Page 16 of Merlot Marriage

A Kylie Minogue song comes on next. Apparently, South Africans are very into her, but since it’s not a song I know, I let Philip sing along by himself while I gaze, boneless and brainless, out the window at the fields of sheep. My mind is fuzzy and soft with a combination of wine and knowing that Philip has everything under control.

The music volume dips, and Philip drops his hand to my thigh, squeezing to get my attention. “You know, I didn’t think I’d be meeting an honest-to-god billionaire when I woke up this morning.”

I stare at his hand on my leg, not registering his words for a moment as his heat sears into my skin. Forcing myself not to react to the touch, even though it’s taking up the majority of my brain space, I pull my hair back in one hand so I can answer without eating it.

“Maggie talks about Nate and Greg so much that I forget the Suttons actually own it. I’ve never met Lauren or Frankie before. Or Emma. They’re a riot,” I add as Philip puts his hand back on the steering wheel. For a fleeting moment, I consider taking it back, before sense wins out.

“Emma is trouble. I shudder at the thought of her and Sydney ever meeting.” Philip adds a dramatic full-body shake to emphasize his point, and I giggle.

“She’s a spitfire, for sure.”

“Okay, Grandma.” Philip reaches over to poke my side. “Who says shit like ‘spitfire’ these days?”

I poke him back. “Like I didn’t hear you complaining about your back being sore as we walked out to the car.”

This is the kind of banter with my best friend I’ve been missing. We fire away at each other as the road slips by beneath the wheels.

“I helped move a lot of tables.” Philip pulls one hand free of the steering wheel to flex his biceps. Not that it was necessary. I’dbeen admiring the way his muscles flexed beneath his T-shirt all afternoon.

“Thank you for helping. Maggie deeply appreciated it, even if you really didn’t have to.” When my sister finally woke up and came up to the tasting room, it was clear that she still wasn’t feeling well. I didn’t realize how bad her morning sickness had been until today, but despite how she glows with happiness every time she looks at Kel or Olive, it’s painfully obvious she’s struggling.

“She was in no shape to be moving shit.”

“There were four other men there.” I’d ended up sitting with Lauren and Sophie while Frankie and Emma scurried around with decor under Maggie’s direction. I’d been filled in on which man belonged to which woman and laughed at the stories Lauren had told of their various romantic journeys.

All four men were as different as their significant others, but the contrast of Julian’s imposing, tattooed frame beside Frankie’s fairy-like body was especially entertaining. I kept waiting for him to pick her up and tuck her under his arm like a football.

“Maybe I just didn’t want to look like a lazy do-nothing in front of my wife.”

My stomach drops and twists, just like it does every time Philip calls me his wife. “Don’t,” I warn him with a heavy sigh.

“Don’t, what?”

I can hear the teasing in his tone. I know he’s not trying to start a fight, but even in the car with just the two of us, I can’t help feeling like someone is going to overhear. Nervousness fills my stomach and my lungs seize.

“You’re not my husband.” I’m met with silence. The combination of anxiety and wine bubbles up in me, bypassing the filter that usually keeps my thoughts contained inside my mind. “I mean, youaremy husband. But, like, we’re not in arelationship. Well, we are, but it’s a best-friends relationship. Not a…Not a romantic relationship. We don’t do romance. I don’t even know if I knowhowto do romance anymore. I like things how they are. Don’t say things that remind me things are different—”

“Ophie.” Philip cuts off my rambling. “Everything is exactly the same between us. Nothing is different.” He reaches out to turn the volume up on the music, and I melt back into the seat to stare out the window.

I definitely had a little too much wine because, for a second, I’m convinced I hear him mutter “unless you want it to be.”

Google Maps is not improving my mood. “An hour? I don’t remember it being that far.” I let my head flop back onto the couch, my phone slipping off my legs onto the seat beside me.

“What’s an hour?” Philip sets down the coffee mugs in his hands and sits beside me.

“Remember how I applied to a million and one jobs last week? I just got a request for an interview.”

“So why aren’t you happy? Because it’s an hour away?”

I nod, not bothering to sit up and take the coffee he made for me. “It’s at a paper mill in Longview, Washington. I wasn’t exactly being picky when I filled out all those applications.”

Philip takes a long sip of his coffee before giving me a look. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. At least you won’t get deported if you can’t find a job right away.”

The reminder of how this started cuts through my irritation, turning it back to more familiar anxiety. Now with added “Icommitted immigration fraud” flavor and a dash of “I enjoy living with Philip so much more than I was expecting,” just to be confusing.

“Even if I was working full-time at the coffee shop, which I’m not, it’s not enough to keep up with rent on this place for much longer.” With a groan, I sit up and take the mug waiting for me on the coffee table. “But it’s an hour away, and I just don’t want to.”

We sip our drinks in silence for a moment, the early morning sun peeking through the blinds bathing his golden skin in light. After two weeks of him being here, I’ve finally stopped squeaking every time I see him shirtless, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate that my best friend is attractive as fuck. And somehow manages to stay tan, even in the winter.

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