23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Baptism Sunday, Boxer Briefs + Red Scrub Warfare
Aspen
My first week as Luca’s nurse was a masterclass in psychological warfare. I was only required to be at the apartment twice a week, but the two hours I spent there each day felt like a decade of sensory overload.
Luca moved through the space with a casual, predatory grace.
He was usually shirtless, and even when he had to dress for virtual meetings, he was only “professional” from the waist up.
He’d sit at his desk in a crisp button-up and a perfectly knotted tie, while beneath the glass tabletop, he wore nothing but boxer briefs.
The bastard caught me staring every single time. But what can I say? I married an African deity, even if he is currently off-limits.
“Girl,” Holly howls, her laughter carrying out the door onto the sidewalk. “I have a new level of respect for your self-control. A button-up and boxer briefs? That’s a damn Tom Ford fantasy if I ever heard one.”
“Yeah. Respect,” Tatum says.
We’re tucked into our usual corner booth at HollyDates, where the Sunday afternoon sun streams through the windows in long, honey-colored rays.
The café has fully leaned into the season, trading its summer florals for overflowing baskets of dried eucalyptus and velvet pumpkins in muted earth tones.
The air inside smells like a decadent mix of toasted pecans and woodsmoke, a cozy contrast to the crisp breeze rattling the orange leaves outside.
Despite the warmth of the room, a chill settles over our table.
The only thing colder than the condensation on my iced latte is the look Eslin is giving me right now.
While Holly and Tatum are practically vibrating with the scandal of my story, Eslin remains stone-faced, her eyes tracking me with a silent disapproval or disbelief.
“Trust me, it wasn’t as easy as it sounds to resist that man,” I admit, stirring my drink. “But since I was raised by two very petty parents, I didn’t take it lying down.”
Eslin leans in, shaking her head. “Oh Lord. Exactly how did you get him back?”
“I ordered a set of skin-tight scrubs in his favorite colors—red and black—and prepared to test his resolve. On day two, I staged a small ‘accident’ with the mop that forced me to change from the black set into the red. Of course, I left the bathroom door cracked and ensured I changed right in his peripheral vision.”
“You did not!” Holly cuts in.
“Did,” I continue. “I timed it perfectly, making sure he was stuck in a position where he couldn't reach me and he was forced to stay put and watch. I knew I’d won the round when I heard him grumble a strangled ‘fuck me’ under his breath as I wiggled into the pants.”
“You are on an entirely different level,” Holly chirps.
“She’s on something,” Eslin says, judging. I can tell she thinks I’m playing a dangerous game.
My phone vibrates against the table. Speaking of petty parents, my father has now taken to texting me with the same ferocity as my mother.
Dad: Sweetpea, I think your mother is actually going to blow a head gasket if you don’t call her soon. Also, I’m currently sitting here polishing my guns and trying to wrap my head around how my only daughter could run off and get married without us even meeting the man.
We don’t know anything about him. Does he take care of you? Most importantly, how does he hang the toilet tissue on the roll?
Please just call us. I am doing my best to keep her calm, but don’t make us show up at your front door. We just need to know you’re okay. Even though it’s clear you have lost your Black mind. —Dad.
My father treats text messages like letters. He just keeps typing until he’s said every last thing on his mind. But I can’t respond right now. I need time to think. And maybe hide.
I skipped church today. It was a calculated move to avoid my parents and the inevitable interrogation waiting for me after my bombshell.
My father has texted me several times, my mother has called at least twenty.
After the twenty-first ignored call, she finally resorted to texting me to ask if I was attending today, since it’s Baptism Sunday.
She already knew the answer. She knows I hate standing for thirty minutes while the pastor slam-dunks people under the water in the name of Jesus.
Sitting here with the girls feels like stepping up to a different kind of altar, one where the wine flows and the judgment is at least constructive.
Only, instead of anointing oil and worship hymns, I have caffeine and the blunt honesty of my best friends.
It is the only place I can lay my debaucherous burdens down without being told all I had to do was pray them away.
Because I have prayed, actually. And at this point, I think God has taken to mocking me.
“Also, I finally told my mom I was married. Then promptly hung up the phone in her face.”
Tatum chokes. “You did what?”
Eslin pauses with food in her mouth. “I’m sorry? You hung up on your mother?”
“Talk about ripping the band-aid off,” Holly says under her breath.
I groan. “I’m an idiot. I told her I was married in a hurry because I wasn’t sure how I was going to finally let the feral fucking cat out the bag and when I couldn’t take her condescension anymore, I snapped!”
“Snapped. That’s a word I would actually use in this situation,” Eslin comments.
“And then, because Clarissa’s name was mentioned and my pride is a fickle bitch, I told her I was bringing my husband to Martha’s Vineyard next month.”
