“No relationship is perfect. She said it was probably because he was so different from what I was used to, and that we’d have a stable life, and wasn’t that what I wanted? I thought it was. I thought I could make it work and it didn’t even last a night.” Tears well and spill over, coasting down my cheeks. My eyes are swollen and red. Cucumber slices and tea bag compresses will not make this go away—not outside or inside.
Ruby wraps her arms around me, which makes the tears fall even faster. “He’s an idiot and your mom probably isn’t the best judge of stable relationships.”
“I know. I just thought it would be better. I really thought it was going to be good for me to have this one person who I could manage all the hard stuff with, but this is just . . . way worse than any of the other guys I dated. At least I had no expectations then. Maybe I’m destined to wind up with an asshole for life. Maybe my good-man radar is broken.”
“I don’t think it’s broken, Amie, I just think you’ve spent so much time dating guys you have no intention of getting serious with that you don’t even know what to look for, or what you want. Look at it this way, at least this happened before you merged your lives. An annulment is much easier than a divorce a year down the road.”
She’s right. As supportive as she’s been, Ruby has always been wary of Armstrong. It’s clear now that she was right; my cold feet and concerns were warranted. I shouldn’t have brushed it off the way I did. “I don’t even get to have my honeymoon.” I picked the most amazing location. It was the only part of this entire wedding that was my choice. Armstrong wasn’t completely sold, but then I gave him an outstanding blow job and he relented. Mostly—he didn’t like the resort so I compromised on that. Penisface. Seems like oral must be his Achilles’ heel.
She leans back, pensive. “Who says you can’t have it?”
I snort at the ludicrousness of the idea. “As if I’m going to fly halfway around the world by myself.”
“Why not?” She motions to my luggage. “You’re already packed and you have the time off. Why not go?”
“On my own?” I’ve never traveled anywhere on my own, not like this. Even when I moved to New York, I didn’t come alone—Ruby was with me.
“You took time off work, you don’t have anything keeping you here. It could be good to get some distance from all of this.”
“Won’t I just be avoiding? What about the fallout?”
Ruby gives me a sympathetic smile. “The fallout is Armstrong’s to deal with, so let him. I don’t think it’s avoiding, I think it’s circumventing. It’s better than being bombarded with all the gossip and stupidity. Going away would be good for you because it’ll force him to manage his own shitty behavior.”
I consider this. The aftermath is going to be brutal, I’m sure. The rumors will be vile at best. I don’t want to deal with that on top of everything else. Fuck Armstrong. Fuck everyone. If anyone deserves a honeymoon it’s me, even if it doesn’t include a groom. “So I’ll go on my own.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “If I could take three weeks off, I would go with you.”
“I know.” Ruby’s in theater, and her schedule doesn’t allow her to take these kinds of vacations on a whim. “What if Armstrong tries to come?” It’s definitely something he’s likely to attempt based on the number of calls and messages he’s sent tonight.
Ruby grins. “Don’t you have his passport?”
I perk up. “I do.” Along with all of our travel documents. Everything for the trip was left up to me to manage. “But what if he shows up at the airport?”
“Reschedule your flight. Give yourself a couple of days to get the annulment under way and lay low here, then you can go feeling like things are at least partway resolved.”
“That’s a good idea. I definitely don’t want that hanging over my head while I’m lying on a beach.”
“Agreed. I really think you should do this, Amie. You need this. Time away. Armstrong was such a wet blanket for you.” Her smile grows. “Let Anarchy Amie out of the cage for a few weeks. Get reacquainted with your wild side. Hook up with some random island hottie. Hook up with more than one. Life will still be waiting for you to sort out when you get back.”
She’s absolutely right. Making what I thought was the right decision backfired completely. Whether I deal with the consequences of this failed wedding now or later is irrelevant. There’s no way I’ll be able to gain any kind of perspective if I stay in New York. There are just too many things to worry about.
“I guess it’s decided. I’m going on my honeymoon.”
Alone. But it’s better than being here, with another one of my mistakes hanging over my head.
