My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,142

stiffens behind me, and definitely not in the good way. I turn toward the voice.

“Emily?” I say softly, not believing my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s our one-year anniversary,” she says as she holds up her and Doug’s interlocked hands. He looks like he wouldn’t mind sinking through the floor a bit. “You?”

“Us too,” I answer.

We freeze, eyes locked on each other for a long moment.

“We should get dinner or something. You know, like we did before,” she suggests, but I can hear the hesitation in her voice.

I relax, purposefully letting my posture lean into Lorenzo. If I said yes, he’d think I’m crazy but he’d do it. For me.

“Let’s not pretend anymore, Emily. We weren’t friends in school, we weren’t friends last year, and we’re not friends now.”

Blunt? Yeah. True? Also yes.

“So, let’s just not,” I offer with a shrug. “You do your thing, we’ll do ours, and hopefully, we won’t run into each other again, just like we haven’t back at home.”

“Wow,” she snarks. “Still the same old Abi Andrews, aren’t you?” Bitch is implied.

Lorenzo moves as though to defend me, but I don’t need him to. “You know what, Emily? I feel like you have some things you need to say. It might make you feel better. Go ahead and get it all off your chest.”

She makes a tight sound of dismissal, but then she opens her mouth. “You always thought you were better than me, but you know what? I’m living my best life with a man I love, a happy life, with a baby on the way. So what if Claire Johnson says it’s ‘totes adorbs’ that her floral designer and chef are in love. Who needs that kind of ass kissing?” She points a finger at me. “You do, that’s who.”

She’s furious, so mad that tears fall down her cheeks, and Doug is trying to comfort her though he looks more confused than concerned.

“Anything else?” I ask gently.

She sniffles, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand as she shakes her head.

I wasn’t going to say anything, but her coldness tells me that maybe it’ll help. “Emily, everyone’s the villain in someone’s story. And they’re the hero in their own. Neither is actually true.” Her eyes narrow, not believing me. “Congrats on a happy life, a good husband, and the baby. Enjoy it. I truly wish that for you.”

Doug dips his chin at me, trying to put together whatever he’s heard from Emily with what’s happening right now, and leads Emily away.

“That was sexy,” Lorenzo whispers against my ear.

“What? That?” I say faux-modestly. “That was nothing.”

He chuckles. “Last time we were here, you would’ve taken that challenge and had us out to dinner, doing crazy stunts, and battling it out like this was some game show. But you’re different now, stronger and more settled.”

I swat at his chest indignantly. “You take that back. I’m just as crazy as I always was. I’m not some old, can’t we just get along type now.“

“Never. You’ll be old and gray and still causing a ruckus wherever you go. I can’t wait to see it each step of the way.”

“Ruckus?” I question the odd word usage.

Lorenzo looks pleased that I noticed. “Courtney showed me an app. There’s a word every day, some obscure, some humorous, and some particularly unusual, but I like it.”

“I like you.”

“I love you,” he answers with all the heat and passion of the first time still burning in his blood. For me.

Lorenzo

The waves lap at the shore, the sun nearly touching the sea beyond the cove, but I barely notice as I kiss my wife, cupping her cheek and tasting her deeply. We’ve been doing this almost from the first instant I spread the blanket on the sugary sand, kicking off our sandals and lying down, our hands going to each other. Our picnic basket’s ignored, but we can get food later.

After all, the resort’s got twenty-four-hour room service, and Esmar would let me in his kitchen any time, day or night.

“You’re smiling,” Abi murmurs as I pull back. “Why?”

“I’m happy,” I admit, kissing the tip of her nose and then the point of her chin.

Abi nods, her chin pressing into the top of my hair as I kiss down her throat to the V of her blouse. I’ve undone all of the buttons so it’s only gravity keeping her perfect mounds from being exposed, and as my tongue traces the edge of the cotton, her little hitching sighs tell me