Page 31 of Married With Lies

He throws me a look that packs more heat than I’m comfortable with. “We’re going to our room to enjoy our wedding night.”

“But it’s barely five p.m.”

This is a dumb thing to say. It sounds even dumber when Cale fails to respond. I’m glad that I wore my sturdy boots instead of heels because I’m still feeling rather buzzed and unsteady after the kiss to end all kisses.

Cale glances down the hall. I glance with him and see that our handful of wedding guests are standing twenty feet away and speaking quietly. The oldest and most jowly of the bunch looks our way and raises a chubby hand.

“Enjoy the honeymoon, kids,” he rasps out.

Cale pulls me close to his side for show. “You better believe we will. And thanks for the suite, Artie.”

Artie waves again and the elevator arrives. Cale enters first and holds the door until I’m safely inside. He sure knows how to show off with great manners when he wants to.

“Who is Artie?” I ask him after the doors close.

“Hotel owner. He’s known my uncle for decades.”

“So he’s like part of the…” I’ve never said the word to Cale and I wonder if it’s considered inappropriate.

He stares straight ahead. “Part of the what?”

“Mafia.” I say it in a stage whisper.

“There is no mafia, Sadie,” he says.

Of course there’s a mafia. And I know Cale is deeply entwined in its depths. Evidently no one is allowed to talk about it.

Fine by me.

The less I know on that topic the better or else I might feel some heavy duty qualms about my latest life choice.

The elevator dings and an elderly woman hobbles in with a cane. She’s wearing a purple velour pants suit and her cane is covered with rhinestones. “Tenth floor please.” She watches Cale press the button. Then she notes my flowers and veil and gives us a smile. “Newlyweds?”

“Yes.” I smile back at her and try to look like a radiant bride while Cale stoically watches the floor numbers rise.

“Mazel tov,” says the woman.

“Thank you.”

“I was married for forty-seven years.”

“How nice.”

“The hell it was. Oscar was a lousy motherfucker who screwed both my sisters and my best friend. His skull was crushed by a falling traffic light. Now I get to spend his pension. Here’s my floor.” She wags a gnarly finger at Cale. “Don’t be like Oscar.”

The doors open again and she shuffles her way out.

Cale and I maintain an awkward silence until we return to the penthouse suite. Three tables await, all of them revealing covered silver platters of fragrant food. Cale crosses the room and tosses his jacket on the nearest sofa.

“I ordered all the vegetarian options from room service,” he says and casually unbuttons his cuffs. He rolls the shirt up to his elbows, exposing the dark ropes of ink decorating his muscled forearms. The sight would have an effect on me even if I wasn’t still halfway hungover from that wedding kiss.

Instead of gawking at my (technical) husband, I work on uncovering all the food platters. There are six different kinds of pasta, four salads, a wide selection of desserts and assorted appetizers.

I’m still marveling over the collection and trying to figure out what to try first when Cale wanders over and grabs one of the three bottles of wine. He gets it uncorked in seconds and wordlessly holds out the open bottle.

I shake my head. “Thanks but I’ll stick with water.”

Not only do I have barely a lukewarm affection for wine, but it’s definitely in my best interest to keep all my brain cells intact tonight. The aftershocks of that kiss are still wreaking a lot of internal mayhem.

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