* * *
The next day I reschedule my flight, cancel Armstrong’s, confirm my reservation for the hotel—which is in my name, but paid in full by Armstrong, which I think is still reasonable since he’s the one who messed this up.
Two days post–wedding humiliation, Pierce comes by Bane’s condo to start the paperwork. He’s come straight from work, fitting me in between meetings, his gray suit jacket still buttoned. His forest green tie almost matches his eyes. His sandy hair is the only thing about him that isn’t perfectly put together. The cowlick at the front has succumbed to the elements, curling over his forehead. Of my two brothers, he’s the most buttoned up.
While he’s not generally a big hugger, I find myself wrapped up in his embrace for several long seconds, enough that I’m at risk of crying again.
I push away, and take a deep breath, hoping to keep my emotions in check while he’s here. The last time he saw me cry was after the Mexico fiasco when Dad needed his legal advice. I’d like to avoid that now. “Thanks for coming, I know you’re busy.”
He regards me with affectionate sympathy. “Never too busy for my little sister. I’m just sorry I wasn’t the one who broke that shit stain’s nose.”
“I think there might be a line for that, and I’ll be at the front of it.”
“I would hold his arms and get you a set of brass knuckles.”
“That would qualify you for the Brother of the Year Award.” I gesture to the dining room table. “Why don’t you have a seat and we can figure out how to get me out of yet another mess.”
I pour him a glass of scotch and myself a glass of red wine, despite it barely being noon.
Pierce pulls a bunch of papers out of his briefcase, and separates them into piles. “We have a couple of options.”
“Whatever is easiest and quickest, I want this over with as soon as possible.”
“Divorce could be quick.”
I flinch—divorce is such an ugly word in our world. “He cheated on me less than twelve hours into our marriage. It hasn’t and won’t ever be consummated.”
He clears his throat and taps his pen on the table. “Right. Okay. So we’ll proceed with the annulment, which is option two. We’ll cite it as fraudulent, since he entered the marriage without the intention of upholding fidelity.”
I snort. “That’s a nice way of putting it. Is there an option three?”
“Hire a hitman and dump the body in the river, but there’s a lot of loose ends there and it’s sort of a legal nightmare.”
I smile at his horrible attempt at legal humor. “Let’s go with option two, shall we?”
It turns out to be fairly straightforward, so I’m able to sign before I leave.
His team just needs to get the documents into Armstrong’s hands so he can sign and then it will be done. I won’t be married anymore. I’m not sure he’s going to make it that easy though, considering the number of calls and texts he’s sent since I left him in the parking lot.
Most of them are requests to speak, a few cite his frustration with being ignored, and a voicemail details his experience waiting to have his nose set by a plastic surgeon. He also expresses his displeasure at finding out his flight was canceled and says that he would like his passport. Not once does he apologize. No I’m sorry. No Please forgive me. Well, fuck that
and fuck him.
So it’s with very little in the way of remorse and all the middle fingers in the world pointed in his direction that I head to the airport a few days following the freak show that was my wedding. Bane and Ruby accompany me, but I’m still paranoid that Armstrong is going to magically show up, so I’m sweaty and distracted by the time I’m finished checking all but my carry-on.
They hug me and send me through the security checkpoint. Alone. On my way to my dream honeymoon destination half a world away. Without a husband. No one here knows that my husband got blown at my wedding by someone other than me. As far as they’re concerned I’m just a single woman going on vacation.
I lift my carry-on onto the belt and watch it move down the line. I start daydreaming about relaxing in the VIP lounge, a perk of flying first class, since they serve alcohol no matter what the hour. I plan to order a bottle of champagne and drink the entire thing on Armstrong’s dime as I’m still in possession of one of his credit cards. I don’t think it’ll take much to get a solid buzz going considering my lack of sleep or food over the past few days.
