“Oh,” she said, taking in the sight of the single king-size bed. “We could probably all fit, actually.”
“I am not sharing a bed with Brody in his condition and neither are you.”
She nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”
“There’s a couch in that front room and, honestly, he’s been known to sleep in a tub when he’s coming down from a night of drinking,” I said. The gentlemanly thing to do would have been to offer to sleep in the other room too and let Vera have the bedroom, but I wasn’t feeling very gentlemanly.
She flopped down on the edge of the bed, her skirt poofing out around her. “Do you have the photos from tonight? I didn’t get to see them.”
I nodded and opened the small plastic bag the wedding chapel had given us with our marriage license, honeymoon pamphlets, a list of businesses that gave discounts to newlyweds, business cards for family attorneys who specialized in divorce, and some of our photos tucked inside a mini souvenir album along with a flash drive containing the rest.
I sat down next to Vera and she scooted in, closing what little gap I’d left between us. With a sigh, she rested her head on my shoulder and I had to clench my fist so hard that my nails dug into my palm as a reminder that just because I wanted to touch her didn’t mean I could.
She traced a finger over the pictures as we both studied them. The first photo was her walking down the aisle with Alvin. There was us holding hands. Me slipping the ring on her finger. The kiss. Both our eyes closed and my grip so tight on her waist that I could see my fingers digging into her dress.
I cleared my throat into my fist and tried to push down how exposed it felt to see my own intensity reflected back to me. Could she see my desperation in the way I held her? The last photo was of the two of us, a sallow-looking Brody, and Fake Gene Simmons.
The doorbell buzzed and Vera jolted upright. “What was that?”
I stood and walked to the door. “The doorbell.”
“Hotel rooms havedoorbells?” she asked.
“Ones that are this big,” I called back to her.
I opened the door and was greeted by a hotel employee holding a silver tray and two sets of silverware. “For the newlyweds,” he said with a wink.
I fought the urge to correct him and tell him it was all just a dare, but I was a sick fool who liked the idea of people thinking this was real.
“Who is it?” Vera asked behind me.
I thanked the man and dug a few bills out of my pocket before shutting the door. “The hotel sent something up for us,” I said.
She clapped her hands together and gave a little twirl. It was so adorable that it almost distracted me from Brody’s guttural moaning.
Vera took the tray from me and practically skipped back into the bedroom, where she set the tray on the bed. “This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to room service,” she said excitedly.
“Do the honors,” I told her.
Gleefully, she gasped as she plucked the lid off the tray. On the platter was a mini heart-shaped cake with soft pink flowers and flourishes. Cherries lined the top and in a delicate cursive:Just Married.
“A wedding cake,” Vera said with a swoon. “Oh my god, I’m starving.”
She ripped the blankets back and slid into bed, wiggling her toes. She placed the cake in her lap and patted the space next to her. “Come on. I can’t eat our wedding cake alone.”
We unwrapped the silverware and shared the cake in a contented silence, the pictures still open on the foot of the bed.
She pointed to the photo of us kissing. “You really went for it.”
“You only get married for the first time once.”
She snorted back a laugh and took another bite. After a moment, she said, “It didn’t surprise me that you didn’t back down from the dare. But the kiss... that did surprise me.”
“Isn’t that what two people do when they get married?” I didn’t want to get too into the weeds with this line of questioning. I needed to keep it casual, because she was in love with Brody. The image of her disappointed expression when Brody chanted for us to kiss swam in my memory. Nothing I could do would ever change that.
“I know you didn’t really have many other options for a last-minute spouse tonight, but I always thought you hated me.”
My fork clattered onto the tray. “What?”
