Chapter 24
Cecily
"I wasn't expecting it to be so big," Kerrigan says when we walk into the motor home.
There is a collective pause as we try to figure out if we're supposed to capitalize on the obvious opportunity to make a joke.
"For the love," Grandma huffs. "Someone say it."
"Not me." Duke points at himself. "I'm not saying that to my sister."
"Daughter," my dad explains, shrugging. My mom looks away, lips pursed.
Everyone glances at Dominic, who does a half eye roll and reluctantly says, "That's what she said." He glances around. "Can we move on now?"
Grandma starts pointing out shelves and various features.
"What's wrong?" I ask Dom in a quiet voice, jostling him with my elbow. "You don't like dick jokes?"
"A good dick joke has a time and a place."
"And this?" I circle a lone finger in the air.
He frowns disapprovingly. "Neither."
"Interesting. Who knew you had strict parameters for jokes about schlongs? I didn't. It wasn't on your All About Me."
Dom bites the inside of his lower lip. I've come to learn this means he is holding back a laugh. "Weird," he says, "Isn't that considered basic information about a person?"
Now I'm the one trying to hold it together. "I thought so."
Is this...flirting? It might be. In fact, it's feeling a little like the first time we met. Easy. Playful. Enjoyable.
Wow. Ok. I need to be careful. Dom is dangerous.
Dangerous Dom. My mnemonic device.
"What's going on in that head of yours? You're smiling at something." Dom traces a fingertip against my head, around my ear. A shiver rolls through me.
Dangerous Dom.
I have to be careful. We're only keeping this up for a few more weeks. He'll return to New York City, a recently annulled marriage tucked into his memories. We'll be a cautionary tale. The punchline of a joke.
I clear my throat and turn my head away from his touch. His hand drops to his side, all traces of flirtatiousness disappearing from his face.
A terse breath of air streams from his nose. "You know, Menace, with you it's always two steps forward, and one step back."
I should step away, pretend I didn't hear him. It's impossible, though. There's something in me, mulish and masochistic. If I can't have the last word, I at least need to say one more thing.
I look up at him, at the hard angle of his jawline. Those blue eyes that look just a little bit defeated. I say, "Even at that pace, you're still making progress."
Before he can respond, I turn away, allowing Kerrigan to pull me into her oohs and ahhs over the hidden compartments in the kitchen.
"This expandable pantry," she says, pulling out a vertical drawer. It bumps my mom's backside, and she takes a step away. "Sorry, Mom. Check out this cutting board," Kerrigan practically squeals, extending a board from below the counter. "The motor home is basically a treasure hunt."
Kerrigan is enjoying this more than any other member of my family, but everybody is making an effort.
Duke is poking through the bedroom at the back, remarking how much space there is.
My dad has located a cabinet stocked with games, and he's already pulled out three and placed them on the dinette.
Rainbow stands alone next to the door, hands clasped and hanging loosely in front of her.
In the middle of it all, stands my grandma. And she is beaming. There is nothing Savage Grandma loves more than the successful execution of an idea.
"Ok, everyone, listen up," Grandma says. She waits as Duke filters in from the bedroom, and then looks at Rainbow. Rainbow bends, rummaging through a ditzy-flower printed oversized tote at her feet. She comes away with a shiny white three-ring binder.
Grandma takes it from her outstretched hands. She holds it aloft, showing it off like a line judge in a tennis match.
Slipped into the clear plastic sleeve on the front of the binder is a piece of paper, a full sentence printed in bold, black font.
We're going to have fun, DAMMIT.
"This is our trip guide," Grandma says. "Travel schedule, destination information, booking confirmations, everything.
You have a question about this trip? Look in here.
If you ask me a question that can be answered by looking in here, I'm going to tell you to quit being an idiot and look in the binder.
And"—Grandma glances at me and Dom—"I had a separate one made for you since you won't be traveling with us at first."
Rainbow, ready like an assistant and not a death doula, hands over an identical binder.
"Thanks," I murmur. I open it an inch, but Grandma snaps it shut.
"No time for perusing," she announces. "We're already behind schedule. At this rate we won't make it to Tucson until the middle of the afternoon."
Tucson? Tucson is our first stop? I was assuming we'd head north, but Tucson is in the southeastern corner of Arizona.
"Shoo," Grandma says to me and Dom. Rainbow takes the binder from her hands, present and ready like a third hand.
Hands-free now, Grandma makes the shooing motion. "Get on the road."
We back up. Dom bumps into the fold-out table, and my calves hit a chair.
Looking around at the faces of my family, I suddenly feel extra grateful to be using the Bentley to start the road trip.
Duke's face looks pained. He's already pulling his laptop from his bag, ready to work.
My dad looks bereft, a king without his proverbial castle.
He is always the boss, the ringmaster, running the show and ordering around everyone in his vicinity.
But not now. He's here for the same reason as the rest of us, and he doesn't get to tell everyone what to do.
He's our equal, and it's obvious he has no idea what to do next.
Kerrigan retreats to the bedroom, flopping down onto the bed.
She props her head on her hand so she can still sip her latte.
"You're driving this thing," Grandma says to my dad. "You look like you need something to do."
My dad probably has a response, but he holds it back. Wise man.
"And you." Grandma points at my mom. "You're riding shotgun."
I'd be shocked if my mom knows the term 'riding shotgun'. But, apparently she does, because she dutifully walks to the front of the massive vehicle and drops into the passenger seat.
