Chapter 21 Melanie
MELANIE
Ajolt ran through me—a hand on my shoulder, shaking me just hard enough to snap me out of sleep.
“Mel, time to get up. We have to get going.”
I blinked, disoriented, Nick’s face slowly sharpening into focus like a photo coming into frame. My limbs felt heavy, skin chilled from the night air. I rubbed my eyes hard, dragging myself into consciousness.
“Here’s some coffee to help wake you up.”
The mug was warm against my cold fingers. I gripped it tight, desperate for the heat. One sip—smooth, creamy, burning just enough going down—and I exhaled like I’d just come back from the dead.
“What time is it?” I muttered, still squinting against the sunlight stabbing through the windows.
“It’s 10 a.m.,” he said.
“Do you hate me that much? Why can’t I sleep in? The restaurant is closed on Sundays.”
A shiver rolled down my spine like a warning.
“And I know you like sleeping in the cold, but can we turn the heat on now that it’s getting down in the thirties at night?”
“I never knew fighting over the thermostat was real in a marriage.”
“It’s a real thing unless you have a huge house where each division has its own thermostat.”
He cocked an eyebrow, half amused, but I was too tired to play along. I clung to the coffee, trying to chase the fog out of my brain. Last night, I’d passed out after stuffing my face, but I’d also lost sleep talking with Nick, tangled up in the warmth of our messy attempt at connection.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why can’t I sleep in? Are we going somewhere or something?”
“Yes. Church.”
I froze mid-sip, eyes locking on him over the rim of the mug.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“And this is why you need Jesus.”
“I don’t need shit, especially from you.”
“Funny, isn’t that my bed you’re sleeping in? And has anyone ever told you that you curse like a sailor? I was in the military and don’t curse as much as you, so that’s saying something.”
I slammed the mug down on the nightstand, the ceramic clinking louder than it needed to. I threw the covers off like they were on fire and stood.
“I’m not going. I thought you were joking about this shit when you told me I had to go to church to please your mom. I mean, how old are you? Does she pick your outfits out the night before, too?”
He ran a hand down his face, dragging tension with it, then let it fall to his side. His eyes were tight.
“I go because I believe in God, and he’s been a really big part of my life, especially when there were moments I thought I was going to die.
I put my life on the line for 14 years, so I owe it to him for watching over me.
Besides, I also like going with my mom. She’s all alone and hasn’t had a man since my dad died.
So, have a little decency. It’s only one day out of the week.
And if you want people to believe we are in love, then you would do anything for me, and that means doing things I enjoy. ”
I scoffed like a defense mechanism.
“Well, I’m sorry but you don’t see me dragging you on any shopping spree or to one of those artsy coffee shops where they read poetry and talk about our inner egos and shit.”
“It is fair because we had a deal. And this is part of that deal.”
“Nope, not going.” I dropped back into the bed like a dead weight. Loco jumped up beside me, curling up like nothing was wrong.
“Goddamn it,” he hissed, the words low and sharp. He turned away from me, and I watched him drag a hand through his hair. His muscles tensed with restraint, every line of his body coiled with frustration.
“Now who needs Jesus?” I folded my arms, daring him to push.
“Get up, you’re going. And if you want me to read poetry, I’ll fucking read it with you, because that’s what married couples do. They make sacrifices.”
He wasn’t wrong. And that pissed me off more than anything.
But deep down, it wasn’t just about church.
It was about the weight I carried every time someone brought up God.
I’d been spoon-fed Bible verses in private school while living under the roof of a monster.
A man who walked free. A man my own mother couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see.
When she got sober and started talking about how God saved her, it made me sick.
Like she forgot who she was married to like she could rewrite history with scripture.
So no, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to sit in a place that preached forgiveness while I still had scars from people no one else seemed to see.
“Do you want people getting suspicious of us?” His voice was quiet, but sharp enough to cut. His jaw clenched. His fists curled tightly at his sides.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Fine, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to go every Sunday.”
