Chapter 9 Dominic
Dominic
Not only do I craft backstories for people in my mind, but I know the ending of every book, every story, every movie I see. Sometimes the plot surprises me, but never the ending.
Until now.
The story where I go to Vegas for my cousin's bachelor party? I did not see it ending in I married the girl who abandoned me on a date and wishes me dead without me knowing why.
At long last, I'm surprised by an ending.
Great.
Klein, that bonehead, finds this all hilarious. Maybe he feels some vindication for how much grief I gave him for fake dating Paisley before they fell in love. Not that I truly tormented him, but there was no way I was going to let that opportunity get away.
Judging from the text he just sent, Klein is enjoying this far too much.
Klein: This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Klein: I'm really mad I didn't get to be your best man.
Dom: This topic has an expiration date.
Klein: Set by me.
Dom: Absolutely not.
Klein: Hurry up. We're hungry. Don't make us late AGAIN. And for the love, nobody needs to be reminded no muff is too tuff for you. Have a little class and wear a different shirt to brunch.
A knock on the door interrupts my all-caps expletive response. I swing the door open and find a bellboy, and, blessedly, my missing suitcase.
He hands it off to me, and I heave a sigh of relief when I get it opened. Nothing is missing.
Rifling through the clothing, I find a fresh shirt and pull it on. The shirt I bought so I could continue the night is hung now, but it was lying in the middle of the floor when I stepped out from the shower. Cecily's work, no doubt. Taunting me.
And, as if Cecily removed it and dropped it where she stood, the T-shirt I wore to dinner last night lies on the bed.
Swiping the shirt from the sheets, I fold it quickly and lay it on the table. And ok, yes, I might have raised it to my nose. I might have inhaled. Cecily can be as prickly as a damn teddy bear cholla, but she smells sweeter than the desert after a rain.
Don't let me get started on those soft little moans I felt in her throat when I kissed her. It's better for both of us if I forget about them.
Cecily, my wife, does her best to pointedly ignore me for the remainder of the day.
Once the group gets over their collective shock and awe at hearing our married in Vegas story, we become the butt of every joke.
For example: Cecily said she loved the sandwich she had for lunch, and Paloma said well you can't marry it because you're already married.
One guy Klein plays his weekly soccer match with asked how long Cecily and I are waiting to have kids.
And on and on. And on.
Somehow, after last night's shenanigans, the group rallies. We end up at the hotel pool, and the drinking continues. Not for me, and not for Cecily, either.
Something about drunkenly marrying someone is quite sobering.
Cecily lounges on the chair beside me, because Klein, who hasn't stopped being delighted by last night's events, insisted newlyweds sit together.
Cecily wears a white bikini with light pink and butter yellow flowers printed on it, the kind of print I'd have expected on someone sweet, not someone who would launch a poison-tipped dart at me if given the chance.
The ruffled edge of the fabric flutters with every breath she takes, giving her a delicate, almost fragile quality that juxtaposes with everything I know about this woman.
Is there anything fragile about her? It doesn't appear so, not with the defiant set of her jaw, or the storm clouds brewing in her eyes.
Despite all this, I can't help the way my gaze rakes over her long legs, the curve of her waist. Her skin looks smooth and supple, soft.
My imagination runs wild at the thought of gliding my hands over her, but not for long.
It's hard to fantasize about a person whose expression is that sharp, pinched and irritated.
She must be mad about more than the fact we're married.
Now that the abject horror has worn off, isn't this something to laugh about?
There is an end in sight for us, and this will one day become a hilarious anecdote.
She'll be at a party, and someone will tell their best drunk story, and Cecily will say Oh, you think getting drunk and flashing a cop is funny? Listen to this.
Judging from Cecily's stiff posture and hate-vibes rising off her skin like mist, she's not there yet.
She might be lounging in a chair, but her jaw is tight, eyes closed, arms crossed over her stomach.
If it weren't for the breeze gently pushing tendrils of dark hair that have fallen from her braid, she could be mistaken for a statue.
I think I'll try talking to her. I am her husband, after all. Pretty sure that earns me the right to address her, however brief our marriage will be. "Cecily—"
"Nope." She enunciates the 'p'. Her eyes remain closed. "Nothing from you, thank you. I'm relaxing."
I lean over the low armrest of my chair, and because she is stubbornly keeping her eyes closed, she doesn't see me coming. Lips an inch from her ear, I softly say, "Hate to break it to you, but you look anything but relaxed, Menace."
It works. Her eyes open, cutting to me with razor sharpness. Something tells me it was the nickname that got her.
I called her that this morning through the bathroom door but didn't get to see her reaction. From what I can tell, it hits the mark flawlessly, making Cecily the perfect amount of intrigued and irritated.
We're close now, and something flares in her gaze. Discomfort, I think, and although I love teasing this woman, I'm not into making her feel uneasy. I sit back.
