Page 4 of Death Row
Chapter 4
Before
You screwed up, Noel.”
Noel has just emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he lets the towel drop to the floor before rifling around in the top drawer of our dresser for underwear. From where I am lying on our queen-size bed, I avert my eyes, trying not to allow Noel’s body to distract me from my irritation with him.
“Oh yeah?” he says. “How did I screw up?”
“Did you call to reserve the Vineyard for June first?”
Noel steps into a pair of boxer shorts, nearly losing his balance in the process. “Not yet. But I will. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“We don’t have plenty of time.” I let out a tortured sigh. “Noel, I told you that wedding venues book out a year in advance. I told you that you needed to book it right away. And now it’s too late.”
When his head peeks back out of the shirt he’s thrown on over his head, his lips are turned down. “Are you serious? Someone booked it?”
“I’m serious. We lost it to ...” I pick up the crumpled paper on the nightstand. “Marie Machudo and Albert Swecker.”
“Shit.” He sinks down onto our bed, his head hanging. “I’m so sorry, Talia. I know you had your heart set on getting married there.”
He looks so guilty thatIstart to feel guilty. Yes, I did want to get married at the Vineyard. But the thing I’m really looking forward to is marrying Noel Kemper. Over the last two years, we have been inseparable. When he got down on one knee and told me that he couldn’t imagine life without me, I felt the same way. It doesn’t matter where we get married, only that we’re getting married.
That said . . .
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I have a feeling that the Vineyard is going to get an unexpected cancellation for June first ...”
I hold up my phone, where the website with the Vineyard’s phone number is on the screen. I am not above playing dirty to get my dream wedding location.
Noel’s mouth drops out. “Hang on ...”
“What?”
“Are you ...” He squints at me. “Are you saying that you’re going to call the Vineyard and pretend to be Marie Machudo to cancel their reservation?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, it’syourfault,” I say defensively. “Youscrewed up and didn’t make the reservation.”
“So you’re going tolieto fix it?”
“Maybe I am.” I lift my chin, meeting his eyes. “Is that really so wrong?”
“Lying is objectively wrong, yeah.”
“Well, I don’t care then.”
I turn my attention back to my phone. I start to press the button that will make the call to the Vineyard, but before I can, Noel reaches over and snatches the phone right out of my hand.
“Hey!” I cry. “Give that back.”
“Nuh uh.” He stands up, holding it out of reach. He is, frustratingly, about eight inches taller than I am. “I’m not going to let you do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—he looks me straight in the eyes—“you are an absolutely horrendous actor. You will blow our cover in like five seconds.”
