The Unhoneymooners
“Enjoyed things?”
Ethan laughs incredulously, and it occurs to me that I could stand to up my sweet-talking game a bit. “How was the massage?” he asks.
“Great.” I search for more words that aren’t panicky and groveling. “Super relaxing.”
He glances at me again. “This is what relaxed looks like on you? Wow.” When I don’t say anything else, he asks, “What’s with you? You’re being weirder than usual.”
“I’ve never seen you in shorts before,” I admit. His legs, specifically the muscles on them, are a rather interesting development. Quickly, I work to remove the hint of appreciation in my voice. “Awkward.”
“I mean, it’s not like putting a tray of cleavage on display,” he says, waving a casual hand, “but I’m told shorts are still island appropriate.”
I’m pretty sure that’s another dig on my bridesmaid dress, but I honestly cannot be bothered to chase this one down. “So, funny thing,” I say, pulling up a chair beside him and taking a seat. “You know how, at the airport, I was offered the job at Hamilton?”
He nods, already bored.
“Well, guess who’s here?” I attempt enthusiasm by way of forced jazz hands. “Mr. Hamilton himself!”
Ethan’s head whips my way. And I absolutely get the fear in his eyes: our ability to be completely anonymous has just been hosed. “Here here? At the resort?”
“I ran into him in the spa.” And I add unnecessarily, “In a robe. He hugged me. It was weird. Anyway, sooooo, he invited us to dinner tonight. With his wife.”
He laughs once. “Pass.”
I curl my fingers into fists so I don’t reach over and slap him. But a punch might leave a mark, so I flatten my hands again and sit on them. “The massage therapist called me Mrs. Thomas. In front of Mr. Hamilton.” I pause a beat to see if he gets it. When he doesn’t react, I add, “Do you get what I’m telling you? My new boss thinks I got married.”
Very slowly, Ethan blinks, and then blinks again. “You could have told him we’re just pretending.”
“In front of the staff? No way. Plus, he’s all about integrity and trust! In the moment, it felt like continuing the lie was the better option, but now we’re totally screwed because he thinks I got married.”
“He thinks that because you literally told him you got married.”
“Shut up, Eric, let me think.” I lean in, chewing a fingernail, musing. “It could be okay, right? I mean, for all he knows, it’ll turn out that you’re abusive and I get a quick annulment after this trip. He’ll never know I was being dishonest.” I sit up, hit with an idea. “Ooh! I could tell him you died!”
Ethan just stares at me.
“We went snorkeling,” I say, frowning now. “Sadly, you never came back to the boat.”
He blinks.
“What?” I ask. “It’s not like you’re ever going to see him again after tonight. You don’t need him to like you. Or, you know, know you continue to exist.”
“You seem pretty sure I’m coming to dinner.”
I put on my sweetest expression. I cross my legs and then uncross them. I lean forward, bat my lashes and smile. “Please, Ethan? I know this is a huge ask.”
He leans away. “Do you have something in your eye?”
My shoulders sink, and I groan. I can’t believe I’m going to say this. “I’ll give up the bedroom if you come tonight and play the part.”
He chews his lip, thinking. “So we have to pretend to be married? Like, touching and . . . warm?”
Ethan spits out the word warm like most people would say dismemberment.
“It would mean everything to me.” I think I’ve got him. I scoot my chair just a little closer. “I promise I’ll be the best fake wife you ever had.”
He lifts his drink and finishes it. I definitely do not notice how long and defined his throat looks as he swallows. “Fine. I’ll go.”
I nearly melt in relief. “Thank you so much, oh my God.”