Chapter 16
“ A s far as weddings go, that was a ten,” Lainey declared. It was hours later, and they were on her couch, which had somehow become their ubiquitous go-to place.
Dexter laughed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. Honestly, it never occurred to me how many ways The Russians would hijack my wedding. In retrospect, it probably should have.”
“Hey,” Lainey said, resting her hand reassuringly on his forearm. “I was teasing you. I kind of loved it. It had everything—drama and humor and fainting. It was like watching a play where I was unwittingly the star.”
He groaned some sort of guttural sound and swiped his hand over his face a few times.
“Who was the mysterious woman in black? Someone you used to date?”
“No,” he said, dropping his hand and speaking with so much vehemence she jumped. “Sorry. Touchy subject.”
“Normally I wouldn’t pry…”
He gave her a look.
“Obvious lie. Of course I would. You have to tell me. I’m dying of curiosity overload. I have fatal Curious George disease and only you have the cure.”
“It’s not that I’m averse to telling you. It’s…well, it’s so embarrassing.”
She didn’t reply, merely kept staring at him, waiting.
He took a breath. “I’ve never told anyone before. It’s harder than I thought it would be. The woman in black is Sonya, The Russians’ sister. When I first started at the company, Sonya saw me and agreed in her own mind I should be her next conquest. Except I didn’t respond, mostly at first because I don’t mix business and pleasure. I was brought in because The Russians were volatile. Dating their beloved sister would only have added to that unstable combo.”
He paused and she gave him an encouraging nod, eyes wide with rapt attention. To him the story was equal parts mundane and awkward, but she seemed to find it fascinating.
He took a breath and forged ahead. “Needless to say the rejection didn’t go well. It’s not something that happens to her often, maybe something that has never happened before. You couldn’t see her well, but she’s…”
“The most beautiful woman on the planet. I could tell, even through the veil and sobbing. But what’s the part you’re leaving unsaid? In what way did she not handle rejection well? What did she do?”
“She…” he paused again and looked at her. Why was it so hard to say the words? His face must be magenta, and he wasn’t even the blushing sort. Inside he felt all squeamish and uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at her. “She started showing up unexpectedly, trying to pin me down, usually quite literally. She groped me, kissed me, threw unwanted advances at me.” He braced for her laughter, but it didn’t come. And when he chanced a peek at her face, it wasn’t smiling. Instead her mouth was open, eyes wide in…sympathy?
“Dexter, that’s terrible,” she breathed, reaching out to grasp his forearm with both hands.
“It is?” he said, the words whooshing out of him like a long-held breath.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lainey asked.
“Because she’s a woman and I’m a man and on every conceivable scale she’s leaps and bounds above me.”
“She’s a superior in a position of power and has been using it to harass you. She embarrassed you, made you feel uncomfortable and powerless. That’s terrible ,” she reiterated. “I’ve never been harassed that way, but I see how it can make you feel objectified, how it can cause extreme anxiety, never knowing when or where she’s going to strike. You must feel on edge all of the time.”
“I do,” he agreed slowly. He had expected amusement and derision, if he ever told anyone. Have you seen her? Harass me, baby. Harass me all you want. Her sympathy left him feeling almost woozy with relief. She believed him. She understood. Far from being delighted to receive attention from such a beautiful woman, he felt stressed almost to his breaking point and, yes, objectified. Sonya didn’t want him for any reason specific to him; she wanted him because he was male and had said no. He let out another slow breath and felt the tension and anxiety drain out of him. All this time, this was what he had needed, for one person to believe and affirm him. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” she said, easing closer to put her arms around him and rest her head on his shoulder. “What are fake wives for if not to help with real problems? I’m here for you. And if you want me to have a talk with her, I will.”
He laughed, imagining how that would go. Sonya would eat Lainey for breakfast and the thought was painful on a number of levels. He felt protective of Lainey, he realized, more than as a friend or neighbor. Even if it was in name only, she was his wife now. Nothing should happen to her on his watch.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, giving him a squeeze.
“Sonya is crazy. I don’t want you near her.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but I’m my own brand of crazy. Clearly you have a type. And sometimes the only way to fight crazy is with crazy.”
“It’s enough that you know and you believe me,” he said, resting his head on hers. Really, it was everything.
“The offer’s on the table,” she said in a chilling impression of a mafia don.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Hey, doesn’t this count…”
“No, this does not count as your daily dose of affection. Seriously.” She let him go and gave him a little shove.
