’t tell me to let it go, doesn’t suggest that maybe I’m overreacting, doesn’t even come up with some crazy scheme of his own. He just lets me be me.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out. I always do.” I take a bite of eggs and moan at the deliciousness. “Oh ma gawd, these are so good,” I say around the mouthful. After I swallow, and before the next bite that’s already poised on my fork, I ask, “Speaking of, what’s the deal with this job offer from Esmar? That’s what Meredith hung over my head about you.”

“That bitch! How did she even know about that?” Lorenzo says around his own monster bite of half-chewed eggs, not shy at all about the new label we’ve bestowed upon Meredith’s head.

Maybe I should rename that cactus? Bitch has a nice ring to it.

“He offered, but I couldn’t accept. I couldn’t leave you, even when you weren’t mine,” he confesses boldly.

“I was always yours,” I tell him.

“And I yours, mia rosa.”

We lock eyes, no words needed before we shovel the rest of our eggs down our throats at eating-contest pace and run back to the bedroom.Chapter 26LorenzoWe roar down the tree-lined street. I can feel the eyes peeking out of the windows as we pass by each house, the inhabitants wondering who dares to disturb their peaceful, gate-controlled community.

Abigail points right, and I follow her directions, praying that our destination is what she promises it is. Not that I think she’d mislead me, but we grew up in very different worlds and this will be my first true step into hers.

I’m nervous.

Fine, I’m fucking mental about it. I’m not the sort of guy girls ever took home to their fathers. And later, when women would suggest it, I’d run for the nearest exit before their misconceptions could go any further astray. But this time? When Morgan Andrews invites you to dinner, you do not say no. You go.