I step into the full-body X-Ray, noting commotion at the carry-on conveyor belt and hope someone hasn’t brought something they shouldn’t. That’ll delay my champagne plans. The rules and regulations are clearly outlined on the website. Armstrong reviewed it at least three times and crosschecked his luggage at least three more. His meticulousness was endearing at first, but now I can admit that after a while it became frustrating and annoying. I don’t need to be reminded a dozen times that I can’t bring scissors on a plane.
I smile at the well-built, attractive security guard when he motions me through. I wouldn’t mind having this one frisk me right about now. I have plans to get frisked repeatedly on this honeymoon of mine, but not because I’ve broken the law. I’m going to let my wild side out just as Ruby suggested.
“Carry-on check!” another guards yells.
Security guy doesn’t return my smile. He seems rather unfriendly. Instead, his somber expression grows even more somber as he looks to the yelling guard.
I step toward the line of people putting on shoes, collecting purses and phones, and do the same, but my carry-on isn’t on the belt. I look around for it, worried someone has taken it by accident. I’m relieved when I spot it over on a separate bay where a serious-faced guard stands with his fists on his hips, engaged in a conversation with the unfriendly one who didn’t return my smile.
I make sure I have the rest of my things, including my passport, and wave at them. “Hi, hello!” I tuck my hair behind my ear and smile again, hoping Serious Face is friendlier, and that I come across as sweet and unassuming. “Um, can I just—” I reach for my carry-on but they both put up a hand to stop me.
“Is this your bag, ma’am?” Unfriendly asks. They’re both attractive in an authoritative, uniform-wearing kind of way. Or maybe it’s the only reason they’re attractive. That and the fact that Unfriendly has a sleeve, which immediately puts him in my Anarchy Amie Bad Boy Fuckable category.
I really need to get laid on this trip. A lot. A year of polite sex is more than anyone should have to tolerate.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m sorry. Pardon?” Have I really just been ogling two security guards? The answer to that is yes. For a second I feel shame and then I remember that my marriage is a sham and I can ogle whoever I damn well want. I could even offer oral services if I felt like it, not that I would, just that I’m free to do as I please.
It’s at this moment that I notice a humming sound. I rub behind my ear, thinking maybe it’s ringing thanks to extreme exhaustion. Or maybe it’s my phone. Except the hum isn’t coming from my purse, it’s coming from behind the guards.
“Are you carrying any weapons?” Unfriendly asks. He doesn’t have a nametag, so that one is sticking.
“Excuse me?” What the hell is he talking about?
“Do you have arms to declare?”
What an odd question. I can’t imagine I look like someone who would carry a weapon. “Arms? Apart from the ones attached to my body, no.” Neither of them smiles at my joke.
“Carrying an undisclosed weapon is a serious offense, punishable by law, ma’am.”
“I understand that, and agree wholly with that law, however I’m not carrying any weapons. All I have in my purse are tweezers. I thought those were okay.” Oh my God. Why are my palms damp?
They look at each other, and then me. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one more time if there’s anything in your carry-on that could be considered a weapon.”
I mentally review the items in the bag: I have a change of clothes, my makeup, jewelry, extra panties, and . . . “Oh God.” I slap my hand over my mouth as I note the winky emoticon sticker on my carry-on bag. I have two carry - on - sized bags packed for this trip, which are coincidentally the same color. The one with all my special items is marked with the winky face. The emergency, if - my - bag - gets - lost carry-on doesn’t have a sticker at all. The wrong suitcase is on its way to the baggage hold.
Serious Face’s hand goes to his holster. Sweet lord, he thinks I’m a criminal. “We’re going to have to check your bag, ma’am.”
“No!”
I take one step toward him and he puts his massive palm out. “Do not take another step, ma’am, or I’ll be forced to restrain you.”
People are watching. I’m causing a scene. Well, I’m not, but my suitcase is. And this unfriendly, dickwad security guard. I lower my voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You don’t need to check my bag.”
“I’m afraid we do, ma’am.”
“You don’t understand. I checked the wrong bag. That one has all my . . . special items in it.” My plea has absolutely no impact. The one opening my bag pauses to glance at me. Unfriendly’s eyes widen just a bit. It’s the most expression he’s had since this whole debacle started.
