Page 67 of The Worst Pucking Deal

With newfound courage coursing through my veins, I turn to Gail, my words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the weight of my confession hanging heavy in the air. “I’m sorry for all the lies, for all the secrets. You have to know that I never meant to deceive you, Gail. It’s just... I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”

Gail’s expression softens, her eyes filled with understanding. “I get it, Luce,” she says gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on mine. “I’m not proud of abandoning you. But I needed the time to… think everything through.”

“And have you?” I ask.

“I think so. Look, no matter how pissed I am, I really do get it. Everything you could have said would lead to a million more questions.”

I nod, grateful for… her. “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. “Okay, so what do you want to know?”

She empties her glass while looking at me, and I can tell from her expression that she’s trying to decide which questions I’m likely to answer. “You moved out.” It’s not a question. “And you’re now living at Sawyer’s, right?”

Okay, I guess we’re starting in the safe-zone. “That’s right,” I confirm.

Gail nods to herself. “Who was the man that asked you the weird question during your interview?”

So much for starting out softly, Gail’s going straight for the kill. I brush some imaginary lint off my pants and fidget in my seat. When I can’t ignore the question any longer, I meet her gaze. “My ex husband,” I reply matter-of-factly. I freaking sound like we’re discussing the weather rather than the guy that’ll kill me if he ever gets me back.

“I.. uhh… what?” She forces a laugh and stares at me like she’s expecting me to keep talking. I don’t. I’m fine with answering her questions, but I’m not fine with volunteering information. It feels like betraying my fucked up family. “Ex husband? I thought you guys were still married.”

“Right…” I clear my throat and hold up my hand, showing her my new wedding band. “Sawyer and I kinda got married—”

“Kinda?” she screeches, grasping my hand. “You did it? You got what you wanted, so you’re free now, right?”

I hate having to ruin the hope in her voice. “Yes and no. Yes, we’re married. But no, I’m not free. I have to take Sawyer to Rome with me and get my family’s approval. It’s… it’s hard to explain.”

Gail nods slowly. “I get it. I’ve seen enough mob movies to know how this works. So there’s a chance they’ll reject it? Can’t you just talk to your cousin?”

“My cousin married us,” I explain. “He’s on board, and if it was only up to him I think he would let me go. But there’s like… a council I guess you can call it, one who needs to approve.”

“Well… fuck,” Gail curses, looking like she might start crying. “So I might still lose you?”

I force a confident laugh I don’t feel. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I know exactly what to do.”

She eyes me skeptically while sipping at her drink. “So let’s circle back. If it was your ex in the audience… I mean, I get he isn’t a nice guy. But why did you look so scared? And why was he hiding?”

Before I went to get Gail, I knew she’d ask all these questions. I told myself I was okay with it, which I was—past tense. As we sit here now, I feel cold again, just at the mention of Fabian. I’m not sure I have it in me to lay it all out there. “Because he’s a scary guy,” I deadpan.

Gail huffs and crosses one leg over the other. “Is this your idea of honesty, Luce?”

“I am being honest, Gail. Fabian is bad news, and he’s fucking scary.” My tone rises, and I have to stop myself from shouting. “Look, I’m all for a night of honesty. But maybe we need some ground rules?” I suggest.

“Like what?”

Taking a deep breath, I bite my bottom lip. “Like… I promise not to lie, but there are things I can’t tell you. Things that… hurt too much to talk about.” I do my best to lace every word with emotion so she knows I’m not trying to weasel my way out.

“Fine,” she relents. “But you have to give me something. How old were you when you got married?”

I take a sip of my drink before answering. “Sixteen. We got married on my sixteenth birthday.”

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “What? Is that even legal?”

Shooting her a sad smile, I say, “Gail, remember all the things I told you my family orchestrated? Do you really think something as insignificant as my age matters?”

“I suppose not,” she hisses. Her eyes flash with anger and indignation. “So you were forced to get married while you were basically still a child?”

“Yep. At fifteen, my uncle and parents began looking for a suitable husband for me. They chose Fabian because of his standing, which they felt was a good fit—”

Before I can finish, Gail interrupts me. “Was he forced as well?”

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