Chapter Six
The deadline reverberates and plays on an endless loop in my head. One month… one month… one month…
Knowing that Fabian and the Senate are involved, I can’t just hire someone to be my fake husband. I need to get married for real. Since that’s what it takes to win my freedom, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. I don’t even have any scruples about condemning someone in the eyes of the Russo Mafia.
I’ve never claimed to be a good person, and I’m sure as hell not going to start lying to myself about it now. I’m selfish, entitled, and stubborn. Not exactly endearing or attractive qualities, but that’s neither here nor there right now.
As soon as I’m in my car and have put a few miles between myself and Remus, I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Gail.
Me: Soooo… tequila? I really fucking need it.
Gail: You got it, girl. @O’Jackie’s?
Me: Where else? Be there in half an hour.
Gail: *kiss emoji*
I park across the street from the Irish pub Gail found last year. I can hear the music all the way over here, and there are drunk people hanging out around the doors. A part of me envies them for their alcohol fused state of mind, and the fact that they have no inhibitions. At least the one peeing while facing the street doesn’t. He doesn’t care about the people pointing and glaring, and that’s what I want. Not to pee in the street, but to reach that level of uncaring.
Entering the pub, I’m immediately hit with the smell of beer—or pints—sweat, and perfume. The latter is so potent, I can taste it on my tongue when I spot Gail at the bar and call her name. She doesn’t hear me above the loud music, so I push through the throng of people to get to her.
“Hey buttercup,” she squeals. Spinning on the bar stool, she pulls me in for a hug. “I ordered some shots for us, but since it took you so long to get here—”
“They’re all gone,” I say, finishing her sentence with a smile. “I’ll get us more.”
I know my bestie, and the time it took me to get here isn’t why the small glasses are empty. She loves tequila and letting loose on the weekends. So even if I’d materialized one minute after texting her, there’s a good chance she still would’ve emptied them.
“I looove your dress,” she coos, dragging out the word like it has way more than two vowels. “It’s funky.”
Looking down at myself, I run a hand down the skirt. “It’s…” Not knowing how to explain it, I stop talking. To me it looks close enough to a normal dress. The seams give the effect of it being wrapped around my body rather than zipped close at the side, which is the current trend in some of the fashion houses.
“No, seriously,” Gail gushes. “It’s fucking awesome. Where the hell did you buy it? It looks like a designer dress.”
Oh… so maybe I was right in my assessment of the dress. “It’s just something my uncle gave me, so it seemed fitting to wear it today,” I say, hoping that’s enough of an explanation.
Gail doesn’t ask anymore questions, instead she puts all her attention into trying to grab the bartender’s attention. “Helloooo,” she shouts, waving her empty shot glass around in the air. When he waves her off and points at the people he’s serving, she turns around with a pout. “Well, this is going to take forever… oh wait.” She grabs my arm and points at an empty table.
“Go get it,” I laugh.
Wasting no time, Gail runs to the table, pushing two other women out of her way when they try to claim the table as theirs. This is so her; nice teacher by day, determined drunk on the weekends.
As the bartender places a line of shot glasses on the counter, I snatch the first two he fills and ask for a refill. I need the liquid courage so much I do a third one, ignoring his arched eyebrow and playful smile.
“Thirsty?” he asks, and I nod while forcing a smile I don’t feel.
After paying for more shots and drinks than what’s good for either of us, I gesture at the table Gail’s guarding and ask the bartender to help me get the drinks over there. After looking me up and down, he licks his lips and agrees.
Reaching Gail, I place two Cosmopolitans I’m carrying on the table. She frowns, but it’s immediately turned upside down when she spots the tray the bartender carries. “Ohhh,” she coos and claps. “Are all those for us?”
I tip the bartender and thank him before sitting down. Then I reach for another two shots, downing them before answering Gail. “I don’t know how many you’re seeing,” I say, wincing as the alcohol burns down my throat, warming my stomach. “But yes. Fucking cheers.” Without pausing, I take another two.
There we go. Now I’m no longer feeling anxious, and I can finally breathe.
“Wow,” Gail grins. “Guess the lunch with your cousin didn’t go well?”
