My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“It’s not like that, Vi,” I assure her. “I mean, he’s great . . . like, have you seen him?” I fan my face, both of us aware of Lorenzo’s hotness. “But he’s intense.”

“What, Abs? What’s that look on your face mean?” Violet pries, and I never could hold back from telling her anything.

“He said he’s ‘feeling’ things,” I admit, and Vi’s eyes widen to dinner plate size, “but I think what he’s feeling is horny. I don’t want to do something knowing he’ll get bored and ditch me soon. Hell, maybe even here, but at the latest when we get home. I need to just focus on work. This is too important.”

Violet chews at her lip, thinking. Finally, her words come haltingly. “So, you’re in paradise with a guy who wants to fudge you—wait, that sounds like a totally different thing and is not what I mean . . .”

“Fuck, Vi. You can say it. Carly’s asleep again.” I point to the curled-up baby in Vi’s arms, where I can see that her eyes are closed softly and her lips are pursed up like she’s kissing the air.

“Aw, that’s my girl,” she coos, brushing Carly’s hair on her forehead. To me, she continues, “Where was I? Oh, yeah . . . paradise, a hot guy who wants to fuck you, who you want to fuck, with a bit of sexy roleplaying about being newlyweds on a honeymoon giving you permission to do all sorts of crazy things, and then you can come back to your busy life a bit worse for wear in the best way.”

“When you say it like that,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. Feeling vulnerable, I confess, “I don’t want to get hurt, or mess up the wedding deal, or hell, I’ll admit it . . . I don’t want Emily to find out and have new ammo against me.”

“I can’t believe I’m telling you, of all people, this, but don’t be so serious, girl. Have some fun, live a little, and get laid.” She waves her hand like after those assignments, I should keep going with the crazy adventures.

“Really?” I ask, surprised by her advice.

“Well, and make sure you show Emily that you’re doing amazing. Rub her nose in it a bit. And then tell her that you’re on your honeymoon and not playing these competitive games of who’s more in love or having wilder sex or has the better life.”

“That’s exactly what’s happening! How’d you know that?”

“Because I figure Emily is still Emily. And a Queen Bee-wannabe doesn’t change her stripes.”

“You’re really good with this Lorenzo thing?” I ask again, wanting to be sure.

“Abs, you’re my best friend for a reason. He couldn’t do better than you. Also, that’s why Emily’s always been so jealous of you. She knows you’re better than her.” Violet sounds wise, but that’s ridiculous.

I’m just me—a weird, easily distracted daydreamer.

But I won’t argue with her, not when I can see that sleep is overtaking her the same way it’s finally taken Carly.

“Thanks, Vi. Get some sleep while Carly does. You need it.”

“You need a little something too,” she tells me with a sleepy smirk. “G’night.”

“Sleep tight,” I answer.

I set the phone down, returning a critical eye to the arrangement I’m working on. It’s taking shape and looking good, perfect for the bridal party luncheon.

Before I can even pick up a single rose, though, my phone goes apeshit, and I see that I’ve got a half-dozen texts coming in, one right after the other, from Courtney, who in no uncertain terms wonders what the hell I’m thinking, and am I certain that she and I are actually related?

“Damn you, Vi, I thought you’d keep it to yourself for at least a few minutes,” I whisper, tucking my phone away. I finish my arrangement and see that Janey’s already got the small supplement pieces ready for tomorrow.

I think we’re ready for the luncheon. The only question is . . . am I ready for a fling with Lorenzo?Chapter 10LorenzoMorning arrives too early, but I eagerly reach over to snuggle Abigail. She is reason enough to greet the day with a smile on my face.

But the bed is empty beside me.

I sit up, looking around the room. “Abigail?” She’s nowhere to be found. Instantly, I’m up and pulling on underwear. I slept in the nude, keenly excited for her to argue with me about it again, but it seems she did not come to bed.

In the outer room of the suite, I see her. She’s laid out on the couch, passed out with one leg on the floor and one stretched out, her arms askew. Her hair is a tangled mess, half in her face, and her mouth is dropped open as she breathes softly. Beautiful.

I should move her to our bed so she can get some real rest. Padding across the floor, I bend down to scoop her into my arms when I see movement out of the corner of my eye.