“Sure,” he says. “Why do you need this?”
I explain about the turtles as they lead me to the walk-in fridge. I grab a bunch of greens and try to answer their questions about why there are turtles, but God knows I don’t entirely understand the situation either.
On the way out, I walk past Eli. He’s wearing an apron that’s covered in splatters, holding a thermometer, and focusing on a pot on something.
We nod at each other, and then I’m out of there with my lettuce.* * *And then, the most surprising thing of all happens: the princess’s wedding goes perfectly. The only problem is the lack of dove release — unsurprisingly, we couldn’t find replacement birds in time — but I don’t think anyone notices, and Her Highness sure doesn’t seem to care.
The ceremony is beautiful. The day is gorgeous. The food is great. I got the seating chart right, and if I didn’t, there’s so much imported vodka that no one notices. There are toasts and dancing and more drinks and more dancing, and as far as I can tell, everyone’s having a great time.
The couple is glowing. She’s radiant with happiness. Her new husband can’t take his eyes off her, and every time I look over at them, they’re leaning together like they’re sharing some secret, laughing with each other.
Weddings like these more than make up for the terrible ones.
I’m standing in the corner, about to go find Eli and leave, when I suddenly see the princess making a beeline for me.
I straighten up. It seems like I should stand straight for royalty.
“Violet?” she asks.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my default state.
She laughs, her hand on my arm.
“Vhat? Nahssing eez wrong,” she says, her accent made heavier with vodka. “Zees is beautiful. Eet’s perfect. Zee best day of my life, and I vanted to sank you for making eet happen.”
Then she takes my shoulders, leans in, and gives me a kiss on each cheek.
“Vonderful,” she says, flushing pink.
Then she winks.
“And I vill be sure to tell your boss,” she says, and gets back to her party.
I decide that’s my cue to leave, because nothing better is going to happen.* * *“Then she kissed me,” I say.
“Should I be jealous?” Eli asks.
I’m facedown on my bed, the sheet wound around my feet. He’s on his back. We’re both naked, sweaty, satiated.
Would you be? I think.
“It was very platonic,” I say. “Hardly any tongue at all.”
“What are you gonna do with the money?” he asks. Just the question makes my nerves prickle.
“Don’t jinx it,” I tell him. “There’s two more days. Anyone could win.”
“Come on.”
“Are you somehow going to use this conversation against me?” I tease. “Are you wearing a wire, and now you’re going to bait me into saying I’ve embezzled thousands of dollars from Bramblebush or something?”
Eli just laughs.
“Am I that bad?” he asks.
“You told people I liked to smell my own farts,” I say.
He laughs harder.
“That was pretty good,” he admits.
“Kids called me the fart sniffer for months.”
“Then it was effective.”
I grab my pillow and smack him with it.
“Ow,” he says, his voice muffled.
I push my pillow further under my chest, punching it in to make it puffier.
“I’d use it as the down payment for the cabin by the lake,” I say. “You know that. I’d move out of this place. I’m sick of being trailer trash.”
I sigh, stretching.
“The roof would never leak,” I say. “I’d have a bathtub. The AC would work properly in the summer and the heat would work properly in the winter. My next door neighbors would be a quiet retired couple whose interests include five hundred piece puzzles and gardening.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he looks over at me, his face suddenly earnest, unguarded.
“Let’s go somewhere,” he says. “To celebrate. A weekend away.”
“Didn’t I just tell you not to jinx it?”
“Come on,” he says. “We’ll rent some charming cabin with a good view and a hot tub in some mountain town where no one knows us.”
I hear the subtext, loud and clear. I play it back, make sure I got it right. I examine it for pitfalls.
“Just the two of us for a weekend,” he says. “Come on.”
My heart sputters, kicks, restarts, hammers away.
“Where?”
“Anywhere,” he says. “Please?”
I hold my breath for a moment, nervous despite everything, nervous even though I know I shouldn’t be.
“I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you last weekend,” I say, getting the words out before I can stop myself.
His eyebrows hitch upward.
“You kissed me plenty,” he says.
“In front of everyone, I mean,” I say.
My chest feels like balloon about to burst, just waiting for him to say oh, I was only kidding about that or I was just drunk or another of a hundred phrases that would pop me like a needle.
“I wish I had,” I whisper.
Eli takes my hand in his, winding our fingers together.