Page 55 of Making It While Faking It
“Is what by choice?”
“The fact that he’s on the island and you’re here in the city?” I shrug indifferently. “It’s okay, though. I heard that women who are married die younger.” I chuckle to let her know that I’m half joking.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” she says before taking another sip of wine.
My head feels like it’s swimming laps without me. Caroline selected the wine. She said it’s one of Achilles’s favorite reds. Not only is it delicious, but it’s slow in a very decadent way. But I’m pondering Caroline’s last comment. I hate generalizing. Generalizing is for those who are too lazy to accept and see the many shades of humanity. And so I say, “I don’t think it’s completely true. I think a lot of people marry wrong because they marry an illusion. And then they stay in the marriage because it becomes a miserable trap. Those are the ones who die too early. Misery kills.” I close my eyes and let the back of my head sink into the couch cushion. “I don’t ever want to be miserable.”
It’s so relaxing, sitting in silence with Caroline, who’s a very quiet person. But there’s something different about this particular lingering silence, so I raise one heavy eyelid and turn to Caroline.
She’s staring at me, lips parted, eyes glossy because they’re holding tears.
“Me neither,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be miserable either.”
Very soon afterCaroline and I make our declarations to never be miserable, she says she has to leave. She seems very focused on something, but I feel as if I shouldn’t ask what’s going on inside her head. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t tell if I did ask. So I thank her for having dinner with me and then head to my bedroom.
First, I put on my pajamas, but then I remember tomorrow’s Monday, and Achilles specifically said he’ll see me on Monday. He hasn’t contacted me today. I wonder what he’s doing with Paisley and Hercules. I bet it has something to do with TRANSPOT.
I take off my pajamas and slip into my yellow tank dress instead. Then I take that one off and put on a soft pink one—no. I change into my red slip dress. Red is his favorite color. And I want to be ready just in case I run into Achilles in the kitchen tomorrow morning.
Even though I can hardly keep my eyes open, I decide to watch a movie on Netflix, which turns out to be an utter failure. I fall asleep before the first scene ends.
MONDAY MORNING
At first, I hear muted rattling, but the more I rise into consciousness, the clearer the knocking becomes. I take a moment to remember that I’m in bed. Yesterday was Sunday, and today is… Monday!
I sit up quickly. “Who is it?”
“Me, Achilles,” he says, sounding muffled behind the thick wood door to my bedroom.
My heart beats a mile a minute from excitement and panic as I look toward the bathroom. “Damn it,” I whisper. I wish I could run into the bathroom and brush my teeth, but…
“One second!” I shout and spring out of bed.
I rush to the bathroom and brush my teeth so fast that I might’ve broken a record.
“Here I come,” I call and then rinse my mouth, wipe it with a towel, and splash water over my face to freshen up.
There’s no time for a final once-over. I don’t know how long that took, but it feels like forever.
I dash back into the room, and facing the door, I steady my heavy breaths while pressing a hand over my racing heart.
“Treasure?” Achilles says.
I turn to the bed. Should I pose on top of it, on my side, and hike up my hip to appear sexier?
“Um…” I deliberate internally.
To hell with it. I dive on top of the bed, and when I’m ready, I say, “Come in.”
Yes, You May
TREASURE GROVE
He’s in smoky-gray herringbone pants with a silky black polo shirt. I’ve never known a man who wears clothes as well as Achilles Lord. Sex appeal drips from his rock-hard abs, broad shoulders, and oh gosh, that bulge between his legs.
“It appears you’re happy to see me,” I say, eyebrows high as I flirt shamelessly.
My eyes shine even brighter watching Achilles toss his head back and his Adam’s apple bob as he laughs—a real, hearty, un-Achilles-like laugh.