"Settled." Grandma nods, pleased. Like a mother duck getting her brood in a row.
Dom and I step down from the motor home, blinking into the bright sun. We turn around when Grandma says, "You'll need this." She reaches into a hidden pocket in her caftan, coming away with a key and tossing it at Dom. "Treat her well."
Dom catches it. "I won't treat Cecily with anything but the utmost care."
He sounds like some kind of earnest superhero. My heart smacks my breastbone. Traitor.
"That was sweet," Kerrigan yells from the bedroom. She's probably already watching the Moose-cam.
Grandma beams and grips the doorframe. The sun glints in her eyes, her excited smile. "You're a good man, Dominic. But I wasn't talking about my granddaughter." She waves behind our heads to the Bentley. "I was talking about my car. Bernice. She gets premium fuel only."
"Of course." Dom nods, hiding his smile. "I'll take good care of Bernice."
"You'll make it to our first destination before we do. I've already arranged for an early check-in."
"Thanks, Grandma," I say, holding the binder to my chest.
We turn for the car, but Grandma calls my name. Dom doesn't turn back with me. He keeps on walking to Bernice.
"Yeah?" I ask. She has a sly look on her face.
"You're going to get there first," she repeats, emphasizing the word.
"I know," I drawl.
"So," she says, "It's a lot to ask of your new husband to go on a road trip like this. Make sure you properly thank him. That's the best marriage advice I can give. Keep him properly thanked."
My face heats, and I know it's not the sunshine pouring down on me. "I'll be sure to say thank you."
"You'd better do more than that, Cecily." Grandma grins. She turns her midsection in a circle, but the boxy caftan keeps it from appearing too suggestive. "Give him the old razzle dazzle."
I swear I hear Dom cough lightly behind me. And me? I'll never forget the sight of my grandmother gyrating her hips in the doorframe of a motor home.
"Safe travels, Grandma," I say pointedly, refusing to acknowledge her lascivious suggestion.
She laughs and steps back from the door. Rainbow appears, leaning out and reaching for the door handle. Her eyes meet mine briefly before the door closes, and I fight the urge to shout a curse word at her.
Dom places our bags in the car's trunk. He lays the handwritten Just Married sign on top.
"What are the chances you didn't hear that last part?" I ask.
"Zero," he says, stepping back and closing the trunk. Then he, and I wish I were kidding about this, walks the length of the car, fingertips caressing the frame. When he gets to the side mirror, he cups it like a boob.
Crossing my arms, I exhale a gusty sigh. "Are you about done fondling Bernice?"
He yanks his hand back like he's been burned. "That was not fondling. That was called appreciating."
"What's that, Bernice?" I cup a hand around my ear and stretch toward the car. "You'd like to report an assault?"
Dom shoots me an annoyed glare, but there’s something softer hiding behind it. He steps around to the passenger side, his movements slow, deliberate, his arm brushing softly against mine before coming to a stop in front of me.
He opens the car door with a small, almost reluctant smile, eyes locked on mine as our bodies brush once more just before I slide inside. I pull my seat belt around me, clicking it into place, and hope Dom doesn’t notice the way he throws me off my game.
Dom folds his big body in the car. My purse goes on the floor beside my feet, and the binder finds a safe home on my lap. Dom looks over at me through the open space between us. He reaches into his pocket, produces a pair of brown aviators, and slides them on.
Lethal. Dom in sunglasses should be illegal.
I'm doing everything I can to school my reaction, but it's a lot of work to keep my libido from overtaking my body. That amorous floozy wants out.
"You ready to hit the road with the top down?" Dom asks, blessedly unaware of the meltdown I'm having.
"Ready," I answer, digging through my purse and coming up with a brown hair tie. Fingers working deftly, I thread my hair into a braid and tie off the end. I slip on my own sunglasses and turn to Dom. He has been watching me, one hand on the wheel, the other forearm resting on the center console.
"Don't mind if I speed," he says, smirking. "I've got some razzle dazzle in my future, and the prospect has given me a lead foot."
I flip him the middle finger, even as an ache blooms low in my belly. He laughs, buckles up, and presses a button. The car roars to life. I've been in Savage Grandma's Bentley a hundred times, but it's no less impressive today. Bernice is a babe.
Dom looks around the car, orienting himself. He pokes at the console, turns knobs. He palms the steering wheel, hand gliding in one full circle, and why is that hot?
His gaze snags on mine across the small space, and the way I like it infuriates me. "If you're finished making sweet love to Bernice, can we get on the road?"
Dom tosses a reproachful look my direction. "Careful, Mrs. Bellinger. I won't suffer an accusation that I've pleasured any woman but my wife."
I melt, right into my plush leather seat. My form remains, but my substance is gone.
That's when I know, with total clarity, I won't survive these next three weeks with Dom if he's saying things like that.
It's critical that I push this man away, or I will combust. Right in front of my family, on this road trip from hell.
"Dominic Bellinger." I flick one of his knuckles. "I. Loathe. You."
He shows no response, to my flick or my pronouncement. "Do you?"
"With a passion."
"Passion, huh? Interesting word choice."
I'd love to volley a response, but I don't. I can't show Dom how deeply he affects me, in all ways.
Dom shifts into Drive, and eases us onto the road.
The start of our road trip. I glance down at the binder in my lap.
We're going to have fun, DAMMIT.