by Holly Jaymes
“We’re not very good at it,” I said.
“We might be if we were sober.”
I laughed, glad that he had a sense of humor over this crazy situation. But then I sobered from that. “What do you think they’ll ask us in the interview?”
He inhaled and then let out a breath. “I don’t know. How we met, maybe.”
“We can stick to the truth with that.”
“It’s always best to stick as close to the truth as possible.” He took out his phone. “Maybe Google knows.”
I laughed. “You rely on Google a lot. Is that something you learned in the F.B.I?”
“No. At the F.B.I and even in my work, I have access to more secure information. But for everyday life questions —”
“Like how to pass an immigration interview?”
“Yes. Google has a lot of good information,” he said quickly typing into his phone’s search bar.
“Have you ever considered using it to learn about grilling?”
He pursed his lips at me.
“Or YouTube. I bet there’s a video.”
He ignored me. “This says we could be asked about our first date.”
“I guess the mob museum and hot air balloon ride at Vegas would look suspicious.”
“We went for coffee three years ago.”
I smiled. “We did. I remember wondering why you didn’t ask me out on a date.
“Your dad was there. Speaking of which, we need to call him.”
I checked my watch. “We can do it at lunch time. I think he’ll be off work in the Middle East by then.”
“Why don’t we say what we do today is our first date, and just say it happened several months ago?”
“Okay. What else?” I leaned over to look at his phone screen.
“How many rooms in our house?”
“Three?”
He nodded. “Who pays the bills? Who does the chores? What sort of curtains are in the living room?” He looked at me like that was a nutty question. It was a nutty question.
“I guess some of these people don’t live together,” I said by way of explanation. Even so, I would pay better attention to Will’s home décor.
“What’s your spouse’s favorite food? Which side of the bed do you sleep on? What birth control do you use?”
“Wow, that is personal.” I looked at him. “I like the side nearest the bathroom, and I’m on the pill.”
“That’s on the right in my room, so I’ll say left.”
I almost offered to role play that scenario, but held my tongue. Will was helping me out. It wasn’t nice to poke at his square ways.
He used his finger to scroll on the phone. “What did we do on our last vacation?”
“Got drunk and got married.” I grinned at him.
“Maybe we just stick with got married.” He shook his head, but I could see he was amused. He continued to look at the list and something he saw made his cheeks turn pink.
“What?” I looked down at his phone.
“What was the last time we made love?”
“I know that one too,” I said. I wondered if would look funny to Mr. Bigalow if the last time we’d been intimate was on our honeymoon.
“There’s a lot of specific stuff. How bills are paid. Names of siblings.”
“I know that, and you know my brother’s name, Mathieu right? Sort of like your middle name.”
He nodded. “Who wakes up first.”
“You can. I’m not a morning person.”
“How many kids do we want?”
That stopped me. “I want four. How about you?”
“Four!” He sounded shocked.
“There are four kids in your family. It’s not that unheard of.”
“My parents had four boys and it was a constant riot, and I don’t mean that as a party. I mean as in chaos.”
“Well, how many do you want?” I asked.
He looked straight ahead. “I never thought about it.”
“You don’t want any?”
“It’s not that I don’t want them. I was pretty sure I’d never get married.” He looked at the ring on his finger.
“Sorry.” Then I frowned. “What if we did have kids? Would they still deport me if they didn’t like our answers?”
“Maybe. Probably. I’ve heard of a parent being deported, while the spouse and kids stayed here.”
I shook my head at the cruelty of that. “That’s really harsh. I understand the need to regulate immigration, but that’s awful.”
The car pulled up to the curb. “We’re here.” Will got out of the car, holding a hand toward me to help me out. The spy museum was pretty fun, like the mob one. There were exhibits on gadgets, how spies gathered intel, the history of spying, including Will’s story about the hot air balloon. There was even an interactive exhibit in which we could be a spy.
“What did you do in the F.B.I., anyway?” I asked Will as we walked out after finishing the tour. “That might come up on the questions.”
“I worked in the cyber division.”
“That makes sense I suppose. You left to go into private cyber security.”
“Right.” He took my hand as we walked toward the National Mall. I wondered if he thought immigration agents were following us.
“So how did you work with my dad?”
“Canada and the U.S. had a joint project that I was assigned to.”
I looked up at him, the cool wind blowing his dark hair. His dark sunglasses made him look like one of those sophisticated male models. “Would you have really asked me out if my dad wasn’t there?”
He cast a glance at me. “Maybe.”
“What would have stopped you?”
“You’re too young and vibrant for an old fuddy duddy like me.”
I playfully slapped his arm. “You really need to stop putting yourself down.”
“I’m only repeating what you said to me.”
“I never called you a fuddy duddy.”
“Dullard, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “What about now? You didn’t even come say hi to me when I got this job.”
“You didn’t come see me either,” he pointed out.