I grimace. “Actually, it wasn’t bad. It was… as expected.” When Gail’s eyes soften and she takes my hand, I shake my head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asks with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Whatever that look is, don’t. I don’t want to talk about my fucked up family.”
I watch as Gail takes two shots, emptying the small glasses in record time. “So what do you want to talk about, cupcake? The financial views? World hunger?” She winks. “Or maybe you want to tell me why you keep looking at the bartender?”
“Am not,” I deny half-heartedly even though there’s no point. I was definitely checking him out, but not for the reasons she thinks. “I’m looking for a potential husband,” I admit.
Gail snorts so hard I’m almost concerned for her. “Sure, sure.”
I take a moment to consider whether telling her is a good idea or not. The thing is, I already know it isn’t, but I also know I have to. I can’t just suddenly show up with a husband in tow and no explanation, and since I’m determined to buy my freedom with a wedding band, there’s no way around it. This definitely calls for more alcohol.
“I’m not joking,” I say after emptying my first Cosmopolitan. Gail doesn’t know what the hell she’s missing by declaring vodka her enemy. “I need to get married before my cousin forces me back to Rome in a month. And that can’t happen. Because if I go back, I’ll be forced back together with my husband.”
Gail rears back, looking like I just slapped her. “Rome? Husband? Luce, what the fuck?” she whispers, horrified. Fuck, did I really just say that out loud? “I thought you were single and from fucking Kansas.”
I avert my gaze, embarrassed I just blurted it out like that. Though I never meant to tell her where I’m really from, if I did, she deserved to be told in a better way. Then again, how the hell do you dress up the fact you’ve lied to your best friend for years?
Clearing my throat, I lamely say, “Yeah, well. I’m not.” If it wasn’t for the alcohol coursing through my veins, I would never have slipped up. Fuck, I feel terrible. But there are too many lies for me to allow one to ruin the evening. “I made a deal with my uncle one year before I came to America. And that year was spent teaching me to blend in as an American,” I explain.
“What?”
Maybe it wasn’t as much of an explanation as I thought. I wince at the shocked look on Gail’s face. Reaching for the liquid courage on the table, I do another shot. “Okay, here goes,” I mumble. “I made a deal with my uncle to get away from my psycho husband, and part of the deal to come here was to get rid of my accent, understand the culture, and all those things.”
“But why?”
I shrug. “I never asked, but I assume it was to avoid drawing attention to myself.”
Gail makes a frustrated sound. “Are you intentionally being a bitch right now?”
Shame makes it hard to look at her. “No. I’m trying to explain—”
“Well, you’re not doing a good job,” she shouts. “What the actual hell, Luce?”
I quickly look around, wanting to make sure we aren’t drawing attention to ourselves. Of course, we’re not. In the crowded and loud pub, we’re just another two women talking at a table.
“Why did you lie to me?” Gail continues, sounding like she’s on the verge of crying.
“Because I had to,” I answer, regret lacing my words. “I didn’t want to. There have been so many times where I wanted to tell you the truth, but I couldn’t, Gail. If you knew… no. I just couldn’t.”
She hasn’t removed her hand from mine, still squeezing it as she scrutinizes me. I wish I knew what she’s seeing on my face. Am I like a stranger to her now?
“So when you went to your uncle’s funeral, you went to—”
“Rome,” I clarify.
Gail huffs. “At least that explains the tan you came back with. Did you see your husband?”
I wince at the mention of Fabian. “Only from a distance. We haven’t talked in almost ten years and that’s how I want to keep it.”
We both fall silent. I imagine Gail’s thoughts are running like crazy, and I… well, I don’t fucking know what to say. This is one big clusterfuck. Sure, it’s of my own making, but that doesn’t mean I have the answers.
“Ten years,” Gail mumbles, narrowing her eyes like she’s trying to do complex math. “How old were you when you got married, Luce?”
I swallow and look everywhere but at my best friend. “I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone is as small as I feel. “Not tonight. Please.”
Although she nods, I can see Gail is hurt by my continued refusal to talk to her about it. “Fine,” she finally agrees.
“I wanted to tell you,” I admit. “There have been so many times where I almost blurted it out. But I couldn’t, Gail. And I need you to understand I never liked lying to you.” My words are rushed, spurred on by the soul-deep need for her to hear me—believe me.
