Page 103 of Proposal Play

Fuck you, Gideon.

I drop my hands.

“It’s not a hobby,” he says, and I shake my head, feeling even more confused. What’s happening here? Why do I feel like I’m missing something? I shouldn’t press—he might think I’m trying too hard. Or that I’m not respecting our marriage-of-convenience boundaries.

“Well, you’re good at it,” I say, cheery, since that’s nice. I can be nice without being too much. “Did you see the wedding pictures I put up?”

“I did. Last night,” he says, cool and in control. “That was smart of you.”

Smart.Because this is a sham marriage. The unspoken question lingers longer in the air: Was last night a mistake, then?

Asher turns away from the gleaming espresso machine and hands me a mug. It’s my favorite one. The one that says, “I’m a Fucking Ray of Sunshine.”

I blink down at the chai latte he’s offering me, my eyes widening. “You…you made me a chai latte?” I ask, amazed. I had no idea he had barista skills.

He shrugs again, this time with a hint of a smile. “Well,my wife really likes them. Isn’t that something a husband ought to do?”

The warmth of the mug seeps into my hands and under my skin. Asher learned how to make a chai latte for me. If I’d done that for him, Gideon would have said it was too much. But I love the too-much-ness of this.

Something shifts inside me. There’s so much I want to say—that I love the way he’s noticed these things about me, that I love how he touches me, that I love the way he thought to take photos of me when I wasn’t looking, like I’m someone worth capturing.

But I can’t. I won’t ruin this temporary thing with too many feelings. Instead, I take a sip and sigh happily. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, right,” he says dryly.

“It is,” I insist.

“Thanks.”

For a moment, the tension loosens, and for the first time today, it feels like we’re both being wholly honest—even if it’s just about a drink.

I hold the mug a little tighter. “Asher, the photos are great,” I say, meaning it. But there’s so much more left unsaid as I drink the rest of it while he downs his coffee.

“I should get ready. They’ll be here soon,” I say, looking toward the door when my gaze catches on a new reflection. Curious, I make my way over.

My heart climbs into my throat. He hung my new mirror. The one I set on the plant table the other night since I didn’t want to be presumptuous. And he hung it exactly where I had imagined it would go. “Asher,” I say quietly, more emotion in my words than I’d expected, but I am so damn touched. I try to clear it away, raising my voice as I turn toward the kitchen. “You hung the mirror.”

He leans against the doorframe, tilting his head my way. “Because my wife’s art should have a place of honor.”

Oh, right. Sure. For the camera crew. Of course it’s for the crew. I fasten on a smile. “Yes. Thank you.” I take another sip to cover up the funny feelings in my chest—something warm mixed with a familiar worry. But it’s one I ought to ignore. “Anyway, I’d better shower and all that. And then later I need to meet my agent for a drink. She texted earlier. Some new opportunities.”

He nods to the staircase. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The implication is clear. He won’t come upstairs and find me in the shower like I did to him last night. And my heart feels a little heavier for it.

35

REAL CHARADES

Asher

So far, this interview is like a breakaway shot. A clean, open path to the net. We show Rachel Mehta, the reporter fromThe Good Stuff, aroundourhome. Her camerawoman shoots video as we go and it sure as shit looks like we happily live together in this space, what with all the pictures I took over the years set out, and the wedding ones Maeve framed. Myhabitof taking pics of my friend came in handy. I even point out the mirror by the door, a proud husband showing off his wife’s work, like I told Maeve I’d do. Rachel smiles and sayskeep snacks handyare definitely words to live by.

With Maeve’s ruby ring and my silicone band, and our hands held—learned my lesson from the Greers, thank you very much—we look unequivocally married. While we wander through the living room, passing the wedding photos and plant table, Rachel shoots us a professional smile.

“So, it’s true you call your wife your good luck charm?”

“I do call her that,” I say, casually looping an arm around Maeve’s waist. I’m grateful for the easy interview and glad I took the notes to heart after our firstperformancewhen I didn’t touch her enough. That won’t be a problem today. If the world wants to see a man who can’t keep his hands off his wife, they’ll get it.

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