My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,59
of the table display. White china plates are nestled on silver charger platters at each place setting, and that is layered onto a large, fresh palm leaf.
Abigail’s doing, I’m sure.
As if thinking of her conjures her in truth, she walks in with a lush arrangement. “These are the last ones,” she says to no one in particular.
Janey follows along behind her, carefully carrying a tray full of small buds bursting with floral color.
“Let me help with that,” I tell Abigail, taking the flowers from her. “Where does it go?”
She nibbles her bottom lip as though she’s not sure, staring into my eyes vacantly, and I wonder what thoughts are spinning in that head of hers. The possibilities make me smile.
“Oh, right here,” she tells me finally, pointing to the center of the table. “And Janey, set that down and we’ll spread those out.”
Janey glares at me with a raised brow. “Oh, no worries, I’ve got this.”
I have the decency to look remorseful as she sets the tray down.
“These are beautiful,” I tell Abigail earnestly, which earns me a soft smile.
Before I can say anything else, I hear those tell-tale heels clicking across the floor. “There you are, Miss Andrews. Is this what you’ve made for today’s luncheon?” Meredith couldn’t be more condescending if she tried as she looks at the vibrant symphonies of color Abigail and Janey have created. She reaches toward the main arrangement, frowning as she flicks a bloom with her red-tipped fingers.
“Please don’t touch them,” Abigail scolds automatically. Gentler, she says, “They’re fragile and will blacken from the oils on your hands.”
Surprisingly, Meredith drops her hands back to her sides.
“Yes, each setting has a palm leaf, and the tablescape will have lush greenery accented with the main arrangement, smaller collections of buds, and freshly halved coconuts. The beauty of the tropics,” Abigail explains. She makes flowers sound like a vacation escape.
Meredith continues her barely veiled insults. “I guess they’ll do. It’s better than the overly simplistic one from yesterday, at least.”
Abigail’s back goes ramrod straight, and her teeth click as though she’s choking down the words she really wants to say. I’m pretty sure what she’s swallowing is ‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.’
Not able to stand by and watch, I step forward. “Great job, Abigail. I’m sure Claire will love them.”
Meredith cuts her eyes to me as she likely prepares to go mano a mano again. Measuring the distance between me and her and me and Abigail, a light goes off in the depths of her dark eyes. “Oh, I should’ve introduced you two, but it sounds like you already know each other?” Curiosity and calculation are palpable as she looks me up and down once more.
I let Abigail handle this one. It’s reasonable for us to know each other from before, and even if we weren’t familiar through Violet, we could’ve met here at the resort. At yesterday’s meeting, even. But we specifically discussed keeping the whole honeymoon thing to ourselves.
“Yes, Lorenzo is my best friend’s cousin. I was surprised to see him here.” That’s the truth, and her smile makes it seem like a pleasant surprise at least.
“Hmm.” Meredith doesn’t give anything away, and neither does her Botoxed face. “Well, let’s get everything set. Miss Johnson will be here shortly, and we won’t have you standing around when she approaches.”
I dip my chin in agreement, but my eyes wander to Abigail as I step into the kitchen. I can’t help it, nor do I stop the smile I give her, hoping it’s enough to get her through the afternoon’s festivities.
“So, she loved them? I knew she would,” I murmur into the darkness of our bedroom hours later.
We survived the luncheon, even the chef table visits where they didn’t ask about ingredients or anything food-related. No, the bridal party might’ve oohed and ahhed about their dishes, but what they really wanted to know was all about me.
How tall are you?
Can I see your muscles?
Say something in Italian.
Are you single?
Can you sing?
I’d done my best to play the flirtatious asshole, walking the line of pissing them off and making them want more.
But now, lying under the blankets with Abigail, the day disappears into a bubble outside a world of the two of us. Without a word about it, we’re facing each other to talk through the darkness. We are both on our ‘sides’ of the bed, but very close to the middle, making me yearn to reach out and caress Abigail.