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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DUFFY
I ended up winning the apple-picking battle. It wasn’t even much of a competition. Riggs did a wonderful job filling my basket to the brim. And yes, therewasa euphemism there. #SorryNotSorry.
The rest of the weekend was a blur of drinks with my childhood mates (Riggs made all of them swoon, and one even tried to take him home, thinking he was just my flatmate, which gave me a small heart attack), a visit to Tim and Kieran’s chippy (Riggs approved, wolfing down three servings; I found pride in that, since BJ absolutely detested anything fried), and a day in Camden, going through old record shops and secondhand finds.
It was both lovely and soul crushing, knowing the interview letter from the immigration office would come in the mail any day now. After that, there’d be no need for us to physically stick together, and we’d go our separate ways.
But the haze of vacationing with my fake husband didn’t evaporate until we were tucked in the cab on our way back to our Manhattan flat. Something about the tall, imposing buildings and unbearably fast pace of the city anchored me back to reality. With it came the reminder that I had pressing issues to tend to. None of them related to BJ, my visa, and finding a job.
“You know what today is perfect for?” I toyed with the soft tuft of blond curls behind his ear.
“Sex on the beach?” Riggs was scrolling through his phone, looking largely unbothered by the fact our so-called honeymoon had come to an end. “The act, not the cocktail. I still have my balls intact, thank you.”
My cheeks were so hot you could make well-done burgers on them. “That too. But you need to schedule your appointment with the neurologist.”
If looks could kill, I’d be stuck in an underground fridge right now.
“I can book it for you if you’re busy,” I suggested, not particularly enjoying playing his mum.
“I’m a big boy. I’ll do it, eventually.”
“But your headaches—”
“You’re contributing to those with your constant nagging, Poppins.” His voice was soft, but his expression hardened.
I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut. He needed to know about the potential risks he was up against.
“You should also go see Charlie in the hospital.”
“Yeah, I’ll drop by tomorrow on my way to Christian’s.”
“No, not tomorrow. Today.”
His head finally snapped up. “Why’re you pushing this?”
“Pushing what?” I played dumb.
He circled the air with his finger. “All of this. My headaches. Charlie. Why do you give a fuck? I’m not your business. We’ve already gone through this. Fuck buddies with benefits, right? Nothing more.”
You’d think the frequency with which he said it would make the pain dull, but it never ceased to hurt me.
“Just because the marriage isn’t real doesn’t mean the friendship isn’t,” I mumbled.
“You think BJ’s gonna like you being friends with the guy you’re married to, the guy who fucked you in every single position in the Kama Sutra?” He snorted.
Actually, I was quite sure we were about eight positions short.
I licked my lips. “I’m not sure I’m getting back with BJ.”
Why couldn’t I simply spit the truth out? That BJ hadn’t even been in my thoughts for weeks? That Riggs haunted them, day and night, and at some point through it all, I’d realized love was more important than money?
Because that would be admitting to yourself that you’re in love with your bloody husband.
Riggs let out a rusty laugh. “Is that why you didn’t tell your parents you’ve broken up?”
The reason why I hadn’t told my parents about BJ and me was because I was embarrassed. I wasn’t ready for Riggs to witness the cringe when I had to explain to Mum and Tim that BJ had run off to a Thai island to sample exotic beauties while I twiddled my thumbs and pined for an engagement ring.
