Page 19 of The Worst Pucking Deal

I wince at the mention of Fabian. “Only from a distance. We haven’t talked in almost ten years and that’s how I want to keep it.”

We both fall silent. I imagine Gail’s thoughts are running like crazy, and I… well, I don’t fucking know what to say. This is one big clusterfuck. Sure, it’s of my own making, but that doesn’t mean I have the answers.

“Ten years,” Gail mumbles, narrowing her eyes like she’s trying to do complex math. “How old were you when you got married, Luce?”

I swallow and look everywhere but at my best friend. “I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone is as small as I feel. “Not tonight. Please.”

Although she nods, I can see Gail is hurt by my continued refusal to talk to her about it. “Fine,” she finally agrees.

“I wanted to tell you,” I admit. “There have been so many times where I almost blurted it out. But I couldn’t, Gail. And I need you to understand I never liked lying to you.” My words are rushed, spurred on by the soul-deep need for her to hear me—believe me.

Gail lets go of my hand and helps herself to a shot. “I’m so fucking glad I’m drunk right now,” she says, wiping her hand across her lips. “I don’t think I’d still be here if I was sober. So let’s get it all out in the open now, Luce. What’s really going on? Why’s your cousin here? What does it all mean? And why are you really telling me now?”

I lean back in the chair, pondering which question to start with. “Okay, so you want complete honesty?”

She nods. “I do. Don’t hold anything back.”

Exhaling slowly, I meet her gaze. “Remember a few years ago when it seemed like there was a lot of shit going on all over the world at the same time? You said it seemed weird that there were royal weddings, huge celebrity scandals, and the Pope showed himself in public areas of the Vatican—”

“Yeah, I remember. We were texting about it while you were visiting your family in Kan… well, I guess Rome.” Gail tilts her head to the side. “Wait, where are you going with this?”

Leaning closer to her, I lower my voice. “It was set up by my family. Something big was happening. That was when two of my cousins were chosen to be the next in line to run our family.”

“No fucking way. You’re joking. This can’t be…”

“Can’t be what?” I ask when she stops talking. “Listen, this isn’t something we can ever speak about again. You’re not even supposed to know, Gail. So you might as well get all your questions out now.”

I hate that I can’t give her the time to digest the news properly. She deserves time to ask for a timeout, even mull it over for days, weeks, or months if she needs to. But there’s no way. Not just because of my own deadline, but because she has to let it go after tonight. We can’t ever talk about this again for her safety. I’m a fucking terrible friend.

“This is so fucked up,” she murmurs. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or making an observation, so I don’t say anything. Gail takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Why are you telling me now, Luce?”

She’s still calling me Luce, which I take as a good sign. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to,” I admit, determined to remain honest. “But my cousin’s visit fucked with my head, and—”

“And the alcohol isn’t helping,” Gail says, finishing my sentence. “Okay, so let me make sure I have this straight. You come from some kind of fucked up Mafia-like family who basically runs the world. You have secrets that’ll take us years to uncover and discuss, and now you need to get married to keep your freedom from said Mafia family and your husband. Is that about the gist of it?”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing at the simple way she’s managed to sum it all up. “That’s it,” I hiccup. Laughing when you don’t feel an inch of happiness is weird. It’s wrong, it’s illogical, but it’s all I can do not to succumb to the darker emotions swirling inside me. “That’s it,” I confirm again with a sharp nod. Shit, I shouldn’t have done that. My vision is slowly becoming blurry, and my words slurred as the alcohol takes root.

“But… like… how are you planning on marrying when you’re already married?”

I asked Remus the same thing, so I repeat what he told me. “My cousin is the only one allowed to perform the ceremony. So he’ll prepare some papers ahead of time, granting me the divorce just before I get re-married.”

“Okay. Well, I want to make three things very clear. The first is that I’m so fucking pissed at you. The second is that I need time to sort through the messed up knowledge bomb you just dropped on me.” I flinch at the harsh tone Gail’s using.

“What’s the third?” I ask, scared to hear the answer.

Without warning, Gail gets up and moves to my side of the table. She pulls me in for a hug. “I love you, Luce. You’re my sister from another mister, and no amount of secret identity shit is going to ruin that. So I’m going to help you find a fucking husband. Because if you leave, you can’t make it up to me.”

I hug her back, practically clinging to her as tears stream down my face. “I love you, too, Gail. And I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she says, tightening her hold on me. “But you’re still going to make it up to me for the rest of our lives. And the next time I want the last egg roll, you’ll give it to me without a fight.” She might be making light of the situation by joking, but the tremor in her voice gives her away.

“Deal,” I say, my voice cracking. “You can have all the egg rolls you want. On me.”

Once we’ve both collected ourselves, Gail returns to her seat. “So when you say husband, you’re not using some Italian slang I’m not familiar with, right?”

Though I know I shouldn’t, I reach for the second Cosmopolitan and bring the black straw to my lips. God, this really is the stuff dreams are made of. “Not even a little,” I say.

“Right,” Gail muses. “So you want to convince your all-powerful Mafia family that you’re in love? And all this is despite never dating anyone for more than a good dicking, and—”

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