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‘You’ve held me together this week and for that I’m truly grateful. There’s nothing I won’t do for you. Count on me for anything.’
Roman gave Anthony a look that said, Love you. Wrap it up. This isn’t going over as great as you think. Anthony ignored it and went on with his verbal soup.
‘Finally, to this beauty I get to call my wife.’
Roman: The man is 200 pounds of muscle. He ought to handle it.
Samantha: Just wait until Naomi finds out you got her groom drunk.
Roman: You’d snitch on me, babe?
Samantha flushed. He might as well have stroked her back. She glanced around to make sure no one was onto her before risking a glance at Roman. He was focused on his phone, typing.
Roman: What happened to ride or die?
Samantha: I’m more of a safe and sound type of girl.
Roman: You’re safe with me.
That was a lie. He had her careening over an emotional cliff. Even as she sat texting him from under the table like a schoolgirl, she felt the pulse of danger. Nothing about this high-wire act felt safe, least of all their uncertain future.
Anthony was now professing eternal love to Naomi, who didn’t seem to mind this more expressive side of him. Roman might be in the clear.
‘There’s never been a dull moment since you’ve come into my life,’ Anthony said. ‘It’s been one crazy thing after another, hasn’t it, my love? You’re so strong. You’re my rock. You take everything in your stride. I’m in awe of you. Truly, I am. You make me so happy. I’ve never met anyone like you and I’m more than proud to call you my wife.’
As sappy as Anthony’s words were, the emotion behind them was serious. He loved Naomi. It was that simple. Maybe he wasn’t drunk, after all. Maybe this was what love looked like, a swirling pool of emotion. Samantha wanted someone to look at her that way and say all those things, preferably not within weeks of their first meeting, but sometime down the road.
Samantha: Do you think you could love intensely like that?
She braced herself for a dry, sarcastic reply. He was probably too jaded. She could never imagine him pouring his heart out like Anthony, but could he crack open the shell just a bit?
Roman started to type, then stopped. Samantha gripped her phone even tighter, eagerly watching the bubble with the dots pop and disappear from the screen. Finally, he responded:
Would you want that kind of love from me?
Samantha’s fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard. All she had to do was type ‘YES’ in all caps and punctuate with a heart emoji. She wanted to stand up and shout across the room, I want you to love me, damn it! She wanted to skip all the nonsense and get to the part where he loved her. This was not a conversation they should have via text. It felt too big to put it into tiny words. A heart emoji wasn’t going to cut it. Perhaps now was the time to grab that bottle and sneak out.
To Samantha’s relief, Anthony raised his glass for a final toast. She dropped her phone onto her lap and reached for her champagne flute. She would join Roman at his table soon enough. They could talk in private then.
Anthony filled his lungs, ready to end strong. Samantha raised her glass higher, should he need some encouragement.
‘Friends, family, join me in raising your glasses to …’
Anthony lapsed into silence, leaving everyone with their glasses raised and no one to toast. Samantha’s smile grew wobbly, her outstretched arm hurt. All he had to do to end their collective misery was say his wife’s name. Had he forgotten it? Not possible. He wasn’t that drunk. Finally he cleared his throat, hesitated a moment, and said, ‘Tara, is that you?’
