Chapter 21
Hess
I rub my hands down my thighs as I sit outside the marriage counselor’s office.
I keep glancing at Camila, thinking I could strike up a conversation, but she barely acknowledges me, just continues to type something out on her phone.
I glance at the TV while I wait. The local five o’clock news is on, and they’re recapping sports scores.
After a few seconds, she sits up. “Wait a second. Who is that?”
I’m surprised this has caught her attention since she’s been solely focused on her phone the entire ten minutes we’ve been here.
“That’s Chad Becker. They’re interviewing one of the Diamondbacks players because he hit a walk-off home run.”
“That’s Chad Becker?” She seems unimpressed by the 6’5” phenom of an athlete with irresistible dimples.
“You’re not a fan?”
“No.”
“Why not? He’s one of the best baseball players out there.”
Her brown eyes flash to me. “That doesn’t mean he’s a good guy.”
“Actually, he’s known for being a great guy. He spends extra time with fans, especially kids. He signs every ball. Visits hospitals. Started a charity. He’s a big family man.”
Camila scoffs as she shifts her attention back to her phone. “Anyone can play the part for the public.”
My brows sink together. “Is there any man on the planet that you don’t immediately hate?”
“Yes,” she defends.
I fold my arms. “Who?”
I mean, I hope she says me, but I won’t hold my breath.
“Enrique, my hairstylist.”
“A heterosexual man.”
“Fine.” She brims with irritation as she thinks. “How about Nate and Vinny?”
“You’re just naming your friends’ boyfriends.”
“So?”
“So maybe instead of marriage counseling, you should be seeing Abby alone to work through your obvious man-hating issues.”
“Man-hating isn’t even a word.” She shakes her head, glancing back at her phone, and the dismissal rubs me the wrong way.
Or maybe I’m rubbed the wrong way because we’ve been living together for two months, and besides my parents, we haven’t told anyone about the marriage—and I’m tired of it.
I like Camila, and I’m sick of keeping her a secret.
There. I said it.
“Did you get the text I sent you today?” My tone isn’t cold, but it’s definitely not warm.
“No.” She looks up briefly. “I got it. I just didn’t have time to read it. What did it say?”
“Landon and Selena are coming over for drinks and dessert tonight.”
“Why would you invite them over?”
“Because I think it’s time we get this marriage out in the open.”
“You think it’s time?”
“Yeah, this living in secrecy is stupid.”
“Well, I think it’s smart, so text him back and tell him tonight’s canceled.”
My brows drop. “I don’t want to.”
“Then I’ll just go to a restaurant and work until they’re gone.”
“Why don’t you just stay and tell them the truth, like I did with my parents?”
“I don’t want to,” she mimics me from a few seconds ago.
“Then I’ll tell them about us.”
Her brown eyes flash into a glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.”
“No, you promised that I could tell my sister on my own time in my own way.”
“You’ve been living with me for two months. Pull the Band-Aid off already.”
“And just when was I supposed to tell her? I haven’t spoken to her since her engagement party.”
There’s visible shock on my face. “You haven’t spoken to your sister, who’s planning her wedding, in almost two months?”
“I’ve been busy,” she snaps.
“No one is that busy.”
“Well, I am.”
“I’m surprised that someone who never puts down their phone can’t manage to send her sister a text just to see how she’s doing.”
Her mouth opens, offended by my statement. “Well, not all of us have the luxury of working whenever we feel like it.”
“Don’t blame this on your job. You can’t hide behind that for everything in your life.”
“I’m not hiding behind my job.”
“One thousand percent you are. You use it as a shield so you don’t have to be home with me.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s not my home, remember? You forced me to move out there with you.”
Before I can respond, Abby opens the door and smiles at us. “Hess. Camila. You can come in now.”
Silently, we walk into her office, steaming with irritation. We sit as far apart on her stupid little couch as we can. But it’s no use. Camila might as well be sitting in my lap. I fold my arms and lean toward my side even more. She does the same.
Abby looks back and forth between us. “How did month two go?”
“Fine,” we answer in unison.
“Just fine?”
We both nod.
“Did you do your homework? Get to know each other a little better on a deeper level this past month?”
More nodding.
Her eyes narrow. “Things seem different from last time. Is everything okay?”
