Chapter 10
The ass crack of dawn, the honeymoon cottage
Gabby awoke in paradise after almost no sleep.
How early did the sun come up in the Azores?
Whatever time it was, it was too early. And too bright.
She groaned and slipped deeper into the luxury bedding.
A lot of relationship confusion and a late night—it was like college all over again, but with a higher thread count and more to lose.
After ten minutes of applying Inner Beauty products with no noticeable effect, Gabby joined Markus on their private patio with a view of the beach.
Before she’d met Phil, she’d sold vacations like this but had never taken a trip herself.
Here she was, smack-dab in the middle of one of the fantasies she’d marketed: palm trees, turquoise waters, umbrella drinks, and some snorkeling just to say you did it.
A couple of people were doing sun salutations on the sand, but far enough away that they weren’t a bother.
Sort of like if you lived somewhere other than LA and had deer in your yard.
“I think this is too nice to be a cult,” she said. Sure, there were weird things: all the nasty green juice and undue amounts of yoga, but so far, the vibes weren’t that much different than Whole Foods, which, granted, was a low-key cult.
“We’ll have an informed opinion soon, and we have plenty to do. Keep Sheridan safe, even if she doesn’t want us to, map out Inner-G’s organizational structure, and assess the potential for sensitive information leaks.” Markus passed her an itinerary. “Did you see our schedules?”
Her first impression: too much yoga.
Gabby glanced at Markus’s. “Why aren’t they the same?”
“Something about men going one direction and women another.” Markus shrugged.
She frowned at the schedule. “Are the men going to offend our delicate sensibilities by talking about sex and farting too loud?”
“I hope so,” said Markus with a grin.
If Gabby could send men to a cult, it would involve patriarchy deprogramming, followed by instruction on how to wash dishes and find things for themselves.
When you walk into a room, look behind and under things.
You are more likely to be able to find your things if you put them away.
If you see a mess, do you 1) tell your wife, or 2) clean it up yourself?
That might be the final test. That and refilling the ice cube tray.
On the upside, at least she wouldn’t be lounging around with Markus all day, stewing in their mutual sexual frustration. Not to mention, they would cover more ground if they split up.
“We have wedding planning together, at least.” Her schedule listed a meeting with Naomi, the wedding planner, at 2:00 p.m.
With a smug grin, he said, “Nope, I’ll be fishing.”
“For real?” This cult wasn’t the least bit revolutionary.
For a second, her ire rose because there was no way she was planning this wedding on her own, but she stopped short. There was no point going bridezilla when the wedding was fake.
“Do your best to keep your emotions out of it,” Markus said, “Pick a dress and a cake, stay focused on the primary objectives.”
The primary objective was going in and out of focus.
With a sigh that might or might not have indicated understanding, Markus locked eyes with her.
For a second, it seemed like he was going to say something, to acknowledge the discomfort of pretending to get married when they were struggling with their own issues.
Just as he was about to say something, a device dinged.
“What’s that?” Gabby glared at the offending alarm. If only they could be as device-free as the rest of the guests. To spend a day without a phone constantly begging for attention would be bliss.
“I planted a listening device on Sheridan’s patio.”
“Is that legal?” They weren’t supposed to be listening to American citizens.
“It’s a FISA order, on the authority of the White House.”
Of course it was. It was about the president, technically, but even to Gabby, it seemed like a reach.
Markus set the phone on the table between them and cranked up the volume. The sound quality was good. The unmistakable whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a ceiling fan on Sheridan’s lanai provided the background.
“Do you want some tea?” a female voice asked. That was Sheridan.
“I need something stronger than that,” a woman with an Australian accent responded.
“That’s gotta be Jasmine,” Markus said.
Why did an Australian accent always make a person sound fun? Well, the accent and the gajillion photos of Jasmine frolicking on the beach. It was so ironic that one of the most famously beautiful women in the world was selling a product line called Inner Beauty.
“Do you want a reading?” Sheridan asked, her rural accent contrasting with Jasmine’s down under. “I mean, I came all the way here.”
“I’d prefer a divorce lawyer,” Jasmine said, “but why not?”
“Well, in that case, I predict a divorce.” It was nice the way Sheridan just let things be what they were—sad, happy, tragic—no judgment or attempted fixes or coddling. She was a “just the facts, ma’am” psychic.
Markus guffawed, and Gabby took a sip of coffee and leaned back. This was better than TV.
“Well, I’m going to shut my eyes and tell you if I see anything else.” There was a moment of silence, probably while Sheridan shut her eyes and invited a vision. “Well,” Sheridan said, “I have a very clear vision of your future with Genesis. I’m not sure what it means.”
“What’s that?” Jasmine asked, her voice edged with curiosity.
“I feel hot, and I see flames.”
“Well, they’re not flames of passion,” Jasmine said, her voice 100-proof sarcasm. “You sure you’re not having a hot flash?”
“Maybe you’re not feeling passion, but he did just fly me halfway across the world to impress you.” There she was with those facts again. If she quit being a psychic, she could be a lawyer.
“Well, I’ll watch out for flames.”
“You better,” Sheridan said. “You’ve been warned.”
“All joking aside, I know you’re the real deal, Sheridan. We had a mutual friend who convinced me.”
“Had?” Sheridan asked, sounding less sure of herself.
Before the conversation could go any further, the sliding door opened, and a male voice boomed, “Jasmine! I was looking for you.” It was the voice of a confident man, the kind of voice you’d pick to narrate a documentary about the disappearance of the glaciers.