“It was your job to find me,” I stated.
“Who says?”
“You’re the boss. It would be inappropriate for me.”
He shook his head. “I’ll never get the rules of polite society.”
“You do all right. Where are we going, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Wherever we want. Have you been in any of the Smithsonian museums?”
“Yes. Hasn’t everyone who comes here?”
We stopped at light to wait for cars before crossing to the mall. To the right was the Capitol building, and on the left was the Lincoln Memorial.
“What did you like?” he asked.
“The art one. I like pretty things even though I don’t know good from bad art.”
He stopped. “Do you do art?”
“No, but I like to see others who do it. I just like the colors and emotions. It’s like poetry in graphic form.”
“Maybe we should go to the Torpedo Factory.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Okay. What do torpedoes have to do with art?”
He laughed. “In Alexandria, the torpedo factory was converted into an art center. Artists can lease studio spaces to work from and sell their art.”
I smiled. “I’d love to see it.”
He pulled out his phone and ordered a car.
“We could take the metro,” I suggested.
“We could, but it would take longer,” he said as we walked back to Independence Avenue.
Alexandria seemed like it should have been right across the river, but instead it took us thirty minutes to get there. When we arrived, we had lunch in a restaurant along the Potomac River. Then we walked into the Torpedo Factory. The place was no joke when it came to offering an artist haven. There were galleries and studios, and many artists were there creating their beautiful
pieces.
“Oh look,” I said as we walked by on artist station. I pointed to the painting of a bright tulip. “I love tulips.”
“Do they have tulips in Canada?” Will asked as he regarded the picture with me.
I gave him a look. “Yes. Why wouldn’t we have tulips?”
He shrugged. “They always seem to have a short life here in Virginia, and we’re in a temperate area.”
“It’s not the North Pole in Canada. At least, not in all of it. Can we go in and look?”
“Of course.” He put his hand on my lower back to lead me in.
“Look at all the bright colors. That’s what I love about tulips. They’re so bright and beautiful.” There were smaller paintings and prints, as well as larger ones several feet tall.
“What is your favorite?” Will asked.
“This purple one is lovely. I like this yellow one too.” We walked on. “Look at this orange. It makes me think of a poppy.”
“Can we have these delivered?” Will asked the woman who was currently painting a pretty little hot pink tulip.
“Will, we don’t need to —”
“Sure, we do. You like them, and they make you happy. Plus, if we’re asked what our first joint purchase for our home is, we can say tulip art.”
I was filled with a mixture of happy and sad. It was sweet that he’d buy the pictures because they made me happy, but also, it was a reminder that all this was a charade. Our day today was to create memories that we could share to make Mr. Bigalow think we were a real married couple. It wasn’t real.
“Yes, I can arrange that,” the woman said.
“We’ll take this purple one and that yellow one.” He turned to me. “Do you like the orange too?”
I nodded. “Yes, but —”
“The orange too.”
As we rode home in the car, I felt a little off about his spending a good chunk of change on tulip pictures. In this fake marriage, he was providing the home, he paid for the rings … I hadn’t contributed anything except for our first fight as a married couple.
“We should keep an accounting,” I said.
“Of what?”
“Who spends what. I owe you a lot already.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money.”
“I don’t like feeling like I’m not doing my part. You’re risking so much and spending so much.”
He took my hand again, a gesture I was coming to love despite my attempts to guard my heart. “First, I have the money and I enjoyed buying those. Second, I get something out of this too.”
I pursed my lips. “Like what?”
“Like the ability to have one of the top programmers in the world working on a project that is vital to national security.”
Oh yeah, that again. I supposed it was a good thing we were friends. It was making this crazy plan easier to pull off. But he was right about the risk of blurring the lines. I was pretty sure mine were smudged already.
Book 4: Chapter 18—Introducing My Wife to the Family
Introducing My Wife to the Family
Will — Sunday
I’d never had a panic attack before, but I was having one now. Or I was having a heart attack. I woke in the panic as I realized it was Sunday and I’d have to bring Adalyn home to meet the family. I couldn’t see any way that this wasn’t going to go badly. And I couldn’t tell them the truth without making them complicit in my scam.
I managed to get myself up and out for a run to try and steady my nerves. When I got back, Adalyn was in the kitchen making French toast.
She frowned when she saw me. “What’s wrong?”
I got a glass of water from the dispenser in my refrigerator. “Just coming to terms with tonight.”
She made one of those sympathetic faces that always made me feel worse. She put her hand on my chest. “I hate that this is eating you up. We can stop —”
“We can’t.”
“Then why don’t you explain to them?” she said, going back to the pan to flip the bread over.
“Because then they’ll be breaking the law too.”
