Page 30 of Married With Malice

An outbreak of laughter nudges me out of my thoughts. There’s a couple in the water. She’s blonde and wearing a red bikini. He’s dark-haired and stacked with strapping muscles. If I squint, he looks too much like Luca. His hands are all over her and he’s kissing her neck.

A wave splashes into them and she lets out a squeal. He lifts her up. Her legs wrap around his waist. They exchange heated stares.

My eyes stay glued to them as I fish around in my bag for the complimentary tin of butter mints left by housekeeping. I pop two mints into my mouth.

They’re kissing now. It’s real hard core tonsil hockey. Another small wave collides with them. They don’t even notice.

Though they are technically in public, there’s no one else on this segment of beach except for me. I’m starting to feel a tad voyeuristic. And more than a little turned on.

The butter mints get crunched into chalky bits between my teeth. The couple wades out of the water, hand in hand, so completely wrapped up in each other that they fail to notice the creepy lady in oversized sunglasses ogling them from an Adirondack chair. They’re so close and so preoccupied that I could probably trip them.

Not that I have any desire to trip them. They’re adorable and they’re in love. It’s possible this is their honeymoon. I’m sure they are enjoying all the crazy sex and feeling like the luckiest two people in the world because they get to spend forever together.

Meanwhile, my honeymoon is spent with butter mints, an empty cellophane bag and uncharged electronic devices while the ‘husband’ I never wanted is out there cavorting with unknown women in Miami.

It kind of fucking sucks.

The lovebirds suddenly turn around.

“Sorry, did you say something?” the girl asks. She flashes a friendly smile.

The words ‘fucking sucks’ that had been bouncing around inside my head somehow found their way out of my mouth.

I shake the empty bag. “I just said I’m out of snacks.” Then I try to smile at her because she’s happy and sweet and I don’t want to ruin her day.

She laughs. Her husband, or whatever he is, laughs along with her.

“I know how that feels.” She waves. “Take care.”

They pick up the pace, eager to get back to their room and hump each other into oblivion.

Good for them.

At least someone is enjoying paradise.

I stare at their backs until her red bikini disappears amid the tropical green foliage between the beach and the main resort buildings.

My phone, which clings to one percent of its battery, pings with an incoming text. I brace for the possibility that the message is from Luca. Any message from Luca is bound to be exasperating.

But the text is only a photo from Daisy. She and Big Man Bowie are expanding their mobile food business and buying another truck. I had some of my own money stashed away from the years of teaching lessons at the ice rink. It’s no great fortune but it had been meticulously saved in the hopes of breaking free from my father’s control someday.

Now that my plans have been altered, I lent the money to my sister. The photo shows the two of them posed in front of their new purchase, a used former taco truck that will be transformed into another Big Man Bowie’s Burgers. There’s a yellow flower in Daisy’s hair. Big Man Bowie wears board shorts and the ends of his sunny blond hair stick out of his backwards baseball cap. His arm is slung over her shoulders. She hugs his waist. Everything about them screams that they are blissfully in love.

The sight of my sister’s smiling face makes the state of things feel a little less bleak. It’s not the end of the world if I’m sitting alone on a beach on my honeymoon. I’d have a lot more complaints if Luca was right here hovering over my every move.

Knowing that Daisy is safely in the arms of her loving husband makes the sacrifice worthwhile. And Sabrina called this morning. She’s fully recovered and excited that she gets to stay in video game school.

I’m happy for Brina, happy for both of my sisters. We can’t all get what we want all of the time. I’ll play along with this bogus mafia marriage until I come up with a better idea. Or until I drive Luca Connelly stark raving mad. Whichever comes first.

My phone flickers and dies. I did not bring a portable charger but it’s time for a scenery change anyway. I’m tired of the beach and all my entertainment is out of batteries. As I pack up and brush the sand off my legs, I’m annoyed with Luca again.

I don’t miss him. I don’t want him around. Yet the pesky pride factor remains. The word is bound to get out that Luca couldn’t even wait a week before he started bed hopping.

What does that say about me?

It says I’m totally not-sexy. It says I can’t even keep my own husband interested until the end of the honeymoon.

There are a lot of problems with this conclusion, including the fact that I have no wish to have lunch with Luca, let alone have sex with him.

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