The movement of the dock and the rhythmic lapping sound the water makes, spins my head even worse than the ride in Ryan's rattling truck. I gulp the breeze and try to calculate how big his dinghy is inside. The result isn't promising. "So, that's our shalash."
My husband chuckles behind my back. "I don't see any tree branches. Do you?"
"Right." I gingerly place one bare foot on the boat's rim or whatever it's called. The boat stops rocking. Instead, it buckles wildly, leaving me swinging my arms like a windmill, fighting for balance. Even in the face of certain death, I clutch my shoes. I love those shoes!
Ryan props me up, and we parachute inside, pretty much tossed into each-other's embrace by the willful vessel.
"Is your boat big enough to have even one bed?" I free myself from Ryan's ridiculously long limbs. Two beds cannot possibly fit below decks unless they're bunk beds. I shudder at the thought.
"Yes, absolutely, I have a bed. My bed. It's bolted down, so it can't be moved in a storm or for a fake wife."
My toes curl instinctively to grip the cold corrugated surface under my feet. "Good thing we've discussed this eventuality beforehand. It's not a threat to our virtue."
"Yeah," he folds his hands behind his back, looking past me. "Yeah. Excellent foresight on our part."
What distracts him from me is a stack of surfing gear.
"Ryan?" I suck my teeth. "Ryan, there are two surfing boards on your tiny houseboat. Did you forget to mention something?"
Now is a perfect time for him to come out and tell me that he's seeing someone. And honestly, what did I expect? The guy's in his thirties and easy to look upon. Sure, his disposition is sour, and he's down on his luck, but when did it stop a woman of determination? Of course, he's in a relationship, even if it's an on-and-off kind or broken or... something. My mood plunges.
"That's Emily's." His voice is completely expressionless when he says it.
The measure of how low my spirits fell is how high they spike when I hear that name. Emily! The bitch I was going to have a heart-to-heart with about family values! That Emily! I'm ready sing it. Emily-Emily-Emily!
"Emily, your sister." I sure hope he doesn't have multiple women of that name in his life, because I've had enough romcom situations for one night. "That Emily?"
"Yes."
His clipped reply pushes me to the brink of laughing, but I hold it in for dear life. Hysterical giggles will be misinterpreted, and I can't afford making my marriage any more awkward. I want simplicity.
"She used to come with me all the time..." Ryan says. "And I don't have, you know, don't have the heart to get rid of it."
"You don't need to explain." At first, my voice is tight from fighting laughter, then it's tight because of a solidifying constriction in my throat.
He stands there, thumbs jammed behind his belt—tuxedos have no pockets to speak of, just the satin accents and a holder for a folded handkerchief. Moonlight sets off the luster of the trim on the lapels, reminding me they're meant to be worn after dark.
Darling, sweetie, my love... the worn-out words used to roll easily from my tongue when I was trying to get a rise out of him. Now when I want to comfort him, no dice. I don't dare to even use his name out of fear of giving out how much affection I have for him at this moment.
He is forlorn, and I want to be here for him. Plus, I'm thrilled he's single, apart from being fake married to me. It's so dumb and poignant at the same time. My heart soars, while my cheeks heat with guilt. Thankfully, the night hides conflicting emotions well.
YOU ARE READING
Raised by the Mafia
Science Fiction||L.A. Lawless Serial|| ||Season 2|| What do mafia princess and an ex-FBI agent have in common? An enemy. What should they do about it? Fake-marry, of course, and rub it into his face. What could possibly go wrong...or right? Right.
