Page 32 of Married With Lies

Cale takes a long swallow from the wine bottle and opens the doors to the balcony. Even in Las Vegas, late December can pack a chill. Cool air ripples through the room. Cale shuts the glass doors behind him.

The move seems to be a signal that he’d rather be alone right now. I’m not complaining. I’m starving. The turmoil of recent events temporarily stole my appetite but now that it’s returned I’m going to take advantage of the room service cornucopia.

First thing’s first. I want to change out of my wedding dress. Wearing it makes me think too much about why I’m wearing it. If I want any reminders of my current status then I’ll go stare at the fake husband getting drunk on the balcony. Besides, it’s uncomfortable and if I’m going to pig out then I’d rather wear something more stretchy.

Slipping into a wonderfully unsexy hoodie and yoga pants feels far better. My ring is left on the nightstand.

Cale is still brooding out on the balcony when I return. He stands at the high railing, framed against the garish carpet of Vegas lights. From the way he tips the wine bottle way back and heartily drinks, it appears he’s intent on finishing the thing.

If Cale wants to spend the evening drinking himself into a stupor that’s his business. My plan is to eat my way into a food coma.

I like my plan better.

The vast room feels somber and too quiet as I settle down at the dining table with a large helping of penne pasta and a caprese salad. The silence isn’t really working for me right now so I switch on the television mounted to the wall and select a show about Yellowstone National Park for some background noise.

Out of the corner of my eye, I keep watch on the balcony door. It remains shut. I wonder if Cale plans to stay out there all night.

The wedding part of this whole pact is over but the news isn’t public yet. I haven’t even told Gus, which weighs on my conscience. How can I explain this to my best friend? Especially because a big part of the deal I made with Cale involves keeping my mouth shut. I’m not sure I can tell her anything.

And then there’s my family. They’re not my favorite people but I’m stuck with them and very soon they’ll be hearing that I’ve married Cale Connelly.

My father enjoys surprises about as much as he enjoys cute cat videos. Not at all. And he considers himself the architect of his children’s fates so he takes any deviation as a personal insult. Even Baylor meekly asked for our father’s blessing before proposing to Talia.

Baylor will side with our father and worry about the effect on his political campaign. He and Cale haven’t been friendly in years but he’s also likely to view this as a personal betrayal. That bugs me, even if he is a gutless jerk.

Speaking of jerks, I’d pay for some footage of my sister’s reaction. Maybe she used to have a thing for Cale. Judging by her snarky comment on Christmas morning, she’s sure to be infuriated. So it seems there is one silver lining.

As I continue to thoughtfully shovel food into my mouth, it’s mating season for the wolves of Yellowstone Park on the screen. The narrator explains how wolves howl for each other during their courtship rituals.

“Once their bond intensifies to its feverish peak, the male and the female wolves will mate multiple times a day for a period of five to seven days.”

I think about this while nibbling on a large cannoli. Life among the wolves sounds quite orderly. Find someone you like, howl at them a little, then run off to the brush for some good times.

As I lick cannoli cheese from my fingers, I can’t help but flash back to the last place my tongue has been. I’m a sucker for great kissing and in my experience, great kissing is a rare talent. Cale is certainly talented. If he was someone other than my fake husband with a mob pedigree, I’d be fantasizing about his other likely talents.

“How’s the food?” Cale asks.

He must move like a panther. I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I didn’t notice he’d crept back inside.

Half the buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing a tantalizing slice of his chest. His hair is now tousled, as if he ran fingers through it repeatedly while brooding out on the balcony. His eyes have lost their calculating glint. Now he looks sort of drunk. And hungry. Possibly for more than food.

“It’s delicious,” I say. “There’s plenty left. They brought enough to feed the entire hotel.”

He ambles over slowly, tossing the newly empty wine bottle in a trashcan along the way.

Cale surveys the food. Then he surveys me.

How does he manage to pull this off in a way that leaves me feeling completely naked?

In the background, the wolves of Yellowstone copulate on the screen.

“You can sit down,” I tell him, just in case he’s awaiting an invitation.

He doesn’t sit. “Where’s your ring?”

“I left it on the nightstand.”

He stares at me for a hard minute. “You should go in the other room.”

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