Fake Marriage Box Set

My father and I groaned. Every time Alice had that expression on her face, we had ended up trying some authentic hole-in-the-wall where we didn't speak the language and the food set our senses on fire.

"Oh, come on, where's your sense of adventure?" she asked.

My mother was impossible to resist, but we complained the whole way there.

"If I'd have known, I would have eaten at home," I said.

My father held up his hand and whispered, "I would have stuffed some crackers in my suit pocket."

"And antacids," I added.

"Enough," Alice said with a laugh. "We're here."

Both Xavier and I were shocked when we stepped out of the car. My mother, the wild bohemian, had chosen an old-fashioned supper club.

The sign still buzzed with red neon, though the exterior was completely new and very swanky. A gold-colored awning sheltered a red carpet up the steps to heavy oak doors. Inside, the restaurant glowed with candles in jars on each table. The wood-paneled walls offered the only other light from sconces. The curved booths were covered with red leather, and the floor was a wild swirl of old-fashioned paisley.

"This is great," Xavier breathed. "I bet they even have rare steaks here. Actual rare steaks."

I hung back as my parents followed our white-jacketed waiter to a booth. All I could think was Corsica should be there. She would have delighted in the way my parents walked with arms wrapped around each other, but more than that, she would have loved the stage.

There was a small, raised dais of a stage with a grand piano and a row of gilded stalls for a full jazz band. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the single, vintage microphone sparkling under the spotlight. It was like a beacon showing me the first time I saw Corsica sing.

That very moment when I fell in love with her.

"Penn? Are you coming?" my mother asked.

"In a minute," I said, turning back to the front door. "I have to make a phone call."

"If it's work, it can wait," my father advised.

"Nonsense," Alice said. "Whatever it is can wait until we've ordered at the very least."

I had no choice but to slide into the booth and listen to a novel length's explanation of the daily specials. When my father asked about the steaks, the waiter launched into a whole other spiel, and I thought I might lose my mind.

"I really need to make a phone call," I said through gritted teeth.

My mother patted my hand. "I know, dear. If you're in such a hurry, you can order first."

"Ladies first," Xavier said. Then, after my mother ordered, he took forever to decide on what sides to have and what dressing would go best with his salad.

"I'll have whatever that first special was. Just the standard sides. No dressing," I snapped when the waiter turned to me.

His eyes widened slightly but he bowed. "Very good, sir. Enjoy the show. Your food will be out shortly."

I stood up from the booth so fast that the silverware jangled. "I just have to make a quick call," I lied. If I got Corsica on the phone and she didn't hang up with me, I knew the conversation could very well take all night. In fact, it would probably go better if it was face to face.

I was about to make my excuses and call for my car when the house lights dimmed and the stage lit up. A band shuffled on, looking relaxed and ready for a good show. My mother tugged me back into the booth. It was a good thing, too, because my legs turned to jelly.

After the musicians took their places, Corsica appeared on stage. She floated along looking like some figment of my desires in a perfect black dress and patent-leather pumps. Her hair was loose and spilled over her shoulders, glowing in the soft light of the spotlight. She looked at home, happy, and in her element.

The music swelled, and I stopped breathing. Stars burst along the corners of my eyesight before I could manage a shaky breath. Corsica opened her smiling mouth and sang the first verse of the song that had haunted me all through my trek across the desert.

I blinked and stopped breathing, and then gasped for air. Corsica was either a mirage come to life or I had somehow gotten my wish. I wanted to talk to her face to face, and there she was.

I stood up, though my mother tried to stop me. The gravitational pull of Corsica in that spotlight was too strong. I had to be near her. I had to know she was real. I walked through the tables scattered around the small stage until I was standing directly in front of her.

She saw me and kept singing, each note drumming all of my doubts away.