Page 100 of Trouble in Love
In perfect synchronicity, Chris and Clara’s faces fell, and Luca and I launched into evil villain hand rubbing and dual sighs of “Excellent.”
Luca
In life and in hockey, you win some. You lose some. My first six months with Polly showcased this theory to perfection.
Losses: Every shoe, wall, and piece of furniture in our house had been destroyed by Toto. Ana was dating my coach. My team failed to make the playoffs. (I blamed Ana.)
Win: Chris and Clara—gone. I had a new manager. Signed a new contract with New York. Sex with Polly was UNBELIVABLE. We were back in Australia. And ….
“Fuck this is brilliant, Pol. Are you as excited as I am? Because I’m pretty excited. Was I right, or was I right?”
“It is and I am. It’s very rare for me to be swayed into changing my mind, Luca. As happy as I am that I did, I still feel I deserve come kind of prize.”
“Oh, you for sure deserve a prize, but that will have to wait till we get back to bed.” I shot Polly a wink that, given the circumstances, should not have made me feel the things it did where it did. “Are we going to do the crown thing now?”
“We are. Now, stop talking or mum will bust up here and kick your ass.”
A hearty laughed burst free, and even over the singing or wailing, whatever the priest and choir were doing, I still heard Polly’s mom grunt in disapproval.
“Told you.” Polly smirked. “You might have won her over by bringing me back here for a proper wedding but embarrass her in front of the CWA crew and the blessing she gave you will switch to a voodoo curse in the blink of an eye.”
Father Ioannou cleared his throat. “Sorry, but we prefer not to speak of voodoo curses directly prior to the service of the crowning.” He smiled, “Are you ready?”
“Yes, Father.”
Luck had been on our side; the new addition to Polly’s family church was a young man ready to modernize. In consideration of Polly’s past, Father Ioannou was more than happy to forgo many traditional elements. He was also willing to overlook the normal stance on marrying someone like me, a Catholic … and me swearing at the pulpit.
For the rest of the ceremony, which included prayers, the crowning, readings from Scripture, the common cup, and my favorite part, the Dance of Isaiah—which wasn’t actually a dance but a walk celebrating ourfirststeps as husband and wife—Polly and I were silent.
The reception was quite different.
“We don’t have a lot of time before people notice we’re gone, now stop sulking and come sit on my face.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s our wedding, and despite the fact that I said it was stupid to get married again just for my family, it’s almost over, and I’ll never have one again, and I’m sad.”
“I think you might be a bit tipsy, Pol.”
“Great. Now you’re laughing at me, so I’m sad and mad, and we’re officially having a fight.”
“Oh, we are?” I laughed, “Well, I’m very sorry for laughing and insist you sit on my face so I can apologize some more. To reiterate, face sitting will fix it all.”
“Luca. You can’t just go down on me whenever you’re in the bad books.”
“Why? Doesn’t it feel good and make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“And does it feel good when I apologize?”
“Yes.”
“Right, so two plus two equals you suffocating me with your thighs. Now hurry the hell up. Sit.”
Polly rolled her eyes, hitched the dress that several dozen ostriches may have lost every feather for, and stood above me, one stiletto on either side of my neck.
