Page 53 of Never the Bride
“And this is what?” I hold up her lacy, red thong. “Your ‘practical and comfortable’?”
She snatches it from me, muttering, “Laundry-day emergency.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t judge, then.”
We sort through our mixed-up clothes, both red-faced.
“We should probably just not do laundry on the same day,” I say.
“Agreed.”
Standing with our full baskets, we stare at each other for a beat.
“So are you ready for our first marriage counseling session this evening?” I ask.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. I was just wondering if you’re nervous.”
Her brows lift. “Are you nervous?”
“Maybe a little. I just…do you think we should have a plan going in since the counselor is reporting to the judge?”
“That’s not a bad idea.” She adjusts the basket in her arms, using her hip to help support it. “Maybe we should oversell how things are going between us, make the counselor believe we are more than complying with the ‘good faith marriage’ clause.”
“So act like we’re in love?”
“Notin love. Just that we’re really trying.”
“Iamtrying.”
“Right. Same here.” She swings the basket out in front of her. “Anyway, I'd better get to work. I’ll meet you at the counselor's office later.”
I watch her walk away, knowing she’s not fooling me.
Nothing about her behavior over the last four weeks tells me she’s “trying.”
But we’ll see if Camila can fool the marriage counselor.
We sitin silence in the waiting room, Camila typing on her phone and me staring mindlessly at the television.
I lean over to her, a dumb move considering I’m side-tracked by the soft hint of citrus and honey coming from her hair. I remember that smell from our sharing-a-shower days.
She shoots me a why-are-you-in-my-space glance.
“Uh…” I straighten back to my spot. “I was just going to say that I’ll follow your lead in there with the counselor.”
“Okay, yeah. Just follow my lead.”
The door swings open, and a nice-looking woman in her thirties, with blonde shoulder-length hair, opens the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, I’m Abby. I can see you now.”
“Uh, no.” Camila stands gathering her things. “It’s Mr. Taylor and Ms. Jiménez.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The marriage counselor double-checks her paper. “I’ll make a note of that.”
“Actually, you can just call me Hess,” I say as I shake her hand.
“And Camila is fine for me.”
