“Big boy underwear,” I said aloud as she left the bedroom. “Wait. You can’t talk to me like I’m a five-year-old. I live here. I own not just this penthouse but this whole tower.”
Grace ignored me as she walked down the hall. I admired her curvy hourglass figure in the black skinny jeans, T-shirt, and boots she wore, until I had to remind myself of the no-sex-and-no-falling-in-love rule, lest my tower and penthouse become Grace’s tower and penthouse in our upcoming divorce.
“How many shots do you need?” Grace asked Gunnar impatiently. “I need to get some work done.”
“Oooh,” Gunnar said in that same tone that all the Svensson brothers had when they were about to admit that they were pulling a bait and switch on you. “See there’s actually this cocktail hour with the other couples…”
“You…” Grace sputtered, winding herself up to really let Gunnar have it.
I stepped back, glad I wasn’t the one on the receiving end of Grace’s aggravation.
“I don’t have anything to wear to a cocktail hour!”
“You are a liar,” Grace said when we were in the back of the town car en route to the cocktail hour. “This dress does not fit me.”
But she did look hot in it.
You are not sleeping with her. You need an annulment, I reminded myself. Marriages that are consummated are not granted annulments.
I’d bought the dress as a present for a ballerina I’d been dating last year. I had thought she might be different, that she might be the one, but my father talked sense into me and also showed me her social media posts where she was bragging about bagging a billionaire. I had immediately cut off all contact with her. But I still owned the dress. Slightly stretchy black fabric with gold chain accents, it hugged Grace’s curves. It had a low scoop back and front, and I could see through the outline of the fabric that she was not wearing a bra underneath it.
Was she wearing panties?
I wanted to find out.
Grace shifted in the seat next to me. With her hair in a messy bun and her glasses, she was rocking the sexy secretary vibe.
And I was there for all of it.
Bad idea! My father’s warnings popped into my head. You can’t trust women.
I knew he was right, but part of me had started to maybe become a little lonely in the last couple of years. What was the point of having all this money if you didn’t have anyone to share it with? I had to attend fancy parties and fundraisers, and there was something especially depressing about going home alone after those events. I wanted someone with me where we could laugh about the drunken antics of the partygoers, complain about the food, and grab burgers on the way home.
It is a fantasy. That’s not what marriage is.
The other Marriage in a Minute couples sure looked happy. They were all over each other in the lobby of the restaurant where we were filming.
As soon as we entered into the main dining room, I made my way to the open bar and ordered a drink. No way was I going to deal with this event sober.
“What does your wife want to drink?” the chipper bartender asked me.
I shrugged. “Not sure. Don’t care.”
The bartender looked at me like I was a headless monkey. “You’re not bringing her anything?”
“I mean she’s not…we’re not…”
“Marriage is difficult,” the bartender said kindly. “But you have to make an effort. Each person needs to put in a hundred percent.”
He poured a glass of wine and handed it to me along with my whisky. “She seems like she would enjoy this.”
“Here,” I said gruffly when I came up behind Grace. She was in an animated conversation with Linneah and her husband.
“If it’s not the money you owe me, I don’t want it.” Grace turned and her eyes flicked down to the wineglass in my hand.
“Don’t make that face,” I told her, annoyed that she didn’t even say thank you. “It’s not poison, though the bottle he pulled out was a 2010 Chardonnay which might as well be boxed gas-station wine. I have a very nice 1970 Chardonnay from the Saint-Véran vineyard in my wine cellar. I’ll give you some when we get home, but since clearly none of us are going to survive this shit show sober, you’re going to have to take what you can get.”