My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,26

have never been to Aruba, it seemed like an adventure I would enjoy and an opportunity to learn a new cuisine from a local chef.”

I do not answer people’s inquiries that fully, ever. But once I began telling her how I ended up here, her direct gaze never left mine, and I find myself wanting to keep sharing more just to keep her attention.

Now, though, the room is quiet, and I can almost hear her brilliant mind putting things together.

“The dinner at Avanti must’ve been the centerpieces I prepared. I only knew they were for a dinner, not the venue. So it does sound like a bit of a coincidence for us both to end up here, I guess,” Abigail gives me.

“Or fate putting me in place so that I could step in with your other situation,” I correct, knowing that the quirk of my lips will be enough to set her off-kilter once again. I like her flip-flops from rash to reasonable, finding them exciting. But though I seek out adventure and enjoy danger, Abigail is a danger I’m not sure I can afford.

She flops back on the couch morosely, her head shaking back and forth as she rolls her eyes toward the vaulted ceiling. “I cannot believe I said that. Do you have any idea what I’ve done?” she asks.

Perhaps she’s asking the ceiling, or maybe me and Janey? Maybe even herself? I’m not quite sure.

Janey jumps in before I can. “Tell me again. Who the hell is this Emily character and why do we give a single fuck what she thinks? Screw her and the broom she flew in on.”

Abigail rolls her head toward Janey as though she hasn’t the energy to even lift her head. “It’s stupid. I know that. I do. But you weren’t there. It was constant through school. Anything I would show interest in, there was Emily doing it too. Until she was literally doing my boyfriend.”

Janey gasps indignantly.

“Oh, mio Dio,” I whisper. “Seriously?” Whoever this stupido was, he had clearly not understood what it would mean to hold Abigail in his heart. How could someone cheat on her with that . . . Emily?

“She was just a catty bitch, but we’ve always run in the same crowd, you know? So she never went away and would keep picking and poking . . . at me, at my family. And when she was all fake sorry that I’m alone, I could feel her glee at my failure, and I wanted to shove it in her face that I’m not a failure.” She sounds so sad, and surprise at the layers to this woman works its way through the steel surface of my heart. For all her strength and shine, she is battered and bruised just like the rest of us.

“You could’ve, you know, told her how you’re doing the flowers for the biggest wedding of the year. She would’ve seen that you’re not a failure then,” Janey says logically.

Abigail shakes her head. “That’s not Emily’s currency. She truly doesn’t understand the value of that. But she understands . . . you.” Abigail’s eyes, dark and hopeful, turn to me appraisingly. She might think that only Emily understands my appeal, but Abigail does as well. I can see that clearly.

“Okay, so it is settled then. We will do this charade for Emily and go to dinner and blow away the wedding guests with our combined genius. It sounds like an exciting week, an adventure waiting to unfold,” I summarize.

Truthfully, Abigail is an adventure I’d like to fold and unfold in countless positions. But she is Violet’s best friend, and Violet is not someone to upset carelessly. Nor is her entire family branch. And though Abigail might flirt and play at being a fun girl, I think her heart is fragile, easily bruised like a peach, and I do not want to be the man who destroys her for some short-lived enjoyment.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not a monster.

That’s why I left that night at the wedding. Not because she wasn’t enough but because she’s more than I deserve. More than I need right now.

Except she needs me. For now, at least.

I pick up my small bag and stride toward the bedroom Abigail set her carry-on in. That has her moving double-time off the couch, beating me to the bedroom doorway where she stands with her arms outstretched, one hand on either side of the door frame as a scowling, but cute, blockade. “Where do