“I could kiss you again,” he offered. He had kissed her at the end of the wedding, for tradition but also for something else. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the first kiss. It shook him, that kiss, much more than he was willing to admit. He wanted to know if a follow up would be the same. So far he hadn’t had time to dissect it and analyze if that were so. But based on the amount he wanted to kiss her again and keep kissing her, he feared so. “I like kissing,” he said, more to himself than her. That was all this was, not a particular attraction to Lainey but an attraction to kissing in particular. He had always liked kissing, and he had never confessed it to anyone because he never heard any other guys say the same. Guys were supposed to like all the stuff that came after. Kissing was supposed to be for women. But Dexter had always enjoyed making out, merely for the sake of making out.
“Kissing isn’t affection,” Lainey declared.
“What? Why not?”
“Because it’s a truck stop on the way to paradise.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, smiling when she blushed and shoved his shoulder. “You know what I mean. It’s not a means to an end.”
“It could be,” he insisted.
“But it’s not. It never is. Even if it starts out with good intentions, eventually it always leads somewhere, if you do it enough. And somehow you always pick up where you left off, never starting over at the beginning again. And we agreed…”
“Yes, we agreed,” he interrupted before she could get cranked up. “If kissing is not affection in your mind, what is? Because clearly my education on the subject is lacking and I still don’t understand.”
“Affection is kindness using touch. It gives, it doesn’t expect in return. It’s reaching out to bestow gentleness on your person, merely because they’re your person and not because you want something from them. It’s hugging.”
“I’m not a hugger,” he said. It felt like too much to hug all the time; it felt like giving pieces of himself away that he wasn’t ready or available to give.
“It doesn’t have to be a hug. It can be a pat.” She patted his knee. “A touch.” She pressed her palm to his cheek. “You could hold my hand.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You could put your arm around me.” She wriggled closer until he settled his arm on her shoulders. “You could even do both arms,” she urged, nudging him. Dutifully, he added the other arm. She faced him and slipped her arms around his waist.
“Lainey, this is hugging,” he said.
“Shh, no it’s not. This is totally different,” she said.
“You’re nestling,” he accused as she burrowed against him. “You’re a shameless hug seeker.”
“I love hugs, Dexter,” Lainey declared in an impassioned tone, slightly muffled by her face against his chest. “If someone invented a device so I could hug someone all the time while still continuing to work, I’d say shut up and take my money.”
“But…” he began, but she interrupted.
“It’s our wedding night. Can’t you let me have this? Somewhere out there a crazy Russian woman is probably trying to buy plutonium in order to kill me. This might be my last hug.”
“So dramatic,” he whispered, but he didn’t refuse her. He told himself it was because it was, in fact, their wedding night and a hug was the least he could do. But really he started not to mind so much anymore. Lainey was snuggly soft and warm and she smelled incredible, a potent combo of chocolate, vanilla, and something girly. When she clutched his shirt in her hand, he thought she was falling asleep, but instead she used it to give him a little shake.
“I almost forgot. I have a gift for you, a wedding gift.”
“What? Lainey, no.” Dexter felt terrible; he hadn’t gotten her anything. It never occurred to him, though it probably should have, given Lainey’s warmth and propensity toward all things cozy.
“You’re going to love it. Hold on.” She hopped off the couch and skittered away, returning a moment later with a large ornately bedecked gift bag.
“Lainey,” he said, longsuffering with self-recrimination. Why was he the type of schlub who didn’t give hugs or gifts? His mother was good, great even, but why couldn’t she have been the sort who bestowed warm gooey affection at every turn, thereby prepping him for someone like Lainey. In comparison, he felt like an East German guard at Checkpoint Charlie. He took the bag slowly, almost dreading to see inside. What if it was something really thoughtful, like a new dress shirt in the perfect size she somehow miraculously knew? But when he put his hand in the bag and withdrew the gift, he laughed in delight, holding it up to make a better inspection.
“It’s us,” she said, unnecessarily so because of course it was. She had created a bride and groom out of chocolate, a door between them. They each rested on the door, her smiling cheerfully, him looking somehow both reserved and exasperated.
“This is incredible, how did you do this?” He couldn’t stop staring at it, turning it around and around to take in every perfect angle.
“I found a company that makes custom molds. There probably won’t be a lot of people clamoring for sculptures that look exactly like us, but you never know.” She sat on her hands, squirming with delight over his reaction. “Do you like it?”
He shifted it to his left hand and used his right to give her an impromptu hug. “I love it. It’s the best, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, grabbing his shirt and nestling again before he could think about letting go. It was only later that he realized the thought of letting go hadn’t occurred to him.