AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He winces.
“They’ve been great about it. I like to think no one else notices, really, because I’m not out in front of that many people. Then you came along and—”
“You didn’t want me to see.”
I feel my cheeks heat.
He sits back in his chair, going pale. “I teased you about your job.”
“We both teased each other,” I remind him.
“The first time I saw you in the studio,” he says, “I didn’t know what to think.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I’m used to always knowing where I fit in, but it was pretty clear early on that the job wasn’t what I expected and I … I was embarrassed. And trapped,” he adds. “Resentful. I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think either of us was very nice,” I admit. “I liked rubbing it in. A lot.”
I can tell that he’s miserable, can practically hear him going over every one of our early interactions in his head. I’m about to tell him we have plenty of time to work out how he’s going to make it up to me and be my grateful servant for life when there’s a crash a few tables away. I know who it is without even looking over, and dread settles over me in a chill.
Rusty is pushed back from the table, the front of his clothes soaked from what I can only assume is a full glass of Melly’s sparkling water.
“Our son is a good kid,” Rusty says loudly. “You’ve just babied him so much he doesn’t know how to stand on his own two feet.”
She’s looking down at her nails, bored. A few other diners have turned around to see what all the commotion is about, and I’m out of my chair so fast it nearly topples over.
“Hi, friends!” I gush. “How are you?”
I reach for the napkin at Rusty’s feet and attempt to clean him up, groaning when I realize I’m aggressively dabbing at his crotch. “Did we have a little spill?”
Straightening, I put my flattened palm on his chest and push him back into his seat, handing him the napkin to sop up more of the water. “Let’s remember that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” I whisper through a clenched smile.
Melly ignores me to glare at her husband. “Our son can barely string two sentences together and has been in college for six years,” she whisper-shouts.
“He’s got ambition,” Rusty says, chin out. “Just like his dad.”
“He’s also got a beer belly,” she says with icy calm. “Just like his dad.”
Oh shit.
A half-empty bottle of Perrier sits near the edge of the table, and on impulse I knock it over, the bubbly liquid rushing across the tablecloth and into Melly’s lap. James is here now, too, leading a furious Rusty away from the table before he can reply.
“Oops! Butterfingers,” I sing, pulling out Melly’s chair and dragging her toward the door. I stop a passing waiter. “Can you put those two tables on our bill? Room 649, guest Carey Duncan. I swear I’ll be down to sign it all and leave you a giant tip. Sorry! Thank you!”
He nods dumbly, rightfully confused, and I push Melly out of the restaurant and into the lobby bathroom.
Once inside, I don’t even have to peek in the mirror to know that my cheeks are red-hot with anger. I check under all the stalls before turning on her. “What the hell were you thinking?”
She’s already pacing. “I can’t believe him! He thinks this family got its squeaky image without me running along cleaning up everyone’s mess? Including his?”
“What good will getting vocal credit for everything do when there are photos and tweets and videos of you two arguing?” I ask. “Weren’t you the one who insisted we keep this whole thing going?”
She waves this away like my point is frivolous. “It’s fine.”
“Melly, those photographers outside were here specifically to catch you and Rusty fighting, you know that.”
She pauses, then shrugs it off. “Come on. Not everyone is on Twitter, Carey.”
“Maybe not, but tonight you were eating dinner in a dining room full of people with phones and various other recording devices. Even if two people there posted about what they saw, you know how many people that could reach? These are people who otherwise might want to buy your book. You know, the one on marriage that you’re supposed to be signing tonight with the man you want everyone to think you’re happily married to?”
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I wish I had a pillow to scream into. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and count to five before I look. Thankfully, it’s a text from James. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make me feel any better.
You better get up here. Room 940
I look up to see her reflection in the mirror. “We need to get upstairs. Now.”
