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After they’d returned from their honeymoon, Neil’s ex-wife had revealed that she’d stopped using any form of birth control, despite their agreement that they wouldn’t have children. That had fractured the trust between them to an extent they’d been unable to repair, though they’d spent two years trying before calling it quits. In my excitement over my impending marriage, I’d forgotten about the painful details of Neil’s disastrous one. It was only natural—if completely illogical—for him to be nervous.
“I’m not comparing you to Elizabeth, or expecting you to do what she did. Contrary to what I might express in frustration at counseling, I do feel that I can trust you to come to me with important things. Most of the time.”
“And you know I’m not going to sabotage my IUD or something,” I assured him. “And I’m not going to turn into a bridezilla.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine. There will probably be some bridezilla antics, but I promise, they’ll be low-level.” I shook my head. “Ugh, we should not be talking about this. I’m going to sub drop like a bastard.”
Neil grimaced. “You’re right. I’m so sorry. We’ll save it for therapy. Come here.”
I scooted up against him and laid my head on his shoulder, and he threaded his fingers in my hair to rub my scalp as he spoke. “Let’s talk about the honeymoon. That’s what I’m looking forward to.”
“We’re taking a honeymoon?” I gasped in mock surprise. “I didn’t think you’d ever take a day off work again.”
“To go somewhere preferably tropical, where you’ll wear tiny bikinis and I’ll get to slather sunscreen all over you? You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to miss a chance at that.”
“I heard Belize is nice,” I suggested, imagining hot sand on my toes and crystal blue water stretching toward the horizon.
Neil made an approving noise. “Or Fiji? I have a friend who owns an island in the area. I’m sure he’d let us rent it.”
“Or the Marquesas!” I could really get into this whole tropical vacation thing.
“I’ve always wanted to go, and I’ve never done.” He paused. “Did we…did we just plan a part of our wedding?”
“The Marquesas it is.” I picked up his hand and shook it firmly. “What do we decide on next?”
“Dinner.” He patted my hip with the arm wrapped around my back. “Shall I cook something, or do we order take out?”
“Neither. You just worked all day. I’ll cook.” I leaned up and kissed him, then rolled away.
“You know, I could get used to coming home from a hard day at the office to find my wife has made me dinner,” he said, watching me as I headed off to the bathroom.
I paused by the dressing room door to give him my most good-natured knock-it-the-fuck-off-right-now look. “I assume that in this scenario, we’re talking about your third wife.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
India Vaughn was the kind of woman who looked way meaner than she was. This was due in part to her ice blue eyes and the stern set of her mouth. She used to be a heavy smoker, before New York became “a socialist state,” in her words. So, whenever she was sitting with nothing to do, she looked miserable and resentful. Probably longing for the days of giving the public the gift of COPD.
She was tough and mildly abrasive, like a sandpaper that would wear down the soft wood of pine boards, but oak probably had nothing to fear from her. I liked to think that if I wasn’t oak, I was at least walnut. She might scratch me up a bit, but only just the glossy finish.
I walked into the restaurant she had picked, a lovely, unpretentious bar with gourmet pizzas. I loved lunch meetings with India, because she always knew the best places.
“Sophie, good to see you! How was Christmas?” I lifted my left hand, the weight of my newly-sized ring reminding me of its presence once more. I held my fingers lax at the knuckles and slowly swayed my wrist.
She grabbed my hand and practically jerked me across the table as I sat down. “Good lord. I suppose it was a very good Christmas. Is this meant to be your bonus?”
I laughed, even though I felt a little bad for finding that quip funny. “It’s an engagement ring.”
“I gathered that,” she said dryly. She was almost more British than Neil. “But quite seriously, congratulations. This is a bit like a prize at the end of the cereal box, isn’t it? If the cereal was full of leukemia.”
“Absolutely.” I picked up the menu and scanned for the vegan symbol. Lots of offerings, because India was a goddess like that. I ended up ordering a six-inch soy cheese, spinach, and pine nut pizza, and when the waiter had gone, I shrugged and smiled at India. “So…what did you want to see me about?”
“Well, I have very good news on the initial print run, based on early orders. They’re very good for a debut.”
“Oh. Great!” I’d been hoping this meeting would be about the Wake Up! America audition, but I didn’t want to sound desperate.
“And the publicist from M and R called. She says they’ve expanded the launch. It’s going to be more like a cocktail party with a brief Q and A for the press. I haven’t had a chance to check the attachments she sent me yet,” India admitted. “Things at work have been hectic.”
