Accidental honeymoon, p.16
Accidental Honeymoon, page 16
modes, fake and mean?
“Like I have time for chitchat.” Monica could almost hear
Bri’s eyes rolling through the phone. “We have to talk now
that the house is sold.”
“Yeah, I saw they changed the sign.” Monica’s words
dripped with sarcasm. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“I can see you’re going to make things di cult.”
Right, because Monica was the unreasonable one in this
scenario. “Cut to the chase, will you?”
“You weren’t home, and I wasn’t sure where you were or
when you were coming back, so I’ve boxed up your things,
and I need to know where I should send them.”
Monica bolted upright in bed. “You’ve packed my things?
I’ve only been gone two days.”
“The buyers want a quick closing, and nearly everything
in the house was mine, anyway, except your clothes and Mr.
Flu es.”
“Mr. Flu es also belongs—” Monica stopped mid-
sentence as it struck her she didn’t have the heart to
abandon a cat, even one as high maintenance as Mr. Flu es,
to her ex’s less than tender mercies. “You know what? Never
mind. I’ll take him. But can this wait until I get back?”
“Where are you, anyway, at your parents’?”
“I’m on my new vineyard.” Monica may have been
gloating a little when she said it. For once, she knew she had
something that Bri would be envious of.
“Your what?” It was clear Bri wasn’t taking her seriously.
“Vineyard. I own a vineyard.” Monica relished delivering
this bit of news. She only regretted not being able to see Bri’s
jaw hit the floor. “I inherited it from my grandmother.”
“Seriously. I don’t have time for your little daydreams
and games. I need an address, or I’ll drop Mr. Flu es o at a
shelter and donate your stu to Goodwill.”
“You will do no such thing.” Although honestly, Monica
could picture her doing both, the heartless bitch. “How did I
ever think I was in love with you? I don’t even like you.”
“I don’t remember you complaining when you got to live
in a nice house and drive that fancy car I got you, Moany. So,
give me a break on the lectures. Where are you, really?”
“Boston. Or just outside, anyway.”
“So it is true?” Bri’s voice had a strange, strangled quality
to it.
“What?” The conversation had Monica completely lost.
Did Bri finally believe her about the vineyard?
“I saw the photos on Instagram, but I didn’t think it was
possible.” Bri snorted. “I thought you had better taste.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Monica tossed the
blankets o her, bolting out of the bedroom and descending
the stairs toward the kitchen. She needed to pace away some
of this nervous energy, since throttling her ex through the
phone was impossible.
“The photos of you with that handy ma’am I hired. I had
no idea at the time her list of services was quite this
extensive. Of course, I also never knew you had a secret
desire for a bull d—”
“She’s no such thing!” Her vision going red, Monica cut
her o before Bri could complete her o ensive description.
Masculine of center, sure, or maybe soft butch would be a
good descriptor, but Ray wasn’t…the broader implications of
what Bri had said finally sank in. “Wait. What do you mean
by you saw the pictures?”
“It’s all over social media.” Brianna made a tsk sound,
brimming with judgement. “I understand a rebound fling,
Moany, but marriage? You really are taking this whole
breakup worse than I imagined, hashtag PantyWedding.”
“You’re one of my social media followers?” Monica’s
body went cold. She stopped her pacing long enough to lean
against the wall beside the refrigerator. It had never occurred
to her that Brianna, or anyone she knew in real life for that
matter, would follow her. It felt like a violation of privacy.
“Oh, get over yourself, Miss La-di-da Podcaster. You just
want me to sound hurt that you’re marrying that plaid-
wearing lumberjack, or should I say Lumber Jane?”
“Stop. Insulting. Ray.” Monica growled, channeling every
ounce of irritation into the low, guttural sound. Bri could be
horrible to her all she wanted. Monica was used to it. But
somehow when she turned her vitriol on Ray, it crossed a
line. “I’ll have you know that woman is the most genuine
person I’ve ever met. What’s more, she’s chivalrous, and she
sure as hell is worth a million of you!”
Monica launched herself away from the wall and flipped
around so she could resume her furious pacing in the wide-
open stretch that was the almost empty living room. Her
path was blocked by Ray, who was standing in the doorway
between the kitchen and living room with an unreadable
expression on her face.
Shit!
Ray crossed to the counter carrying a single bag, which
she placed beside the sink. It was impossible for Monica to
tell how much she’d overheard, or what she was thinking.
Had Monica mentioned Ray’s name, or anything else that
would let her know she’d been the topic of conversation?
Her stomach in a knot, Monica turned her back on Ray
and ducked into the living room, lowering her voice. “I’ve
gotta go. I’ll text you the address in Massachusetts, since it
looks like I may be here for a few months getting things
sorted out.”