Gail lets go of my hand and helps herself to a shot. “I’m so fucking glad I’m drunk right now,” she says, wiping her hand across her lips. “I don’t think I’d still be here if I was sober. So let’s get it all out in the open now, Luce. What’s really going on? Why’s your cousin here? What does it all mean? And why are you really telling me now?”
I lean back in the chair, pondering which question to start with. “Okay, so you want complete honesty?”
She nods. “I do. Don’t hold anything back.”
Exhaling slowly, I meet her gaze. “Remember a few years ago when it seemed like there was a lot of shit going on all over the world at the same time? You said it seemed weird that there were royal weddings, huge celebrity scandals, and the Pope showed himself in public areas of the Vatican—”
“Yeah, I remember. We were texting about it while you were visiting your family in Kan… well, I guess Rome.” Gail tilts her head to the side. “Wait, where are you going with this?”
Leaning closer to her, I lower my voice. “It was set up by my family. Something big was happening. That was when two of my cousins were chosen to be the next in line to run our family.”
“No fucking way. You’re joking. This can’t be…”
“Can’t be what?” I ask when she stops talking. “Listen, this isn’t something we can ever speak about again. You’re not even supposed to know, Gail. So you might as well get all your questions out now.”
I hate that I can’t give her the time to digest the news properly. She deserves time to ask for a timeout, even mull it over for days, weeks, or months if she needs to. But there’s no way. Not just because of my own deadline, but because she has to let it go after tonight. We can’t ever talk about this again for her safety. I’m a fucking terrible friend.
“This is so fucked up,” she murmurs. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or making an observation, so I don’t say anything. Gail takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Why are you telling me now, Luce?”
She’s still calling me Luce, which I take as a good sign. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to,” I admit, determined to remain honest. “But my cousin’s visit fucked with my head, and—”
“And the alcohol isn’t helping,” Gail says, finishing my sentence. “Okay, so let me make sure I have this straight. You come from some kind of fucked up Mafia-like family who basically runs the world. You have secrets that’ll take us years to uncover and discuss, and now you need to get married to keep your freedom from said Mafia family and your husband. Is that about the gist of it?”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing at the simple way she’s managed to sum it all up. “That’s it,” I hiccup. Laughing when you don’t feel an inch of happiness is weird. It’s wrong, it’s illogical, but it’s all I can do not to succumb to the darker emotions swirling inside me. “That’s it,” I confirm again with a sharp nod. Shit, I shouldn’t have done that. My vision is slowly becoming blurry, and my words slurred as the alcohol takes root.
“But… like… how are you planning on marrying when you’re already married?”
I asked Remus the same thing, so I repeat what he told me. “My cousin is the only one allowed to perform the ceremony. So he’ll prepare some papers ahead of time, granting me the divorce just before I get re-married.”
“Okay. Well, I want to make three things very clear. The first is that I’m so fucking pissed at you. The second is that I need time to sort through the messed up knowledge bomb you just dropped on me.” I flinch at the harsh tone Gail’s using.
“What’s the third?” I ask, scared to hear the answer.
Without warning, Gail gets up and moves to my side of the table. She pulls me in for a hug. “I love you, Luce. You’re my sister from another mister, and no amount of secret identity shit is going to ruin that. So I’m going to help you find a fucking husband. Because if you leave, you can’t make it up to me.”
I hug her back, practically clinging to her as tears stream down my face. “I love you, too, Gail. And I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” she says, tightening her hold on me. “But you’re still going to make it up to me for the rest of our lives. And the next time I want the last egg roll, you’ll give it to me without a fight.” She might be making light of the situation by joking, but the tremor in her voice gives her away.
“Deal,” I say, my voice cracking. “You can have all the egg rolls you want. On me.”
Once we’ve both collected ourselves, Gail returns to her seat. “So when you say husband, you’re not using some Italian slang I’m not familiar with, right?”
Though I know I shouldn’t, I reach for the second Cosmopolitan and bring the black straw to my lips. God, this really is the stuff dreams are made of. “Not even a little,” I say.
