Page 28 of Well, That Was Unexpected

There’s a bitter taste at the back of my mouth. A nice guy. Hah, she’d think otherwise if she ever finds out that the truth is, I’m a huge liar who’s been letting my dad and my sister fool her into this mess. Time for a change of subject. I search through my memory for things I know about her. She likes to…cook. No, I’ve touched on that already. I take out my phone and scroll through our messages as subtly as I can and come across a couple of messages where she talked about—of all things—cleaning. Which is a very weird hobby to have, but hey, I’m not judging.

“So, um, one of your hobbies is cleaning?”

She frowns, that vulnerable look fleeing her features, and suddenly looks really annoyed. What did I say? God, I really have no idea how to talk to her.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No.” She gives me the world’s fakest smile. “You’re right, I love tidying up. It’s something all girls love to do.”

The way she says it makes my skin crawl, but I have no idea how to react to that, so I just nod and say, “It’s a great pastime to have.”

“Of course,” she mutters.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. What do you want to know about cleaning anyway?”

Geez. Her tone could not be more acidic. I find myself subconsciously shrinking back from her. Feeling a little like I’m stepping into a trap, I say, “Um, what do you like about cleaning?” I don’t even really know what I just asked; Sharlot’s sudden anger is making me flustered.

She looks me in the eye and says, “Sorry, George, I’m really tired. I’m going to take a nap, okay?” Then she turns her entire body away from me and closes her eyes pointedly.

Okay, I can take a hint. Especially one as painfully obvious as this. I look at the cabin. At least everyone else seems to be having a great time. Sharlot’s mother and Eighth Aunt are both laughing at something on Eighth Aunt’s phone, their heads tilted close to each other’s. Eleanor is giggling at something Kiki’s saying, and Papa is fussing about with Nainai’s (Hermès) blanket. Everyone’s paired off.

I glance at Sharlot, wondering what she’s like behind those walls, taking in the curve of her jawline and lips.

“It’s creepy to stare,” she mutters.

I look away, my cheeks burning.

Sharlot “naps” the entire two-hour plane ride to Bali. At some point, she actually does fall asleep, her mouth going slack and a little snore coming out of her. She jerks awake when we hit the tarmac.

“We’re here,” I tell her, pointing to my chin to indicate that there’s a line of drool on hers.

She wipes it, her cheeks reddening.

“Did you sleep okay?” I don’t know why I bother asking. It’s obvious she slept great, and anyway I’m not really interested in knowing how she slept.

“Yeah.” She grabs her bag and looks out the window. Her eyes widen and she says, “How come we’re not docking at a gangway?”

“Oh, we don’t need to go through the airport. They’ll send a customs guy to go through our documents.” I lean forward to look out the window as well. “Our luggage will be loaded directly into the car…. There. That’s our ride to the hotel.”

Her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Wow, straight from the plane and into a limo. No waiting in never-ending lines at the airport.” Her mouth crooks into a wry smile. “I could get used to traveling like this.”

I realize that my face is really close to hers—close enough to see the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and catch how the late-morning sunlight makes her dark brown eyes turn a rich chocolate. Cheeks flushing, I lean back quickly. So what if she’s really cute? She’s still mean and I’m still the asshole who’s lying to her.

We don’t talk as the customs officer comes to go throughour papers. We don’t talk as we climb out of our seats. And we definitely don’t talk after that, because Sharlot sidles up to Kiki and links one arm through her cousin’s and the other through Eleanor’s arm. Great. Even my own fake girlfriend would rather spend time with my little sister than me. Eleanor glances back at me, and I look away, pretending to study the interior of the plane. Damn it, I don’t even have my phone to pretend to be busy with. This is ridiculous. Oh! I did bring my e-reader. I take it out of my backpack and stare hard at it, like I’m reading. Maybe I should actually try to read.

When we finally get off the plane, Papa’s assistant, Fauzi, greets us and ushers us into the limo. Inside, he sends us all a pdf of our individual itineraries and then starts filling in Papa and Eighth Aunt about how everything is coming along. I look at the pdf on my tablet with growing dread. As expected, the timetable is packed. We’ll be here for three nights, and every single day has been planned meticulously, activities arranged in half-hour increments. Today’s is the lightest, and even then, I have three interviews lined up.Plot Twist, Tech World,andYoung Entrepreneurs.

“Hang on, this says that I have interviews. Is that right?” Sharlot says. She doesn’t look at all amused.

I look at her phone.Plot Twist, Tech World, Young Entrepreneurs.She has the same interviews I do. At the same time. Well, shit. Eighth Aunt had mentioned that part of her running damage control was to limit the amount of exposure we have with journalists as a couple to minimize the chances of error. So what the hell is this?

“Fauzi, um—sorry, can I interrupt you for a sec?”

Fauzi, Papa, and Eighth Aunt stop talking and turn to look at me expectantly, making it very obvious that I’m interrupting an important conversation. It’s always like this with them. Everything is important; every conversation has the weight of millions of dollars at stake. In contrast, everything I say seems laughably trivial.

“Yep, what’s hanging, my man?” Fauzi is twenty-seven or something equally ancient. He makes up for it by switching to what he thinks is trendy-speak whenever he talks to me and Eleanor.

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