She sighs like I am an inconvenience in human form and pulls a bottle of sunscreen from the straw bag lying on the end of her chair.
She lathers up her legs, and at this point I'm certain the universe is testing my ability to maintain eye contact instead of salivate over the way she smoothes her hands over her skin.
With manufactured disinterest, she says, "Don't you have some errands to run for Satan?"
I am reluctantly impressed by her little nickname for me. It's inventive and has just the right amount of derision. Placing my palm dramatically on my chest, I tell her, "I have no affiliation with the Prince of Darkness, despite your repeated assertions."
Her chin tips up. "Nor am I a menace."
Ohh but you are, Cecily. How could you be anything but a menace with the way you have plagued my thoughts and tormented me daily for months?
"What?" she demands. Challenging me, really. "I can see you're thinking something. Don't hold back."
Why did you ghost me?
It's not the time or place to air our grievances, but I'm tired of waiting. I'm ready to know why Cecily thinks she's justified in hating me. Clearly something occurred, and if I know what it is, I can either fix it, apologize, or move on. Any of the three is better than not knowing.
Cecily's phone rings from her bag. Her brows furrow.
"I put it on Do Not Disturb," she murmurs, wiping her sunscreen slick hands on her towel.
"The only people who can get through are my grandma and my sister if they call twice.
" She reaches into the bag, pulling out her phone.
"My sister," she says. She taps the screen, muttering something like, "Might as well get it over with.
" Phone at her ear, she says, "Hey, Kerr. "
I look away to give her space. There is no privacy to be had poolside, but I can provide her the illusion of it by not looking at her. Paisley waves at me from the water, where Klein has her scooped up in both arms. Paloma plays pool volleyball with the other guys from Klein's soccer team.
Despite my attempt to give Cecily space, I can't help but overhear her half of the conversation.
"Are you upset because I got married? I promise, it's not real."
Fact.
She continues. "It was a drunken mistake. You've heard of beer goggles? These were tequila bifocals."
Umm, wow. Ouch.
"Obviously, we're getting it annulled ASAP. I need to strike this guy from the record."
Rude.
"I don't know what happened to him in the last nine months, but he has definitely gone downhill."
Ok, now she's baiting me.
And I take whatever it is she's dangling. I can't help it. Adjusting my sunglasses to the top of my head, I say, "Maybe I should ask your sister if disappearing acts are typical for you."
Cecily responds with an impressive stink-eye and rakes her middle finger over her chin.
"Menace," I mouth.
I'm waiting for her return barb, but it doesn't come. She grows serious. "A family meeting? For what?"
The alarm in her tone of voice triggers a similar alarm inside me.
"I'm flying back tomorrow afternoon." Cecily's gaze slides my way. Is that panic in the set of her dark eyebrows? "I can't make any promises, but I'll ask him."
Him? Who is him? Me?
Cecily spends a few more moments on the phone, then says goodbye.
She replaces her phone in her bag, gathers herself, then turns to me with worry in the crease of her brow.
"My grandmother has called an emergency family meeting for Monday morning.
As far as I know, she has never done this before.
And she has specifically requested I bring my husband. "
I nod slowly, letting it sink in. "That's ok, right?"
She looks at me like I've lost my mind. "For you to meet my family?"
"Is it the end of the world? I know I've gone downhill"—I narrow my eyes, and she squints back at me—"but I'm not going to disappear into the ether after our annulment. My cousin is marrying one of your best friends. Knowing your family doesn't seem that far-fetched."
Cecily toys with one of her gold bracelets. "My family doesn't know my friends. My sister, Kerrigan, has met Paloma and Paisley a few times, but that's it."
I want to ask why, but it doesn't seem like the right follow-up question. She mentioned during our disaster of a date that her family is a lot.
"I'll go with you," I offer, fully expecting her to refuse.
"No way."
Oh look. I was right.
I lift an eyebrow. "You're going to let your grandma down?"
She stubbornly crosses her arms. "I'm not above it."
"She's one of two people with the power to get through your Do Not Disturb."
"So?"
I shrug. "That doesn't seem to me like a person you want to let down."
"She's not." Cecily takes a deep breath and blows it out noisily. "Why are you doing this? There's no way you're this nice."
We both know she doesn't know me well enough to make this assessment. She seems hell-bent on flinging insults my way, and I am too tired and hungover to do anything about it. Have I mentioned I will never touch tequila ever again?
"It'll take up a few hours of my day and make it so that I don't have to spend the whole day with my parents." There. I said it.
Cecily's brown eyes widen. "I thought your family unit was vanilla."
I push out a sigh. "Sort of. Kind of. Vanilla adjacent. Compared to how you talk about your family, anyway."
Cecily smirks. "I knew you had a different flavor underneath."
Now I'm the one smirking. "You do realize you're talking about how I taste?"
Cecily angles her body away, adjusting her sunglasses that needed no adjustment. "I hope you bite your tongue the next time you sneeze."
Menace.