My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,36

into my eyes and suddenly squeezes my thigh, hard. I gasp and jump in surprise, and he lifts a brow, that sexy smirk returning to his face.

“Pink?” Emily asks, confused. “I always thought her face was, I don’t know, a little pale.”

“I wasn’t talking about her face,” Lorenzo says, his meaning hanging in the air until Emily’s eyes go wide as she gets it.

“Oh . . . ohh,” Doug adds, actually amused. “I guess, well, makes sense then, doesn’t it?”

Damn, Lorenzo’s good at this. At driving me crazy and rubbing Emily’s nose in this mythical, magical marriage.

I jump in, worried we might be taking this too far. The last thing I need is Emily running home and telling the country club debutantes that I’m into whips and chains. Despite every woman from coast to coast singing along with Rihanna that they excite them, the truth is, our sweater-set types would judge me harshly at the reality of that.

“Tell me how you two met,” I say to Emily, giving her the floor. I know she likes to be center-stage, the object of attention, so it’s an easy maneuver.

“Oh, it was the sweetest thing ever,” Emily says romantically, looking at Doug with stars in her eyes. “We were at school—Stanford, you know—and we were both part of the same groups. Sorority, fraternity, Young Politicians, Entrepreneur Club, things like that.”

The only thing Emily Jones would be doing at a political or entrepreneur club meeting is looking for her M-R-S Degree. Seems like she found it too.

“We just hit it off,” Doug adds. “It took me a while to be ready for such a big step, especially with a girl as amazing as Emily. I wanted to be sure I was worth her,” he says, absently touching her engagement ring which is more telling than his words, “and when we said ‘I do’, it was the happiest day of my life.” He smiles at Emily sweetly but then ruins the whole moment by turning to Lorenzo and bro-joking, “Until I make CEO. You know how it is.” His chuckle falls flat, no one else laughing along with him.

Doug clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, how about you two?”

Lorenzo smiles, letting me tell the story.

“We met at a wedding, of all places,” I start.

Emily quickly interrupts, asking Lorenzo, “Were you the caterer?”

It’s a small dig, and Lorenzo lets it roll off his back without so much as a flinch. “No, I was a guest of my cousin, Violet.”

I can see Emily’s mind putting pieces together, so I intercept her foregone conclusions. “You see, Lorenzo had just moved to the area when Courtney and Kaede were getting married. Violet invited him to introduce him to our group, and when we started talking, it was just right.” I sigh happily, staring into Lorenzo’s eyes, and he picks up the story.

“There is an old folktale in my home of Positano. It tells that God made the heavens and Earth in six days and rested on the seventh. But sometime, while he rested, one of his angels visited the new creation, leaving behind a small trail of her beauty. And every once in a great while, that beauty takes human form in a very special woman. One of grace, purity, with the kindest heart and the sweetest soul. I was fortunate to find such a creature and make her my bride.”

Holy . . . I want this to be real. I want him to say that to me, to be truthful and honest about it, and to take my heart the way his words are asking. Because that . . . he is an artist. He is a poet. He is everything.

Silence reigns around the table, and even Emily can’t really argue with the passion in Lorenzo’s voice or the beauty of his words. Finally, Doug picks up his glass and tosses back the rest of his drink, setting the champagne glass down.

“Damn, if you ever want to stop cooking, you’d make a killing writing song lyrics or Shakespeare or something like that,” Doug says with as much honest admiration for another man as he can muster. “You’re Catholic, right? Are you going to have to go to confession for that much bullshit?”

It’s just the right amount of humor to break the tension, and Lorenzo leans back, laughing lightly. “Trust me, Abigail is worth any penance. And I’ve paid a few already. For all her angelic soul, she has a bit of the devil in her as well.”

I shiver at

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