“Genesis,” Markus said, but Gabby already knew. He delivered all his dialogue in the same authoritative tone. Half of his lines, even the boring ones, had been memed. “If you can’t handle the G’s, get out of the kitchen.” “Is that karate, or are you swatting flies?” His voice was all over TikTok.
“Sheridan, dearest Sheridan,” Genesis said, “you look vital and vibrant.”
“Would you like some tea?” Sheridan asked, ignoring the comment. He sounded more like the psychic than her.
“What are you two ladies talking about?” Genesis asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Jasmine answered.
“We brought you here for a reason, Sheridan,” Genesis said. “Our energy needs your energy.”
“No offense,” Jasmine’s impatient voice cut into the conversation, “but she can’t fix us, G.”
“This woman,” Genesis paused dramatically, “has elevated men to greatness over and over. She might not know it, but she is a synergizer.”
“Synergizer?” Gabby mouthed the word to Markus, who shrugged in response.
“I’m not even sure what a synergizer is, G,” Sheridan said. In a softer voice, she said, “Are you okay, Jasmine?”
There was a heavy breath. “I’m… okay.”
Okay physically, but clearly not okay emotionally. Gabby hadn’t even met Jasmine yet, but she felt that answer down deep.
“Can you help us, Sheridan?” G’s voice was earnest.
“She can’t, G. You can’t just kidnap a celebrity and hope that fixes our marriage.”
Sheridan said, “No worries, though. I’m enjoying the vacation.”
Ignoring Sheridan, Jasmine said, “This man”—her voice was filled with pent-up emotion, and Gabby could imagine Jasmine pointing at her husband with accusation—“is cheating on me.”
“Oh.” Sheridan sounded like this was a surprise to her.
“Jasmine, no,” Genesis implored. “Don’t say that out loud.”
“If she’s a psychic, she already knows.”
Genesis must have bought that because, in a gentler voice, he said, “Only with my body, not with my spirit.”
Gabby choked on her coffee.
Then came the sound of hard shoes on the patio, followed by a sliding door and a “Jasmine, wait.”
Gabby and Markus listened for a moment longer, but the conversation seemed to be over for now.
“Well, that was—” Gabby didn’t even know what to say. It was tawdry. And confusing.
The Power Couple rhetoric was nothing but a lie. Genesis was cheating on Jasmine, and he’d brought in a psychic to put the marriage back together. No wonder Jasmine was unhappy.
“Good morning,” a man’s voice called, making Gabby practically jump out of her chair.
She spun around to see a man in a tuxedo shirt with the sleeves ripped off like he was halfway through a striptease.
“Did you ring?” the man asked.
“Ring?” Gabby asked.
“I’m your butler, Geeves. You must have pressed the call button by accident.”
“Oh, yeah, I was looking for the light switch. Oops.” At home, she’d turned on the garbage disposal when she hit the wrong switch. Here she called the help. Inner-G was weird in ways she just hadn’t expected.
“Are you ready for breakfast?” he asked. “I assumed that’s what you were calling about.”
“Of course, thank you,” Gabby said.
After setting the table with cut fruit, G-shots, and some fresh coffee, Geeves presented them each with a conch shell.
Gabby turned it over in her hands. “This is… pretty.”
“Yes, but at Inner-G, we start each morning with a purge of secrets. I’ll walk you through it the first time.”
Gabby’s ears pricked at the words “purge” and “secrets.”
“First of all, hold the conch to your ear,” Geeves said.
Gabby did as instructed and listened to the rushing noise of the sea.
Markus was playing along next to her.
“Close your eyes, let the sea whisper its secrets to you. When you have heard your fill, return the favor. Tell the shell your deepest thoughts, fears, and, most of all, the things you can’t tell anyone else.”
“It’s kind of like journaling, huh?” Gabby said, as if talking to a seashell was normal.
“Yes. Start each morning with meditation and a purge. If you want to grow as an individual and a couple, you must do this.”
After purging a few innocuous “secrets,” Markus scanned the conch with a countersurveillance wand, and it lit up like the Fourth of July. He disappeared into the cottage to secure the conches somewhere where they wouldn’t pick up voices. When he returned, he said, “Does anyone fall for that?”
“Hopefully, Sheridan hasn’t,” Gabby said.
“Well, we have a gold mine for our report already, and we haven’t even finished our coffee,” Markus said.
“They can just bring all their tricks right to us,” Gabby said. She glanced at the itinerary again. “We have a busy day ahead, Markus. I’m going to get ready.”
Gabby flipped through the outfits the EOD beauty brigade had packed for her. The attire was a mix of athleisure and cottage-core dresses made from natural fibers and dyes that wouldn’t hurt the bees, just her bank balance.
Because of the yoga, she went with athleisure. The EOD agreed with influencers. This week, a bra was a shirt.
When she emerged, she wore her sports bra that had her girls spilling over the top and a pair of yoga pants that outlined her ass with an intentional wedgie and ruching over each butt cheek.
These were her “v is for vagina” pants that were all over Instagram, pants she would never be caught dead in normally.
For God and country, she could do it, but she didn’t look like a mom.
When she stepped out of the bedroom, Markus’s eyes focused on her even as he continued walking across the open-plan living room. The man tripped over a chair.
“I know.” She shook her head. “I feel naked and…”
Markus took in her appearance and drew in a breath. “You’re not going out in those pants, are you?”
She stared back. Was he into them? It looked like he was into them.
“You heard me.”
“You don’t want me to wear these pants?” She laughed.
He made some sort of grumbling noise. “Just remind everyone that you’re pretending to marry me.” He pointed to his chest, and Gabby laughed.
“I’ll make sure to let them know.”