Page 79 of Married With Lies

Encircled by candlelit dining tables, the temporary dance floor is huge. The twinkling light strings crisscrossing overhead add a magical quality. Hadley’s typical taste is brash and glitzy so the classiness is a pleasant surprise. Maybe this is her new husband’s influence. I see him now, laughing and mingling with a group of guests. Griffin seems like a nice guy, perhaps a little dim. It would make sense if he had a few connections loose in his head. After all, he chose my sister.

Anyway, right now I want to forget where I am and enjoy who I’m with. The song has an upbeat tempo. When I’m at home with the music playing in the background, I’ll always jump into motion and dance with abandon.

However, Cale isn’t the ‘dance with abandon’ type. He’s being an absolute prince tonight and I’d rather not chase him off by lurching around like a chicken. Besides, I’m already on sensory overload. A fleeting second of dizziness leaves me clutching Cale’s arm. It fades, but the sour aftertaste hasn’t left my mouth. I blame the unpleasant run in with Grant for the fact that I suddenly feel exhausted.

When I wrap my arms around Cale, I’m not just trying to stay awake. The thrill of being close to him is real. With my cheek pressed to his chest and the thud of his heartbeat in my ear, I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be. I can forget the stickiness of our marriage arrangement, our web of lies and the uncertain future. I can just enjoy being in his arms.

Cale holds me close, his chin resting on top of my head, one hand slowly rubbing my back.

We’re not even dancing. We’re barely swaying.

If he makes the offer to escape again, I’ll accept. I’ve never been to his apartment in the city and I suddenly, desperately, need to see for myself where he lives. Does he have any pictures on the walls? What color are his bedsheets?

These are important questions.

If I were his real wife, I’d know all the answers. I’m oddly jealous of the wife I pretend to be, the one who Luca Connelly thinks was holding his brother’s hand last night at Richie Amato’s table. I know the fake wife is me and I’m jealous of her anyway.

This train of thought makes little sense. In my defense, it is really hot in here.

Despite the fresh sea breezes circulating through the open tent, I’m feeling flushed and sweaty. Being touched by Cale does things to me, very physical things. Yet those things don’t usually include queasiness.

“EX-CUSE MEEEE!”

Hadley’s hyena voice has the nerve to cut off both Elton John’s voice and my moment of bliss with Cale. She stands in front of the head table with a microphone, waving a skinny arm in the air. “I need your attention for a moment.”

She spots me with Cale. She smiles. I have a bad feeling about this.

Hadley stops waving her arm in the air. “Most of you already know this but the maid of honor is also my little sister. Scraps, come on up and give your speech now.”

My…speech?

Nobody mentioned that I’d be making a speech. Or maybe they did and I forgot. Everything is a little fuzzy at the moment, as if I’m watching events unfold in a dream. My legs feel wobbly and I swallow hard to evict the bile in my mouth. The only part of this scene that isn’t positively awful is the comfort of Cale’s arm holding me up.

Maybe I should implore Cale to make the speech for me. If he’d rather not, I’ll ask for volunteers from the crowd.

But before I can beg Cale to do something drastic, like kidnap me, Hadley marches through the crowd and seizes my wrist. I’m dragged along after her like a limp blanket and I look over my shoulder in search of Cale but the horde of people awaiting a speech are in the way. Grant’s odious pinched face is among them and I’m forced to stifle a very real gag.

Hadley presses the microphone into my hand. I’m not a shy person. Under normal conditions I could manage to cough up a few positive (and therefore totally dishonest) words about my sister. However, my legs are leaden and my guts are churning and I really need to sit down.

It finally dawns on me that what I really need is a toilet. This speech will be short. Very short.

Sadly, my sister is not an understanding person. When I hesitate for too long because I’m trying to figure out how to talk without vomiting, she grabs my shoulders and hisses, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Probably true. And I’m about to do a whole lot worse.

Hadley’s monster breath and a closeup of her enraged face might have been the last straw that pushed my struggling stomach over the edge.

We’ll never know.

Just like we’ll never know if Hadley’s grip on my arms was the factor that made it impossible for me to break away and reach the restroom in time.

What happens next is one of those incidents that gets recounted ten million times in random conversation snippets and everyone claims to know someone’s sister or cousin who was actually there.

I try to twist away from Hadley.

She’s stronger than she looks.

I toss the microphone away in the hopes she’ll chase it.

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