The Marriage Dare

“Italian,” she answers without any hesitation.

“How do you feel about pizza?”

“Pizza sounds fucking brilliant,” she says.

There are fewer reporters outside than when we entered the store. It makes sense. They don’t need a conclusion to print a story about me and Monica shopping at Cartier. Even a tabloid reporter on their first day could make a connection and a story out of that and a picture of us entering the store. There are still some that stuck around though, asking to see the new jewelry. Granted, we didn’t exit with anything. Let them make of that what they will.

I take Monica to an amazing pizza place in Vegas. It migrated over from Chicago, and serves some of the best deep dish pizza around. As a bonus, the owners of the Las Vegas establishment know me, and we won’t have a problem getting a table that’s more private.

They pride themselves on anybody being able to come to their restaurant and not be harassed, which is something that I greatly appreciate. Especially with the amount of local press that I get. National press not so much, thankfully.

Monica doesn’t say much, and I don’t push her, even though I wonder what’s. going on inside her head. We order a pizza, and it comes quickly. We’ve been seated in the back of the restaurant, and aside from the person who brought our order, not even the waiters are allowed back here.

Our silence is a testament to how good the pizza is. “Would you like a drink?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, “that would be great. Thank you.”

“What would you like?”

“Iced tea?”

I stand, and button my suit coat.

“The waiters aren’t allowed back here while we’re seated,” I say. “So I’ll go ask for it.”

She holds out her hand as if to stop me. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” I say, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s no trouble.”

There are TVs on in the main restaurant, and as I walk around the corner the name ‘Blast’ catches my ears. Surely Monica and I aren’t being reported on live television yet, so I looked toward the TV with trepidation. Sure enough, the newscaster is commenting on the latest round of charges against Monica’s father. Apparently his lawyers have exploited some flaw in testimony and evidence to get him an appeal on some of the charges.

That old familiar anger wells up in me, but then it passes through me and doesn’t take hold. It used to be that whenever I heard anything regarding the Blasts I would see red.

So much so that I eventually began to tune it out, and started avoiding all mentions of the family and the media. Which is why when Monica showed up, I had no idea what had happened. I don’t regret not knowing. I had held such a grudge that watching that drama unfold would have filled me with the kind of glee that I can’t explain, and thinking about that embarrasses me. I certainly wouldn’t be capable of having the relationship with Monica that I’m trying to have now if I had known about all the charges.

But the anger passes through and out, and it’s a completely relieving feeling. Without even trying, I seem to have let go of some of that anger. Even when I talk about that debt with Monica, I don’t mean it literally. At least not anymore. I may have started this for revenge—and I’m going to have my fun, and my way, with her—but it’s not my main motivation anymore. Just in the short time we’ve had this deal, she’s shown me that she’s not who I thought she was. And I’m captivated by the person she’s shown me: quiet and introspective and beautiful.

I hope she knows that. I hope she understands that when I told her I wanted her, it’s the truth.

It stuns me that so much could have changed in such a short time, but I’m not going to fight it. Change is good, and it’s clearly something that I want if everything can turn so fast.

I look again at the television and frown. What would Monica’s life have been like if that man were not her father? I guess we’ll never know, but we all have our own struggles. I’m getting the picture that Monica’s life was not as easy as I always believed it to be.

Grabbing the tea, I go back to the table. “Just so you know, your father was just on the news. Apparently he’s getting an appeal in some of those charges.”

Monica’s face goes pale, she looks down at the table. “I hope he doesn’t get it,” she mutters. And she suddenly looks at me, eyes desperate. “You know I had nothing to do with it right? I had nothing to do with any of it. I didn’t know that he destroyed the neighborhood until later. I didn’t know he was stealing all that money.”