Chapter 12 Cecily
Cecily
"I had no idea." It's the first thing I say the second I am alone with Dominic.
We're in the kitchen at my grandma's house.
After her announcement and subsequent request, she sent Dominic and me in here to get drinks for everyone.
Most likely, so she can lecture them about their behavior toward us and our marriage.
My head is still reeling from her announcement. My heart is still splintering.
Dominic turns. Looks at me with bewilderment. "Of course you had no idea."
He sounds, well, not mad exactly, but something similar to it as he steps around the room opening cabinets, in search of the custom paneled fridge.
I bristle. "You don't have to sound angry. You're not the one who's heading out on a road trip with the family from hell."
He whirls on me, hand poised on the correct handle. "I'm not?"
My eyes narrow. "Why would you?"
He releases the handle, turning the full force of his blue-eyed gaze on me. "Why wouldn't I? Better yet, how could I not? She requested the entire family, including your husband." His voice drops low on those last two words, his tone caustic.
Pinching the shell of my ear, I wiggle it and say, "Did a bug crawl in your ear and eat your brain cells? We. Are. Not. Married. For. Real."
"No, we're not. But you know what is real?
An old woman is dying"—I wince at the bluntness of his words—"and her dying wish is for her family to go on a three-week road trip to repair their relationship with one another so she feels more comfortable leaving the physical earth behind.
And guess who she thinks is family now? Me. "
I cross my arms. Stare him down. "So, what, you're planning to be my husband? Pretend to love me? Go on a road trip with my family?"
He turns back to the fridge, peering in. "You didn't manage to tell your family about us when you had the chance. Are you planning on telling a dying woman who is clearly thrilled and relieved you've found your other half that it is really one great, big lie?"
I wrench my gaze away. Damn him. Damn Dominic. Damn Paisley and Klein for getting married, and having joint parties in Vegas, and who was it that suggested tequila shots? Paloma! Damn her, too.
I lean my lower back against the kitchen island.
Arms still crossed. Gaze pointed out at the valley.
From here, the cars look like ants marching through their day.
Is Dominic serious about going on this road trip with me?
Am I seriously considering allowing Dominic to be my husband for a three-week road trip?
I look at him now, rummaging through the fridge as he tries to locate the bottle of riesling my grandma said was "in there somewhere".
"It might be harder to be granted an annulment if we don't request one right away." I worry my bottom lip as he pulls away from the fridge, hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle.
He makes a motion with his hands, silently asking for a wine opener. "We could go this afternoon like we planned, and I'll still go on the road trip with you."
I retrieve one from a drawer, and hand it over. "Why would you agree to do this? Don't tell me it's out of the goodness of your heart, because I'm pretty sure you don't have one."
That's not true. Aside from the fact Dom's a living, breathing human, I know he has a heart in every sense of the word. The fact that he's standing here right now, in my grandma's kitchen, weathering the hellacious storm that is my family, proves it.
"Granting a dying woman's wish is important." He pauses for a beat as he opens the wine, releasing the cork with a pop. "Ignoring it because I simply don't want to isn't something I'd like to have on my conscience. I guess in a way, I'm being"—he shrugs—"selfish."
I eye him until he becomes uncomfortable and smoothes the front of his shirt, then say, "I smell bullshit."
He balks, eyebrows tugging in the center. "Are you kidding? I think that's a very good reason."
I'm not buying it. The man has a job. Not just a job, a career.
Across the country, I might add. I don't know much about the responsibilities of a literary agent, but I'm sure he has deadlines.
Authors with needs. Foreign translation rights to negotiate.
He's going to put all that aside to accommodate the grandmother of the woman he accidentally married in Vegas?
Whose request is, let's be honest, difficult and unpleasant.
All because he doesn't want to have his refusal on his conscience?
And then he's going to claim he's doing something selfless out of his own selfishness?
"I think there's more to the story." I poke the center of his chest. Hard. "You don't know my grandma. What if I told you her most prized possession is a fur coat made from sad puppies?"
"Is it?"
"No."
Dom sighs. Stuffs his hands in his pockets. He's weighing something in his mind. "I don't have a grandma. My mom doesn't have a relationship with her mom, and my dad's mom died when he was young."
A pang of sadness creeps over me. My grandma is the stuff grandma dreams are made of, and I can't imagine not having her. Though I will have to imagine it, something I haven't begun to process yet.
I don't like the shred of softness I feel toward Dom, so I say, "Despite how moving your sob story is, you cannot glom onto my grandma." There. That should do it. No more soft feelings now. Balance has been restored.
Dom, to his credit, doesn't blink at my unkind words. "Something tells me Savage Grandma doesn't get glommed onto unless she decides she wants it to happen."
Ugh. Why does he have to take my meanness in stride? Moreover, why does he have to be right? He's known my grandma for one measly, albeit eventful, family meeting and he's already picked up on her fierce personality.
I cross my arms, ready to try a different tack. "Let's say, hypothetically speaking, I agree to allow you on this road trip. What's to stop you from leaving halfway through?"
Most men would deny they would do such a thing, but not Dom. He says, very practically, "I could leave halfway through, married or not. Anybody could leave anywhere at any point for any reason." I like his acknowledgment of the possibility. He adds, "I wouldn't, though." I like that, too.
"You're asking me to trust you?"
"I suppose so."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Have I given you a reason to distrust me?"
"I can think of one."
"That goes both ways."
My lips are twitching with the desire to unload on him.
I want to know how he could've said those things about me, been so duplicitous.
I won't, because the last thing I want is for my family to overhear us.
Also, I'm embarrassed to say the words out loud.
Mortified it ever happened, and even more mortified at how deeply it wounded me.
What I overheard Dom saying in that hallway at Obstinate Daughter should have lost its power over me as the days grew into weeks and months, but it didn't. I was too fragile, too tender.
If Dominic had behaved in some objectionable way, I could've walked away with my ego intact. But, no. It was Dominic who objected to me.
And isn't that my worst fear? That I will be myself, let down my guard, and get rejected. You make it difficult to love you.
"All right, lovebirds," my grandma calls from around the corner, tactfully announcing herself before entering the kitchen. "I think you've taken long enough to retrieve that wine."
She rounds the corner and takes us in. Our lack of flushed cheeks, our clothing in place and our hair smooth. She thought she'd be interrupting a steamy makeout session between can't-keep-their-hands-off-each-other newlyweds.
"Cecily," she starts, pointing at a cabinet. "Grab the glasses and take the wine out. None for me."
"Or me," Dom adds.
The memory of placing my face over a toilet is fresh in my mind, recent enough that I'll be declining the wine as well.
As directed, I retrieve four glasses, snag the bottle, and pause expectantly at the open doorway leading out of the kitchen.
"Go on, hon." Grandma waves me away. "I want to chat with your husband for a moment."
My gaze slides to Dom, who looks nonplussed. Does nothing bother him?
"See you out there," I say, taking one last look at my grandmother before turning away. Her expression plainly says get out of here so I can talk to him alone.
If my expression reflects how I'm feeling on the inside, it says Please don't leave this world, I don't know how to be in it without you.