“Right,” Gail muses. “So you want to convince your all-powerful Mafia family that you’re in love? And all this is despite never dating anyone for more than a good dicking, and—”
I cut her off by waving my hand in front of her. “I don’t need love or sex. Just a husband,” I clarify. “But I told my cousin I’m engaged. Even if I wanted to, I can’t go back on that now.” This is stupid. Remus knows I was lying. I need to let this go and stick to mentally berating myself for such a stupid lie.
Gail’s lips twitch and a wry smile spreads across her face. “Cool, cool. So how do you want to approach this? You could always have a one-night-stand and ‘forget’ the condom. Trap the guy the ol’ fashioned way.” I make a derisive sound while rolling my eyes. “Or we can troll the hospital’s amnesia ward to find someone handsome and single.”
“Really?” I say, dryly. “Those are your best ideas?”
“No,” she shoots back. “Those are my fucking desperate ideas. What the fuck, Luce. It’s not like you’re giving me a lot to work with.”
I’m just about to tell her I’m all too aware of how fucked up my situation is when a commotion near the bar steals my focus. “What the?” I ask, perplexed, when I see Sawyer Perry approaching the bar alone.
Gail turns in her chair, following my gaze. “Hey, isn’t that Sawyer?” she asks without looking back at me. “Speaking of, have you found his fake girlfriend yet?”
I sit straighter, immediately scanning the area to see if there’s a need for me to make myself known to Sawyer. He looks relaxed, but not drunk or like he’s done something he shouldn’t. I can’t help but notice the way his washed-out jeans hug his ass, and his dark shirt that looks like it’s working overtime to keep his torso contained. His shoulder length, curly hair is in a bun, and his beard is neatly groomed, emphasizing his chiseled jaw. There really is no denying he’s beyond ruggedly handsome. He’s sex on a pair of very long and heavily muscled legs.
“Hello… earth to Luce,” Gail says, snapping her fingers in my face.
“What?” I ask, only half paying attention as I keep my eyes peeled on the player.
“I asked if there was an update on Sawyer.”
“Umm…” I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “I don’t know. I wasn’t at work today,” I say, wondering how she could have forgotten.
Gail smiles shyly. “I know that. But Luce, if there was an update, wouldn’t someone have made sure you knew?”
“I guess.”
“Sooo… if there isn’t an update, couldn’t you… you know…”
It takes me a moment to catch on to what she’s saying, or rather, hinting at, since she’s being annoyingly vague.
“He only needs to fake date someone for the season,” I rush out. “I need someone for life. Well, not exactly. Just long enough to be considered a marriage.” This is why I didn’t want my name in the mix when Nick and I made the list of potential candidates to fake date Sawyer. I was adamant we kept my name away from the pool. But now… if I could… it’s not marriage, but it would be a relationship, and a steady one at that. Fuck, I really shouldn’t have turned down Nick’s idea of adding myself to the mix.
“But marriage would be good for him as well, wouldn’t it?” Gail continues. “Nothing says stability like being a loving and caring husband.” There’s no finesse, only urgency in her tone as she explains.
“Umm… say what?” I look at my friend with a puzzled expression on my face. “You want me to convince Mr. Anti-Relationship to get married?”
She shrugs. “Do you have any other options?”
“Plenty,” I shoot back.
Gail tuts. “Be real, Luce. You’re both in a desperate situation. So why not join forces since it’ll clearly benefit the both of you?”
Though I want to argue it’s a bad idea, I can’t. Yes, it is a bad idea, but it’s also the only idea. No matter how I look at it, the best way to go about this is to do it with someone that gains something from it as well. It would ensure we both stick to our part of the deal, and for Sawyer, it would look good.
Gail pushes another shot toward me. “Well, go get him, buttercup,” she says. Then she takes one for herself, and we clink the glasses together before downing the alcohol that now tastes like ash and regret.
The way I wobble has nothing to do with nerves, and everything to do with the copious amounts of alcohol I’ve consumed since getting here. Fuck, I almost think I’m… nope, strike that. I’m most definitely seeing double. I tell myself it’s for the best, because when the alcohol goes in, reason goes out. And I don’t need a sound mind in order to proposition Sawyer Perry.