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“Yes. If she was sober, she wouldn’t have married me. We’d be dating,” and he would dare her to say otherwise, “but she wouldn’t legally bind herself to me.”
Delilah tapped her bottom lip. “Honestly, Dr. S, I don’t know. Raina can usually hold her liquor. She can drink my brother and his friends under the table, and then she’ll have them in yoga in the morning, all bright and cheery while they’re half dead.”
“It’s usually the same for me,” he said.
“Maybe the drinks were extra strong. Maybe,” she dropped her voice to a coarse whisper, “Cupid roofied you both.”
Dramatic as it was, it would be a morbidly entertaining story to tell their families, Cupid ditching the bow and arrows to take a more chemical approach to matchmaking. There was a major hole in Delilah’s theory, however.
“What if I could help you?” she asked. “Help you stay married.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“You’re not going to ask me how?”
“No.”
“You like my sister that much?”
“More.”
She squeezed his arm tighter. “I never thought the day would come when you’d be my brother-in-law. You’re into Raina, and she’s into you, but you’re both so difficult.”
“What did you say?” They stopped in front of his car. “She’s into me? Did she tell you that?”
If she was, she could forget an annulment. He would become an even bigger dick than he currently was and fight the dissolution as if they’d been married for years and his entire fortune was on the line.
Delilah flicked her wrist. “I’m only guessing because I know my sister.”
“You’re lying.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Daniels, don’t…don’t do that.”
Raina having feelings for him was like being seven years old and learning that Santa Claus did exist.
“Brother-in-law, prepare to be pestered,” Delilah said. “Back then, I was just your mentee. Now, we’re family. For the holidays, keep your schedule free. You and Raina will be there as demon husband and wicked wife.”
“Your family would accept me, you think?” he found himself asking, no matter how hard he’d tried to stop the question from leaving his mouth.
“With open arms. I mean, yes, there’ll be some initial confusion considering you’re only eleven years older than Raina, more age-appropriate than we’re used to seeing her with. Why do you think they wouldn’t?”
He shrugged. “I don’t come from a wealthy family.”
“Neither did my parents.”
“I’m agnostic.”
“Again, not a problem. One Sunday at the church my father grew up attending could turn the Pope into an atheist.”
He held back a smile.
“Plus, I think my mother will find your bristly personality endearing.” The right side of her mouth hitched upward. “We don’t have to tell them about the marriage, but you and Raina can still be dating. If not, you can come as my guest again, like you did for the football game earlier this year.”
His Turkish family had “celebrated” Thanksgiving growing up. It wasn’t official, but his mother, intrigued by the custom, had wanted them to participate in it—in their own way. Their spread consisted of a layered cheese pie called börek, baklava, saksuka, döner lamb kebabs, kofta meatballs, at least four different soups, and dolma, seasoned rice wrapped in a vine leaf.
And a turkey.
