Page 15 of The Moon Also Rises
“Shall we maybe order first?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, closing my eyes for a moment longer than a blink as if that will erase what they just did.
After studying the menu in silence for a minute or so a server comes over to take our order.
“And would you like anything from the wine list?” he asks after we give him our food choices.
“Oh, no, thank you,” I say.
“You can if you want,” Rami offers.
Not at these prices, no way.
“I’m fine with water, thank you,” I say ignoring how tempting a glass of pinot grigio is right now. My throat is still inexplicably dry.
“So, the big day is just under two weeks away,” Rami begins. “Are you excited? Nervous?”
“I’m… something,” I say.Everything, I think.
“My sister told me you didn’t call for a fitting. I think it’s getting a bit late now for her to—”
“Oh yes, that. I wanted to thank you for your kind offer, but I already have a tux that is perfectly adequate. It cost far too much two years ago so I should definitely get some more wear out of it. Also, wait until you see my arse in it. It may actually turn you.”
“Well, that’s…” Rami begins.
I plough on, suddenly worried I’ve overlooked a key detail. “You do have a tux, don’t you? Did I mention it was black tie? I mean, it’s a little over the top, I know, but it is a gay wedding at a country estate and Luigi works in Fashion PR so I suppose it’s somewhat to be expected.”
“Luigi, that’s Lionel’s fiancé?” Rami asks.
“Yes, unbelievable name, isn’t it? Who knew Italians were actually called that? I thought it was a made-up Italian name just for Japanese computer games and pizza take-aways.”
“You know that could sound a little offensive,” Rami says in a gentle voice.
I feel all my features fall. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m not normally such a dickhead. A bit of a bitch sometimes, yes, but I do try my best not to be a racist twat.”
“I don’t think you’re a dickhead or a racist twat,” Rami says as he reaches for his water.
“But you don’t like me very much, do you?” I ask and my face still feels loose, like everything is a bit empty.
As it annoyingly often does, it takes a moment for Rami to close his mouth and formulate a reply. “I don’t dislike you, Jake,” he says, and I wait for him to elaborate, to offer some further reassurance perhaps, but he doesn’t. I shrug it off.
“Well, I suppose that’s good enough for what we have to do. I mean, don’t worry, I won’t insist we kiss or cuddle up for photos or anything. I just need you to look like you might like me.”
“Jake—”
“And you won’t have to put up with me all night. I’ll be busy being the social butterfly I am after two glasses of champagne. So don’t take it personally if I disappear now and then. Just promise me—” I pause. “God, this feels really cheeky.”
“Go on,” Rami says leaning forward.
“Just don’t cop off with one of the bridesmaids or anything, okay? The last thing I need is Lionel’s pity over being dumped by my boyfriend on his wedding day.”
Rami lays both of his hands flat on the table. “Jake, I promise you I won’t dump you on their wedding day.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, and I hope it shows in my face which finally feels a bit more like my own again. We both lean back as some servers bring over our drinks and starters.
“I do have one request myself,” Rami says as they walk away.
I roll my eyes with deliberate emphasis and hope the sarcasm I am summoning is audible. “Gosh, you’re so demanding!”