Serious Face carefully flips my bag open. The buzzing grows louder. Oh shit. I threw my favorite vibrator in there as an afterthought, and I forgot to take the batteries out. This is the second time this has happened with this stupid vibrator. I should’ve learned this lesson by now.
Unfriendly glances in the bag. Serious Face adjusts his ball cap and his gaze flips up to me. The hint of a smirk tugs at the right side of his mouth. I’m not sure if it’s actually possible to die from embarrassment, but I would really like to right now. Or I’d like to be Hermione Granger and perform a memory erasing charm on everyone currently witnessing this.
Serious Face must take pity on me, because the vibrating ceases. Thank God. Except he can’t leave it there. He twists the end and the vibrations start up again. “This has some power,” he says to Unfriendly.
Awesome, they’re making fun of me. Well fuck them. I can make them just as uncomfortable as they’re making me. Probably even more. I let Anarchy Amie take the wheel. “It’s actually amazing for prostate stimulation.” I give them a conspiratorial wink.
Serious Face fumbles the vibrator and drops it back in the case, where it continues to bump around ominously.
I drag my finger down the side of my neck and bat my lashes. “The bulbous, curved head is specially designed for that exact purpose. The sensation it produces is quite intense. Of course I would never suggest using a toy like that without the appropriate preparation.”
They look anywhere but each other.
Serious Face nervously reaches back in to my bag and quickly shuts off the vibrator, then unscrews the end and dumps the batteries out. He places the unit on the steel table, possibly in retaliation to the prostate stimulation revelation. Jerk.
He takes a little stick—as if the contents of my bag are lethal—and pokes around in it some more. A few lingerie pieces make an appearance, along with a studded thong that he holds up for far too long.
I think I’m finally safe, but then he unzips the other side, which contains all of my fun plastic, glass, silicone, and stainless-steel friends. All of them. Because my plan for this week
was to introduce Armstrong to the amazing world of sex toys and show him just how much fun they can be. Could’ve been. Also, I actually wanted to be able to orgasm without a whole hell of a lot of effort. I figured I might as well bring all of it along to ensure there would be no shortage of orgasms for me.
Serious Face peeks inside. His eyebrows climb his forehead. This should be interesting. He seems particularly fascinated by the steel butt plug. He opens the bubble wrap envelope and withdraws the contents, which are also covered with more bubble wrap. I’m very cautious with my toys since they’re rather expensive. At least it’s mostly out of view of the people still rubber-necking as these goons search my carry-on for weapons. I suppose some of these could be considered weapons—of pleasure.
I cross my arms over my chest. I’m past mortification and have moved into annoyed territory. “Please be careful, that’s glass.”
I blow out a breath as he finishes unwrapping it and frowns. Boys, so clueless.
“It’s a glass dildo.”
“Fuck,” Unfriendly mutters.
“That’s exactly what it’s for.”
This time I get a smile out of him. I don’t like his teeth. They’re too white. And he’s only smiling because he wants to be the one to use that on me. I suppose the one important thing I’ve discovered about myself is that I own an extraordinary number of sex toys and it’s a real shame I was dumb enough to marry a man who is too insecure to enjoy them with me. I guess I can thank Brittany Whore-ton for forcing me to see the light.
“This should be okay for your carry-on.” Serious Face returns it to the padded envelope.
I think I’m almost free when he pulls out a very sizable bottle of lube. And the anal lube. And my toy cleaner. None of which conform to carry-on regulations. I know this. It’s why they’re in what was supposed to be my checked bag. I had high hopes for the coming weeks.
I close my eyes, worried that I’m moving from annoyed embarrassment to the tearful kind, and pray to some random God, hopefully a female one, that this will all be over soon. When I open my eyes, the guards are inspecting my bottles of lube. I glance to the line of waiting, would-be flyers. A few look my way, but quickly avert their eyes when they see my delicates vomiting out of my case.
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