“We’re fighting,” I blurt.
“We’re not fighting.” Camila leans forward to set the record straight. “Couples fight, and we’re not a couple.”
Seeing that Camila is in denial, Abby looks directly at me. “Hess, tell me what’s going on between you two.”
“I invited my best friend and Camila’s sister over for drinks and dessert later tonight, and my wife”—I add extra emphasis just to annoy her—“is upset about it because she doesn’t want her sister to find out about our little marriage.”
Her brows lift as she looks at Camila. “You haven’t told your sister that you’re married?”
“She hasn’t told anyone,” I interject.
“Why not?”
Camila bristles as she taps her fingers on the arm of the couch. “I just don’t think it’s anyone’s business.”
“I’d have to disagree,” Abby says, and I feel a tinge of satisfaction. “If you’re trying to prove to the court that this is a real marriage, isn’t telling your family and friends about it the first thing you should do?”
“I…” A strained breath spills over Camila’s lips.
“Do you know what else she’s not doing?” I’ve become a marriage tattle-tale—not something I’m proud of. “She’s not letting me get to know her.”
“Oh, please!” Camila rolls her eyes. “I think you’ve gotten to know me plenty.”
“Hess, can you expound on that?” Abby prompts.
“Love to!” I snap a glare over to Camila before continuing.
“As soon as I ask her something personal, she shuts down. And she still hasn’t sent me her getting-to-know-you slide presentation yet.
” Abby’s brows lift with interest, but I keep going.
“All of that is second to the fact that she’s a workaholic who’s never home, and when she is home, she hides in her bedroom.
How can we get to know each other when I never see her? ”
“That’s not true.” She whips her head to me. “We’re always in the kitchen together.”
“For, like, ten minutes.”
“And sometimes we see each other around the house.”
“In passing in the hallway. Kinda hard to get to know you when you’re walking by.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You’re being really needy right now.”
“No, I’m just trying to paint a picture for Abby so she knows what I’m dealing with.” I flip my head to our counselor. “She’s never home for long periods of time.”
Camila swats my shoulder as if she just thought of something. “What about that Sunday when your parents came over? I was hanging out by the pool. You could’ve come out there if you wanted to be by me so bad.”
“That was almost a month ago. But just to be clear, I couldn’t go out there.”
“Why not?”
“Have you seen yourself in a bikini? Because I have, and honestly, we’re probably going to have to make a rule, just to keep things uncomplicated for the last four months. You’re not allowed to wear that royal-blue swimsuit anywhere near me.”
“Oh, if we’re making up rules, then you can’t come out for a late-night snack without a shirt on. T-shirts have to be worn at all times.”
“You can’t make that rule in my house.”
“I can, and I just did. And you know what else?” She circles her arms around her body. “I need a bubble of space that you’re not allowed to go inside of. None of this coming up next to me, breathing on my neck.”
“I was helping you with your zipper.”
“Putting your hands on my waist.”
“Again, helping you. Or maybe you wanted me to let you fall off the step stool in the pantry.”
She keeps talking as if she’s ignoring my every rebuttal. “Rubbing your arm against me to wash a bowl. If I can smell your soap, then you’ve gotten too close.”
“Okay, then no looking at me with bedroom eyes.”
“Ha!” Her mouth falls open. “Bedroom eyes?”
“Yeah, you do that a lot.” “
“As if.”
“As if I didn’t notice you kept glancing down at my lips when we were by the sink that one time.”
“You were the one who looked like you wanted to kiss me. I was trapped between your body and the dishwasher.”
“I probably did want to kiss you. I doubt there’d be a man in my shoes who wouldn’t want to kiss you. But that doesn’t mean I should.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d let you. I’d rather not be your rebound girl—thanks, though.”
“Rebound girl?”
“Yeah, should we tell Abby about how you were in a serious relationship with another woman only two months ago?”
With the mention of our marriage counselor, we panic and turn to Abby, remembering she’s been listening to us bicker the entire time.
Crap, we said too much.
Like, way too much.
She’s going to tell the judge we suck at being married.
I’m surprised by Abby’s never-ending smile. “This is perfect.”
“How is us fighting perfect?” I ask.
“Because that’s what married couples do,” Camila says under her breath. “They fight.”