Holly leans forward, her eyes wide as she processes the mess. “So, the man you are currently trying to divorce is now your date to the most competitive family gathering of the year?”
“Exactly. And since he knows he has me over a barrel, he didn't just agree to go. He re-imagined the terms for my services.” I take a long, shaky sip of my drink, bracing myself for the rest. “If he plays the doting husband for my family, I have to play the devoted wife on his terms.”
Eslin’s brow furrows. “On his terms? What does that mean, exactly?”
I let out a breath, still unable to believe I actually agreed to this. “It means I have to stay at his house. I have to be at his beck and call and attend some birthday gala or something for his mother. I told him absolutely no sex, though.”
Eslin lets out a whistle of disbelief, shaking her head.
“Yeah, right. ‘No sex’ my ass. This entire situation is beginning to sound incredibly familiar. And incredibly stupid. This team and the women they meet simply cannot seem to get it together.” She leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just want you to know, your little games are making my life as the team therapist very difficult.”
I shrug sheepishly, my straw stirring the ice in my latte. “Sorry.”
“But, despite your shenanigans,” she adds, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips, “I’ve got to hand it to your husband. Turning your lie into his leverage? He’s a genius.”
“He’s a slut,” Holly interjects. “And I think I love him.”
“Well, I’m beginning to hate him,” I huff. “And as it turns out, his family knows about me. But since we’re all under this strict NDA—”
Eslin barks out a laugh. “Who is? Because I’m damn certain the Stand-Ins weren’t named in your NDA, yet we all know your sordid business, boo! You act like you want to get sued.”
“Oh, hush! This is different!” I chide, with no real comeback to offer. “Since his family doesn’t know he left me, he needs me to go home with him to play the part.”
“And you’re certain you wouldn’t take him back?” Eslin asks, her voice dropping into a more serious, therapeutic tone. “Because this feels like you’re playing a very dangerous game. If Marlow’s growing belly is any indication, these little games never work out the way you plan.”
“I—” I falter. The truth is a tangled knot I’m not ready to unravel out loud. He didn’t just hurt me. I was humiliated in a way that left scars. “I don’t think I can,” I confess. “Even if a big part of me wants to.”
Eslin just sips her drink, her expression flat. “Okay…I have to tell you something, but just know it’s coming from a place of love.”
The table goes quiet. Holly and I both lean in, silent with anticipation.
“I think you’re a damn liar,” Eslin says flatly. My eyes go wide for a split second before I nearly fall out of the booth laughing.
“Excuse me?” I managed to choke out.
“I’m not saying anything else because you don’t pay me enough,” she says, taking a pointed sip of her drink. “But just know I’ll be around when you finally decide to stop lying to us—and yourself.”
I let the comment hang there, but I don’t have the mental capacity to interrogate what she means. Not yet.
“It gets worse,” I add, dropping my head into my hands.
“Of course it does,” Holly says, throwing up her hands in mock exasperation. “Why would it ever be simple?”
“Our episode of SightUnseen airs next week. The whole world is about to see exactly how we met, and I haven’t even told my mother that this man isn’t some longstanding relationship I hid from her. It’s a Las Vegas experiment!”
Eslin shakes her head, her voice bordering on a whine. “How do I keep ending up connected to women in these situations?”
“I don’t know, but my life has never been more eventful,” Holly sings. “Now, do you need help with the move-in or—”
“I’m not moving in. I am taking a few items to his house.”
Eslin raises her voice, drawing looks from the neighboring tables. “Isn’t that exactly what moving in is?”
“Shut up!” I laugh, feeling the heat in my cheeks. “Clearly, I’m trying to minimize it.”
“And there will be no sex? With your husband?” Holly confirms, eyebrow arched.
“That’s right!”
We all stare at each other for a beat of heavy silence before the table bursts into laughter again.
“You bitches do not know me! I am a strong and capable Black woman!”
Holly wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, though she’s clearly more amused than moved.
“Girl, I was here the day Mylene stopped by, telling us all about how the ‘good girl’ who never did anything without her mom’s seal of approval finally got swept away.
But I wasn't surprised. Like I told you before, doing something wild in Vegas is a rite of passage.”
“It was the biggest mistake of my life!” I yell, though my conviction is starting to waver.
“We’ll see about that after your first week living under that man’s roof,” Eslin says, raising her hand like she’s calling on a teacher.
“Wait, this changes the bet!” I interject, trying to weasel my way out of the deal. “Technically, I already won!”
“Nice try,” Holly counters. “We said we’d just keep adding money to the pot to see how long it would take for you to break. And I am willing to bet that man is going to pull out every single stop to get you in his bed, girl!”
Eslin raises a solemn, Baptist finger. “Speaking of which, can I add more money to my wager? Because this heffa is going down in three days, tops!”