Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Chapter 29

White chocolate, strawberry and Champagne frosting. For a small fee, they would embellish the wedding cake with gold leaves. What a great idea! Cheryl asked and Samuel agreed, obeyed, obliged. Ten days into his resolution, he'd become the best version of himself, the model fiance, a one-of-a-kind prototype. Not a hiccup in their premature honeymoon phase.

Pats on the shoulders from Mr. Green, and condescending smiles from Vivian. Fishing sessions with the in-laws, and mi-week dinners with Ma. Keeping busy, staying active, nodding to tasteless jokes for some cheap validation. Wrong politicians, right enemies, an excuse for sobriety. Flowers, chairs, menus and invitations. Love. Respect. Achievement.

A dream that threatened to last forever.

"So this is where you live?" Cheryl stood in the middle of Samuel's room, her hands in the back pockets of her ripped jeans and her nose in the air.

"Not for long." A house off-base was now top of the list.

Cheryl turned around, a sleek smile on her face. "Not for long?"

Samuel closed the distance and pulled close by her waist. "I wanted to keep it a surprise, but I'm planning on getting my own place. Our own place."

Cheryl's eyes widened. "Off-base?" The thought as tempting as Eve's apple.

"There are some bungalows near Ocean Beach. Small, charming, private... I'm sure you'd love them."

"Is there a cute front yard?"

"You bet."

Her arms circled his neck. "And a picket fence?"

"Colored picket fences."

"And a swing on a tree?"

Samuel sniggered. "I will steal a tire and fashion one for you."

Cheryl chuckled. "I can't wait to be your wife." Her eyes, hazelnut bubbles of dooming adoration.

"I'm dying to make you my wife." The mantra materialized on his tongue with convincing ease; the mental effort behind it as hard as a heavy duty rubber band.

Their noses grazed. Cheryl's fingers tickled the nape of his neck in a soft dance. She licked his lips, a palm sliding down his t-shirt-shielded chest; only innocence in her eyes as she copped a feel. And again. And again.

Brain as numb as his dick, but a heart thumping with frigid rage, Samuel took a step back to freedom. "Do you wanna see the place?"

Cheryl sheathed the offending hand in her pocket. Was she hiding the murder weapon? But no plans of vengeance appeared on her beaming face. "Are you kidding? Duh!"

Breath of relief. "Let's go, then. I'll take you to lunch after." Anything to delay being back to those asphyxiating four walls, deadly with the toxic fumes of the poisonous fruit rotting on the other side.

"Let me use the bathroom first."

"Hurry."

As Cheryl disappeared behind the door, Samuel dashed outside for cover. The bright sunlight reflecting off the cream stucco lasered his eyes, and he flipped his Rodenstock on his nose. Leaning his elbows on the metal banister, he took the chance to listen to his voicemail, if only to get rid of that annoying blinking icon on the screen. Hopefully, it wasn't Ma. Her messages mostly comprised heavy breathing and, hello? Just as he punched the call button, the door opened and slammed close.

"That was quick," he said, hanging up.

But no adoring gaze and redeeming smile greeted him when he turned around—five feet away, River's scornful eyes sucked the air from his lungs.