My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,27

you think you’re going?” she balks.

“To our room, mia rosa,” I tell her calmly, absolutely knowing the effect it will have.

“Oh, no. That’s not part of the deal,” she argues, as if this is a negotiation. But she’s already lost this hand.

“Of course it is. Otherwise, when Emily and Doug come to meet us tonight, they will wonder why we are spending our honeymoons in different parts of the resort. Especially when your room is so luxurious and spacious and mine is a last-minute crew quarter space not much larger than a coffin. I think perhaps I have married up.” I flash a bright smile, knowing she’ll see reason.

Her arms cross and her eyes narrow, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

“Very well. Which side of the bed do you prefer, mia rosa?” I call out over my shoulder as I enter the bedroom, making sure to brush against her as I pass.

It’s large and bright. The king-size bed is crisp with white linens and fluffy pillows and surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. The one centered on the far wall is a slider that opens onto the same balcony as the living room. I drop my bag and take a running leap for the bed, bouncing onto its lush cushion.

“Aah, this is exquisite,” I moan.

“You can take the couch,” Abigail instructs, still standing in the doorway and pointing to a couch in the corner. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

I quirk a knowing brow and let my voice drop low and turn to gravel as I say, “I did not say anything about sleeping, Abigail.” She crosses her arms protectively again, but I see the way her thighs squeeze together. “And if I am doing this favor for you, I will not be sleeping on the couch. You can if you choose to, but I’ll be here in this bed that should not be missed.” I pat the open space beside me in invitation.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever. We can figure that out later. Right now, I need to get to work. I have an email to read, apparently, and I need to get down to see the coolers and check our shipments. I’ll meet you back here at seven so we’re ready for dinner?”

Reluctantly, I hop up from the comfortable bed. “Yes. I should get down and introduce myself to the chef as well and make sure the kitchen is up to snuff.”

Abigail’s brows rise nearly to her hairline. “You told Meredith you’d already done that!”

I shrug carelessly. “I lied. I’ll take care of it, and everything will be fine. I’m a big boy, don’t need her checking up on me. There’s no need to hand her ammunition.”

I can’t decide if Abigail is impressed with me or horrified that she didn’t think of it herself first. Or maybe considering how big a ‘boy’ I am, I think with evil delight.

Testing that theory, I reach down and adjust myself.

Abigail’s mouth closes with a clack of her teeth. Ah-ha, got you, mia rosa.

“Kitchen. Coolers. Seven p.m. Don’t be late,” she orders, pointing a finger to me, then herself, before settling it back toward me.

“As you wish,” I reply, giving her sarcastic bow.

“Inconceivable,” she mutters. I don’t get the joke, but something about the glint in her eye tells me that’s what that was. Perhaps it’s an English language thing I’m unaware of?

I can’t wait to see what the kitchen is like. But as exciting as that prospect always is to me, my mind is still on Abigail. When I saw her distress and overheard the things that woman was saying, I couldn’t help but come to Abigail’s rescue. I swooped in to save her day like Superman, but with better hair.

I didn’t know it would get me involved in what followed. How could I have expected that I’d be declared her husband? That we’re now faking a honeymoon?

Ah, but the spice of it all. It’s crazy, it’s insane, and I know it’s dangerous for Abigail. Probably for me too, though for different reasons.

But that just makes it even spicier.

And Abigail? She’s an adventure herself. One I’d like to take.

Trying to distract myself, I head through the grand hall toward the kitchens. Casa Del Mario’s website talked a lot about their three full-service restaurants, multiple grill stations, and twenty-four-hour room service. But of course, other than a picture of the poolside barbecue, there were no pictures of the actual kitchens. I fear I’ll find a bank of microwaves and a freezer