“No, it’s perfect because it’s real and raw. You’re going beyond surface level and communicating genuine emotions and concerns. Frustrations and other kinds of feelings are coming into play like a real married couple, and you’re both trying to communicate healthy boundaries that will work for you.”
Our eyes tiptoe back to each other then pull away again.
“Hess, it sounds like you’re saying you’re frustrated by how closed off and unavailable Camila is. It makes you feel like you can’t get to know her the way you want to.”
I nod, creeping my gaze to the woman next to me.
“And Camila, it sounds like you have some serious hesitations about telling your friends and family about the marriage.”
“Yes.” Her answer is quiet, as if saying it louder would feel too vulnerable.
“Why is that?”
My body fully turns to her, awaiting the answer.
Camila draws in a deep breath, sitting up a little more as she does. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want to say?” Abby presses.
“Probably a little of both.”
“Could you try?”
She clasps her hands in her lap, a sign of discomfort with this line of questioning. “It would be embarrassing to tell everyone in my life that I’m married when all I’ve ever done is reject the idea of marriage. It would seem hypocritical and completely out of character.”
I watch her, hating how hard this is for her but also proud that she’s opening up a little bit.
“Are you embarrassed that they might judge you for entering into a marriage just for the money?”
Camila tilts her head. “That feels like a trick question you’ll use against me later to the judge.”
“It’s my duty to keep our sessions private.
Generally speaking, I can’t testify about what either of you said here.
It’s not quite as airtight as the attorney–client privilege that you’re accustomed to, but I do take it seriously.
My conversations with the judge provide feedback on whether or not I believe you’re trying—in good faith—to make this marriage more than an inheritance grab. ”
“In that case, I suppose there is some embarrassment that I married for money, but at the same time, I did what I had to do to support my mom and sister and to literally survive with diabetes, so I stand by my decision one hundred percent.”
That’s the first time I’ve heard Camila talk about needing the money to pay for medical expenses tied to her diabetes. She said on the airplane that she was diagnosed six years ago—right before we got married.
“I think it would be good for you to own your decision publicly, so I have some homework for you both for the next month.” She pins her stare on Camila first. “You need to tell your friends and family about this marriage. You could even open up to them about why you felt you needed to do it.” When she starts to protest, Abby cuts her off.
“I’m serious, Camila. The judge wants to see that this marriage is a real part of your life, and admitting to others the choices you made is a great first step.
Report back to me next time on how it goes.
As far as making rules or putting up boundaries—”
“They’re not real rules. Camila can wear whatever she wants,” I mutter. She looks good in everything, so there’s really no point in saying she can’t wear something.
“And obviously, it’s your house.” She folds her arms, not meeting my gaze. “You’re free to walk around with your shirt off.”
“I get it.” Abby smiles. “You’re both young and attractive and living together. There’s going to be some attraction boiling beneath the surface. The important thing is that you communicate openly about it. Make sure you set realistic boundaries that you both feel comfortable with.”
Oh, I think I’m communicating openly too much.
I can’t believe I told Camila I wanted to kiss her. At least I had the forethought to add probably. That gives it some ambiguity.
“Your marriage is a unique situation. Physical intimacy should only happen when—”
“Can we move on from physical intimacy?” Camila snaps like a cord that broke down the middle from being pulled too tight, and honestly, I’m grateful she said something. The tension, on my end, was getting overwhelming.
“Sure, as long as you’re both on the same page.
” Abby snickers. She switches her stare to me.
“Hess, your homework for the next month is to keep trying to get Camila to open up. Eventually, you’ll crack that shell when she’s ready.
But be patient. Whether you like it or not, you two are in this situation together.
Teamwork is the best course to make it through.
” She looks back and forth between us. “You both are the only ones who understand what it’s like to be thrown into a marriage you didn’t want and weren’t planning on.
Use that common ground to build a foundation for your relationship. ”
Relationship? This suddenly feels like a real marriage and a real counseling session, but without the make-up fun later tonight that typically comes after marital disagreements.
We spend the rest of the session talking about how to communicate effectively. After, we walk to our cars in silence, both processing what Abby said.
“I’ll see you at home,” I grumble to Camila. “Drive safe.”
I pause before getting in my truck. That was the most husbandly thing I’ve ever said.
Shoot, this might be turning into a real marriage after all.