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“Yeah, okay. That explains why it’s not Enya, or something else appropriate for a massage room.”
He sighs. “You want me to put on Enya?”
I wrinkle my nose. “No. I associate her music with the smell of incense and patchouli.”
“In that case, lie face down.” The words sound more like an order than a request, so I obey before I get spanked.
His strong hands squeeze my shoulders.
Oh, my.
I want to moan in pleasure but resist the urge.
Barely.
How are we supposed to talk business like this?
“So.” He strokes my lower back, applying just a hint of pressure with his palms. “Ready to talk logistics?”
Is he planning to knead my buttocks? Do I want him to?
“I have questions,” I manage to squeeze out. “And rules.”
“Rules?” He does a series of soft karate chops on my hamstrings, which feels divine.
“Rule number one: no marital duties.” I’m glad I’m face down, so he can’t see how flushed that statement makes me.
I’m so proud I got that out despite the vodka. Marital duties are what I really, really want from him right now, but I shouldn’t. That way lies feelings, and those would be bad in a fake marriage.
“You mean, no sex?” I can’t see him, but I can practically picture the wicked smirk on his face.
“Right. It should be a platonic relationship.”
“Deal—mild PDA aside. I’m not the type of man who expects sex just because we’re married.” He squeezes my calf, making me feel like I’m about to come. “You’d have to want the sex. Badly.”
Gulp. By that logic, we should do it now.
“So, you have questions as well?” He grabs my foot and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“What do we tell people?” I somehow manage to ask.
He stops the massaging. “We tell them we fell in love and got married.”
“So, we lie.”
He resumes massaging my foot. “Yeah. That way, we don’t make those close to us complicit.”
Huh. That makes sense. Also, this way, there’s less risk someone will blab. But wait. “Are you saying my family will think I got married? For real?”
He switches to my other foot. “Hence your generous compensation.”
Right. Right. “But that means you’ll meet my parents.”
He works my left calf now. “It means a lot of things in that vein.”
Despite my muscles being turned into pudding, an icy chill gathers in the pit of my stomach. “Are we throwing a big wedding?”
For as long as I can remember, I’ve hated the idea of a big wedding. All the people marinated in their colognes/perfumes, the over-fragrant flowers, the—