She frowned setting her spatula down. “I’m sorry, Will.” She put her arms around my neck and hugged me. It felt so natural to wrap my arms around her and hold her. I needed this. She was like a tether, keeping me from flying away. I felt like I could stand there forever. It was a reminder of how dangerous this could be. We were friends. Friends that had sex once, and were now breaking the law. If we were going to stay out of jail and stay friends, we needed to stay diligent about keeping our emotions out of it.
But the other aspect of this deception that made it even harder was that because we had a connection, we could very well pull this off. We got along. Everything, or nearly everything we did, was easy.
“What’s going on in your brain right now?” she asked, pulling away.
“If we can convince my mother and brothers that this marriage is real, we’ll be able to convince anyone.”
She had that sympathetic look again, which told me she understood. “You’ll feel worse if they buy into the lie.”
I nodded.
“My dad bought it,” she said.
We’d called him yesterday and at first, he was surprised, but then said he couldn’t think of a better man for her to marry. I could. How about one who didn’t get drunk, marry his daughter in front of an Elvis impersonator, and then fuck her?
After breakfast, to help me keep my mind occupied, I did some work until it was time to leave for my mother’s house. I was glad Adalyn gave me the space, even though I wasn’t sure it helped.
On the way, she asked about my brothers.
“Nate owns the pharmaceutical company,” I said, and then laughed when I remembered how he and Hallie ended up together.
“What’s so funny?” Adalyn asked, sitting next to me as I drove down toward my mother’s neighborhood.
“Nate and Hallie had a fake marriage of sorts too.”
“No? It runs in your family? Did they get drunk in Vegas too?”
I laughed again, loving how Adalyn could find humor in difficult situations. “No. They weren’t legally married. They just told potential investors they were.”
“Why?”
“Nate had a reputation as a ladies’ man. I guess there was concern that would hurt the reputation of the company during the IPO.”
“Huh,” she said. “So, he found a woman willing to pretend marry him?”
“She was his assistant.”
“Boss and employee. You and Nate have a lot in common.”
I sighed. “Except he never tried to pass her off as his wife with us.”
Adalyn put her hand on mine, but didn’t say anything. What could she say?
“Then there’s Mitch, who you know. I think he fell for Hope when he was six years old.”
She sighed, putting her hand over her chest. “Aw, that’s sweet. Did they have a legit wedding?”
I smiled. “Yes. But she was knocked up at the time.” I laughed again. I can’t remember the last time I’d found so much humor or amusement in life.
“What’s funny?”
“My parents always thought Gabe or I would be the one to knock someone up.”
“You?” She looked at me incredulously.
I shrugged. “I was different as a teen.” I was different until my father died, and I had to become the man of the family. That story had no humor and wasn’t one I wanted to delve into.
“I’m glad she came back into his life, as out of all of us, he was the most alone.”
“Oh?”
I turned on my blinker to change lanes, looking over my shoulder as I did. “Around the time our dad died, Mitch caught his then-fiancée with his business partner.”
“Ouch. Is that why he sold the business?” she asked.
I nodded. “He used his billions to build a home in the woods and would still be there, hiding from life, if Hope hadn’t shown up.”
“She must be some wom
an.”
“You’ll like her. And Hallie and Sam.” I felt certain my sisters-in-law would like Adalyn, too.
“Sam, I know from watching Gabe’s shows.”
“They were another couple that was meant to be.”
“And here you are, the committed bachelor.”
“Not technically,” I said, glancing at her.
“But if not for Vegas, you would be. By choice too, I bet. Why?”
I gripped the steering wheel with both hands, trying not to get uptight about talking about myself. “I’m married to my work.”
“So, a roll in the sack with Karen is all the intimacy you need?”
I gritted my teeth at hearing Karen’s name. “I don’t need much. Less and less, lately.”
“Are you becoming a monk?”
I knew she was trying to keep things light. She seemed to know I didn’t like talking about myself or my feelings.
“Not quite.”
She was quiet, so I glanced at her again. “What?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Just wondering if you go without, or if you take care of things yourself?”
My mouth gaped.
She laughed. “I wish I had my phone out. I’d take a picture.”
I turned back to look at the road, but we were stopped at a red light.
“So. What’s the answer?” she prodded.
“Do you really want to know?” I had half a mind to tell her, because clearly she thought I was too much of a prude to share such details.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
I held up my hand, made a fist, and then pumped it a few times.
She laughed, and it made me laugh. “God, I’d pay to see that.”
“What?” I asked. The woman was always surprising me.
“I would. I bet it’s sexy. But is it really better than Karen?”
I sucked in a breath. “Lately … usually … yes.”
She bit her lip and turned to look out the window. I suspected she had a question that she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask, which was unusual considering she’d just asked if I masturbated.
“What?” I prodded her.
She shrugged and looked a little embarrassed. “I was wondering if jerking off was better than me?”
My dick flared to life, a clear indication that the answer was no. The problem was, this was dangerous territory. We couldn’t let our banter and camaraderie lure us into what happened in Vegas. But I also didn’t want to lie to her.