“Great,” Bri said with all the cheeriness of someone
wrapping up a business deal instead of a serious
relationship. “I’ll ship the clothing tomorrow.”
“And Mr. Flu es?” Monica felt a pang of sympathy for
the poor cat. Brianna had never been perfect even on their
best days, but she’d never dreamed the woman would be so
heartless as to flu o Mr. Flu es. “Surely you can’t be
planning to send him through the mail, too.”
“No, I’ll arrange for a courier to bring him up this
weekend. Enjoy your honeymoon.”
As the line clicked silent, Monica sucked in a deep breath.
Ray was puttering around in the other room, opening the
fridge door and sliding out one of the plastic drawers inside.
There was still no indication what Ray had overheard, or how
it had a ected her.
How should Monica handle this pickle?
She tiptoed back into the kitchen. “We’re, er…getting the
cat.”
Ray blinked. “What?”
“Mr. Flu es.” Monica looked intently at the floor. “Bri’s
already packed up the house and is shipping my things here,
along with the cat.”
“She’s shipping a cat?” Ray looked horrified.
“No, although I double checked because I wouldn’t put it
past her to try. He’s coming this weekend by courier.”
“Oh.” Ray nodded, appearing to think this over. Monica
held her breath, belatedly realizing that as fiancées, even
fake ones, she probably should’ve run this past Ray before
committing. Fortunately, Ray simply shrugged. “Okay, well,
we might need a good mouser.”
“Mr. Flu es?” She couldn’t help herself. Monica howled
with laughter. “You’ve met him. Does he strike you as the
mousing type?”
Ray cracked a smile. “Only if the mouse is served up on a
silver platter, lightly sautéed in butter.”
Still no hint Ray had heard what Monica said about her. In
that case, Monica decided to take the easy way out and
pretend it had never happened. She pointed to the bag and
was about to ask if that was all Ray had bought, but as she
looked closer, she realized the bag was red with white polka
dots and a frill of green at the top, and was so taken aback
that what actually came out was, “Where the hell did that
come from?”
A flicker of annoyance creased Ray’s brow. “I bought it at
one of the farm stands. In fact, the owner, Brenda, will be
coming by in a few minutes to bring the rest of the
groceries.”
“Brenda, huh?” An image formed in Monica’s mind of a
young, fresh-faced country girl with long, red braids, and
Monica’s jaw tensed. “You’re making friends quickly, I see.”
“She was very nice. Sally, too.”
Sally, too? How many women were there in this one-horse
town? “Looks like there’s a pickup truck pulling into the
driveway.”
Ray opened the side door, waving to the woman who got
out of the truck. Monica noted with some satisfaction the
woman’s silver hair and red bandana and hoped Sally would
turn out to be her even older sister.
“In here,” Ray called out, meeting Brenda halfway to
relieve her of as many bags as she could carry. Apparently,
Ray had bought out the entire farmer’s market. Monica was
certain she didn’t buy half that much for an entire month.
“You’ll want to add the pink zin and then put this in the
freezer right away so it doesn’t melt.” Brenda bustled into
the kitchen and went straight to work like she owned the
place, fitting a plastic bag of something red onto the top
shelf of the freezer. When she was done, she gave the table
and chairs a hard look. “I see Christos hasn’t done much to
spruce up the place before your arrival.”
“It was very last minute,” Ray explained, retrieving a
bottle of wine and a corkscrew from the cabinet. “I haven’t
had a chance to look around yet.”
“I’m afraid you’re likely to find most of the rooms
empty,” Brenda told her. “If you’re planning to stay a while,
there’s a used furniture store a few miles down the road with
some real bargains.”
Monica’s lips curled in distaste at the word “used,” while
Ray’s eyes lit up. “I’ll have to check that out, although
depending on what’s needed, I have some things in a storage
pod I might want to bring up. This could be just the place for
them.”
Things in storage? Great. Just what this run-down place
needed, a mishmash of used crap. Monica wondered exactly
when Ray had been planning to discuss this decorating
decision with her, conveniently putting aside the fact she’d
already committed them to a cat without any input from the
better half. Based on Ray’s enthusiasm for used furniture,
not to mention plaid in all its many forms, Monica could
only imagine what would be coming. Bookshelves made of
cinderblock? Whatever. This was a temporary living
arrangement, and it would be cheaper than buying furniture
they’d have to sell when they put the vineyard on the
market.
When it became apparent no one else was going to start
introductions, Monica cleared her throat and said, “Hi. I’m
Monica Panagiotopoulos.”