“Baby steps. Let’s just get through today, princess. I don’t think I can handle thinking about next Sunday with you.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and walking down the stairs. Nick is propped up against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone. When he senses me coming, he looks up.
“No.” He deadpans.
“What?”
“No, you’re not wearing that.”
I glanced down at my outfit. “What? It’s a top with jeans, what’s wrong with it?”
“Your boobs are practically falling out of the top. We’re going to church, not on a sexy date.”
“Too bad, soldier, I'm not changing.” I force a fake smile.
He places his phone on the counter and starts walking towards me. “You do realize I’m trying to help you. Do you want people talking shit about you?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re mom and dad didn’t spank you enough growing up.”
I flung my hair over my shoulder. “No, actually, he did, but not the way you think.” I flash him a wink.
He stares blankly at me, like he can’t believe what I just said, but if I played off the bile that rose in my stomach, every time I thought about my stepfather teaching me a lesson, I would be a rich woman and wouldn’t need to be in a fake marriage.
It’s for your own good, sweetie. All grown women know how to make their man feel good. That’s a good girl, that means you like it when you get wet down there. Don’t be afraid, it’s supposed to get hard, that’s when a man is enjoying you, and taking it is better than appearing weak.
If Nick only knew how disgusting I really felt about myself, then he would use my weakness against me. Besides, being vulnerable made people fall in love, and I wasn’t trying to fall in love or have him fall in love with me. Love hurts.
“Go put a jacket on. I don’t have time to argue with you anymore.”
“Ya know, for being a fake husband who supposedly doesn’t give a shit, you’re pretty controlling, soldier boy.”
“I’m having the priest say a prayer for us.” He says as he walks past me
You can say all the prayers you want.
I’ve said many prayers at night, and that never stopped the big bad wolf from coming into my room when my mom was passed out drunk.
We walked up to the cathedral-looking church, I cringed when I saw how many old people were getting out of their cars.
I could feel myself getting bored already.
My only hope was there would be cookies afterward and I could put myself in a blood sugar coma, pass out and freak everyone out so they would feel sorry for me and not pressure me to come next time.
Nick kills the engine and turns to face me.
“Please be on your best behavior.”
“Who, me?” I say all sugary and sweet.
“Yes, no cursing or talking about dirty sex. You don’t need to lay it on too thick with these people. They are conservative. Nothing like the people you grew up around.”
“Excuse me, soldier, but I’m pretty sure God tells us not to judge, and right now, that statement feels a little culty.”
He shakes his head, and opens the door the same time he says, “C’mon”
When I walk up beside him, he grabs my hand, intertwining my fingers.
I look down at the gesture, as if our hands are foreign objects.
When I peer back up at him, he’s smiling from ear to ear, and a part of me wants to believe this is him being happy.
Happy because I’m at church with him. Happy because I gave in.
Happy because he’s with me.
His smile is contagious, and I find myself smiling back, not even fighting back the urge this time..
“Nicoolo,” His mother says, and I look away.
She is standing at the door. “And Melanie, good morning.” She cups my cheeks in both hands and kisses me on the cheeks, standing on her tippy toes.
I’m not sure how Nick got to be so tall because his mom was probably five-four, and I’m no giant, but my five-nine frame made me feel like one around her.
“Good morning,” I tell her.
Niccolo leans down and kisses his mother on the cheek, and something shifts inside me. Nick really loves his mother, and it’s so sweet to witness such pure love between the two.
“Hey, G.” He says, ruffling his sister’s hair.
“Ugh, stop, it took me thirty minutes to curl it this morning.”
Warmth spread through my core as I witnessed their encounter. They reminded me of the type of brother and sister my stepdad would write about for a TV show he co-produced. Always teased one another, but they had nothing but unconditional love for one another.
“Hey sis. You look pretty. Love those jeans.” she leans in and says, “makes your butt look scrumptious.”
“Thank you,” I said through a laugh.