You can’t be here. Go home and get ready. We have an hour and a half before we have to leave.” I keep nudging but he stays still.
Sam grunts, then groans, then flops over and sighs, then yawns. “We’re getting married today. I get to call you wife.” I watch as a tender smile coats his face.
“Yes. But it won’t happen if you don’t leave.”
“What, no breakfast?” Sam looks at his lap and the bedside table in mock disappointment.
I laugh, unable to hide my humour. “We’ll get it on the way. Now go.” Pushing the solid mass of Sam out of the bed is futile.
Sam gets up and leans over to kiss my hair. “Good morning, sweetheart. Alright I’m leaving,” Sam turns at the threshold of the room “Wash your hair with the shampoo you used the night of the play, not the one in your hair now. I prefer that one, it calms me.”
“Whatever you say husband. I live to serve you.” Sarcasm wraps my comment with a pretty, little bow.
“That’s the spirit! Good start.” Sam grins as he avoids the pillow targeting him.
“Later, Sam.”
“Later, wife.” He’s hopeless.
*****
“Finally! I feel as if I can breathe again.”
“I know how you feel. I’m just happy that everything went smoothly for once between us. I’m still uncomfortable with you paying for everything though. Marriage is supposed to be 50/50. I didn’t contribute a cent.”
“This isn’t your problem, Sandra. I’m not unchivalrous or unfair, why should you spend when this is really for my benefit?”
“Alright, but I wanted to tie you down before I say this: I don’t do dishes.” Actually, there are a lot more things I want to do to you, tied up or down.
“Me neither.”
Feeling less stressed, I join Sam in a no bars hold laugh. Standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the Las Vegas strip, outside the chapel, the belly-aching laugh was cut short by the only voice that means imminent doom. Double Crap!
“Sandra, Cha –uh –Sam, what are you guys doing here?”
“Uh –w –what are you doing here?”
“We have a branch here. I’m here ‘til Wednesday revamping the marketing and promotional plans for businesses in the area. I’m working on two new accounts as well. Thought I’d check out the strip while it’s safe to do so in daylight without attracting the wrong crowd. You didn’t answer me though: what are you two doing here?”
I give a watered down smile. A sad-puppy-in-a-pound smile. “Umm… what does it look like we’re doing here?”
“That evasive, defensive side only comes out when there’s something to hide, Sandra,” Detective Patricia starts scanning the surroundings.
Looking between me, Sam and the chapel behind us, should give the blind enough clues about our activities. Patricia should figure it out by now then.
“Hold on, no…”
Sam clears his throat once, then twice. His gaze scurries away from mine, he twists before he says, “We came to get mumble mumble mumble. . .”
I don’t catch it all, and the part I did catch, I can’t quite believe he admitted to. I guess he’s tired of lying too.
“One more time,” Patricia told him. “This time, tell me so I can hear you, Sam.”
Sam still doesn’t meet my eyes. In fact, he was playing with the newly placed ring on his left hand like it holds the answers to the world’s greatest problems. Or, perhaps, the ring suddenly feels as tight as the two adorning my finger.
I answer instead. “We came to get married. Matter of fact, we just did.”
Patricia stands slack –jawed. “And you let me sit and take the heat yesterday, while all this time you’re lying your asses off?”
Sam shakes his head. “I was in the middle of admitting it when Max opened his mouth. I couldn’t add to that. Not then.”
“I see.” Patricia replies nodding, and in a vein of cruel irony continues, “But you, Sandra, I can’t believe you’re that desperate to wear a wedding ring, that even with the promise of a fake marriage, you come
Sam grunts, then groans, then flops over and sighs, then yawns. “We’re getting married today. I get to call you wife.” I watch as a tender smile coats his face.
“Yes. But it won’t happen if you don’t leave.”
“What, no breakfast?” Sam looks at his lap and the bedside table in mock disappointment.
I laugh, unable to hide my humour. “We’ll get it on the way. Now go.” Pushing the solid mass of Sam out of the bed is futile.
Sam gets up and leans over to kiss my hair. “Good morning, sweetheart. Alright I’m leaving,” Sam turns at the threshold of the room “Wash your hair with the shampoo you used the night of the play, not the one in your hair now. I prefer that one, it calms me.”
“Whatever you say husband. I live to serve you.” Sarcasm wraps my comment with a pretty, little bow.
“That’s the spirit! Good start.” Sam grins as he avoids the pillow targeting him.
“Later, Sam.”
“Later, wife.” He’s hopeless.
*****
“Finally! I feel as if I can breathe again.”
“I know how you feel. I’m just happy that everything went smoothly for once between us. I’m still uncomfortable with you paying for everything though. Marriage is supposed to be 50/50. I didn’t contribute a cent.”
“This isn’t your problem, Sandra. I’m not unchivalrous or unfair, why should you spend when this is really for my benefit?”
“Alright, but I wanted to tie you down before I say this: I don’t do dishes.” Actually, there are a lot more things I want to do to you, tied up or down.
“Me neither.”
Feeling less stressed, I join Sam in a no bars hold laugh. Standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the Las Vegas strip, outside the chapel, the belly-aching laugh was cut short by the only voice that means imminent doom. Double Crap!
“Sandra, Cha –uh –Sam, what are you guys doing here?”
“Uh –w –what are you doing here?”
“We have a branch here. I’m here ‘til Wednesday revamping the marketing and promotional plans for businesses in the area. I’m working on two new accounts as well. Thought I’d check out the strip while it’s safe to do so in daylight without attracting the wrong crowd. You didn’t answer me though: what are you two doing here?”
I give a watered down smile. A sad-puppy-in-a-pound smile. “Umm… what does it look like we’re doing here?”
“That evasive, defensive side only comes out when there’s something to hide, Sandra,” Detective Patricia starts scanning the surroundings.
Looking between me, Sam and the chapel behind us, should give the blind enough clues about our activities. Patricia should figure it out by now then.
“Hold on, no…”
Sam clears his throat once, then twice. His gaze scurries away from mine, he twists before he says, “We came to get mumble mumble mumble. . .”
I don’t catch it all, and the part I did catch, I can’t quite believe he admitted to. I guess he’s tired of lying too.
“One more time,” Patricia told him. “This time, tell me so I can hear you, Sam.”
Sam still doesn’t meet my eyes. In fact, he was playing with the newly placed ring on his left hand like it holds the answers to the world’s greatest problems. Or, perhaps, the ring suddenly feels as tight as the two adorning my finger.
I answer instead. “We came to get married. Matter of fact, we just did.”
Patricia stands slack –jawed. “And you let me sit and take the heat yesterday, while all this time you’re lying your asses off?”
Sam shakes his head. “I was in the middle of admitting it when Max opened his mouth. I couldn’t add to that. Not then.”
“I see.” Patricia replies nodding, and in a vein of cruel irony continues, “But you, Sandra, I can’t believe you’re that desperate to wear a wedding ring, that even with the promise of a fake marriage, you come
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