Page 15 of The Awful Truth

What was he supposed to ask them? Something about Seattle and Travis Bishop. But what? A distant voice in his brain was telling him it was urgent, but what exactly was urgent? He needed to sober up. He should ask the gorgeous steward for an espresso.

At that moment, Oliver appeared with a tray of crystal glasses containing an amber liquid, each with an orange twist for garnish. Miguel batted his eyelashes at Oliver. “Yes, I think I will.”

10:36 P.M.

ANTONIA

Antonia was finally relaxed for the first time in…eight years, maybe? When had they signed on for their awful show? Oh, who cares? She sat back against the soft white bench and rubbed her palm against the leather. Only it wasn’t real leather, was it? It must be some sort of synthetic material that looked and felt exactly like Italian lambskin but could handle the beating of salt water and sun. A perfect fake, just like them.

Ted was telling the story of the time the two of them got stuck on the top of a volcano in Hawaii. The park was closing for the night, and they were just starting to try to figure out how to make some sort of shelter when the park ranger appeared and escorted them down the windy path. It was one of her favorite stories of the two of them. Before they had children. Before the books and the fame. Life was simple and they were happy.

He had somehow remained quite attractive through the years, and she still wanted him. Not nearly often enough. But right now, when she was drunk and couldn’t care less about all the stress and responsibility and judgment. Suddenly, the thought of feeling his skin against hers—connecting in a way they hadn’t in a very long time—was quite appealing. Maybe she would give him the nod when they got back to their suite. He’d be surprised. And after, she’d tell him the reason she was never in the mood had nothing to do with her attraction to him, and everything to do with her cortisol levels staying off-the-charts high. Stress was the death of desire. She could tell him about her plan—to sign one last deal and promise each other they would finally get out. Just think of what they’d have to look forward to. Maybe they’d start hiking in Hawaii again.

She turned to look at Charlotte, who was sitting to her right, fully engrossed in Ted’s every word. Why didn’t she look at Antonia like that? Deep down, Antonia knew why. To her, Ted was the fun one. Just like he was with the kids. Antonia took on the role of the adult, the one who worried and nagged, and Ted was the supportive friend, there to listen and guide. Always relaxed. Always patient. She both loved and hated him for this. But maybe she could be fun too. After all, the kids were fully grown and Charlotte was not their child. “Okay, I propose a game!” she announced, surprising even herself.

Miguel clapped his hands. “I’m in!”

Winslow raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even know what the game is.”

Shaking his head at Winslow, Miguel said, “Doesn’t matter. A game’s a game. Let’s play.”

“Okay, we each share an unusual or embarrassing quirk, but not about ourselves. About another person at the table.”

Ted grimaced. “Let’s not. These things never end well.”

Antonia narrowed her eyes, trying to think of a way to make the game more palatable to her husband. “How about this? We go around the table this way…” She gestured to her right. “So, Charlotte does you and I do her and you do me. Winslow and Miguel do each other.”

“Yes, yes we do,” Miguel said, raising and lowering his eyebrows.

Antonia snort-laughed. “Okay, let’s go. Miguel, since you’re the most enthusiastic, you go first. Tell us something embarrassing or surprising about Winslow.”

He grinned around the table, then said, “Winslow does the best Mick Jagger impersonation I’ve ever heard.”

“Ooh! Show us, Winslow!” Antonia wiggled in excitement.

He shook his head. “Miguel is being very generous in his description. Besides, I only sing in the shower.”

“It’s true. He’d never do it in public,” Miguel answered. “So, you’ll have to take my word for it.”

Antonia sat back on her seat, slightly disappointed for half a second, before remembering she was trying to be fun. “Okay, Winslow. Tell us Miguel’s.”

Winslow tapped his chin as if trying to decide what to share. “When Miguel is scared, he gags.”

“Really?” Ted asked, sitting forward. “Like, scared as in you’re about to go bungee jumping off a hundred-foot bridge?”

“First of all, I’d never do something so crazy as that,” Miguel told him. “But, no, not really. More like if I’m nervous about something.”

“He once gagged all the way to a job interview.”

“That’s true,” Miguel said. “A lady on the tube thought I had been poisoned. She kept yelling at me, ‘Are you all right, sir? Do you need me to call poison control?’”

Antonia burst out laughing at his story. Yes, this game was a very good idea.

“Did you get the job?” Ted asked.

“Of course. Once I got to the building, I calmed down enough to keep it together and be charming, but the trip over was awful. Thank God it was in the days before everyone was recording everything all the time. Now, Ted, your turn. Give us the dirt on your lovely wife.”

Ted looked at his wife, then said, “Antonia can juggle.”