Brenda gave her a sharp look, recognition dawning in her
eyes. A smile warmed her face. “Of course, you are. I was so
sorry to hear of your grandmother’s passing. She and my
mother were great friends. I still make your grandmother’s
baklava recipe every Easter.”
Monica nodded, a bit dazed. It was weird to think her
grandmother’d had this whole other life at one time, and
she’d never been aware of it. Before she could come up with
a reply, Brenda clapped her hands together in a sudden burst
of excitement.
“Speaking of cooking, that reminds me. I wanted to invite
you ladies to the farm and fork dinner Thursday night at the
Black Cat.”
“Sally told me about that,” Ray said, and Monica was glad
at least one of them knew what the woman was talking
about. Farms? Forks? Cats? “Is there a website where I can
sign up and buy tickets?”
“It’s been sold out for weeks,” Brenda replied, “but I
want you two to come as my special guests, as a little
engagement gift. I’ll have a table for two set aside, six
o’clock.”
“How very generous,” Ray said. “We’d love to.”
Once again, all Monica could manage was a dumb nod. A
muscle twitched in her neck. Was there anyone left in the
world who didn’t know all of her personal business? Not to
mention this was now the second decision Ray had made
without consulting her, which did not bode well for their
fake future together.
When Brenda left, Monica let out a sound that was
somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “The list of people
who know about this little arrangement of ours is growing by
the minute.”
“Oh?” Not exactly o ering her undivided attention, Ray
searched the cabinets, pulling out a cutting board. “Omelet?”
“Huh?” It took a moment for it to register that the
woman was planning to cook something, like from scratch.
Ray cooked? That was about the last thing Monica saw
coming. “Oh, uh—sure.”
“Spicy or garden delight.”
Damn. All of a sudden, Ray was looking straight at her,
and that woman’s eyes were the very definition of spicy,
reigniting the fever of those dreams that’d kept Monica up
all of last night. Just say no to spice.
“Garden delight.” Monica took in the growing pile of
supplies on the counter. Did Ray really know what she was
doing? “Can I help?”
“Can you cook?” Ray shot back.
“No.”
“Then sit back, princess.” Ray cracked an egg into a bowl.
“Watch and learn.”
Monica sti ened, mindful of her earlier conversation with
Bri. “I’m not useless, you know. I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Ray assured her. She
placed an assortment of veggies on the cutting board and
began dicing with expert precision. “I meant that you still
look exhausted. Did you manage to get a nap?”
“Not enough of one,” Monica admitted, yawning. “Oh,
guess what. Bri knows we’re getting married. She was quite
rude about it.”
Ray put a skillet on the burner and poured in some oil.
“I’m sure everyone knows by now. I’m surprised your mom
hasn’t called yet.”
“My mom? Why would—” Monica’s hand flew to her
mouth. If Brianna had followed her on social media, what
were the chances her mom did, too? And everyone else she
knew, for that matter. “You don’t actually think my family
has seen the news, do you?”
Ray gave her a look that said get real.
Oh God.
Monica’s heart started banging around her ribcage like a
mouse trapped under a box.
“Have you checked your messages? I know it’s not your
thing.” Ray winked, damn her, and Monica had to cross her
legs to keep her body in check. At a time like this, with the
prospect of explaining to her mother why she’d been the last
to hear about her only daughter’s impending nuptials, how
was it possible that any part of her could be distracted by
sex?
Hand shaking, Monica looked at her phone. Seventeen
missed calls from her mother. Three from her cousin Nina.
One each from Maddie and Trish. The corners of her vision
blackened as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Hee…” was the only sound Monica could squeeze from
her lungs. “He-he-he!”
Ray whipped around from the stove, alarm written all
over her face. “Are you okay?”
“He-he-he!”
“Oh, God. You’re hyperventilating. Bag. Paper bag.” Ray’s
eyes swept the kitchen, seizing one with bananas in it, which
she unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. “Here. Breathe
into this. Slowly.”
Monica did as she was told. She was in no shape to argue.
Hands planted on the table in front of her, it was all she
could do to keep from blacking out.
The reassuring comfort of a hand pressed into her back,
rubbing in deliberate circular motions.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Ray said, or at least
that’s what Monica heard. Had she really said it, or was it
wishful thinking? Monica had no idea. “I’m here. I won’t let
anything happen to you. That’s right. Keep taking in long,
deep breaths. You’re going to be okay.”
As Monica rested her head on the cold Formica surface in
front of her, all she could see was a stunning pair of dark
blue eyes staring deeply into her soul. She’d be okay, Ray had
said, and looking into those eyes, how could Monica not
