Page 44 of The Fake Husband Play
“Right. Totally. I’ll um…” I force a polite smile of my own. “I’ll be in in a minute. Just going to finish my beer and enjoy the view.”
“Yeah, take your time.” He stands. “Anything you need before bed, let me know. And don’t worry about locking up. The front door’s locked and the system’s armed. I don’t worry about locking up out here. A robber would have to parachute onto the deck to get in.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I figure, if they’re that motivated, they deserve whatever they plan to take.”
I nod. “Sounds fair. I’m not worried. I feel very safe here.”
“Good,” he says. “See you in the morning then,chère. Hope you sleep well.”
“You, too. And Grammercy?” I force myself to hold his gaze, even though looking at him right now feels like staring into the sun. “Thank you. For the tickets and…everything else.”
Something flickers across his face, something kind and real that makes my heart beat faster again. “Anytime, darlin’. Truly. Anytime.”
He disappears through the sliding door, leaving me alone with the glittering city and the certainty that having Grammercy Graves call me “darlin” might be the end of me.
I might expire right here, right now, on the terrace of his penthouse, undone by the force of my own joy and disbelief.
Darlin’…
I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, that he’s just a sweet-talking bayou boy who throws around endearments the way some men throw tips at bouncers to get into the good clubs on Bourbon Street.
I tell myself the way I’m tingling is ridiculous.
I warn the giddy, reckless hope blooming in my chest that girls like me don’t get fairy tale endings. We get reality. We get outsized obstacles and rapidly narrower paths forward. We get bootstraps to pull on and the challenge of being strong for our babies all by ourselves.
But sitting here, with the echo of his touch still lingering on my skin, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to let myself believe in fairy tales…
Just for a little while.
Chapter
Twelve
From the texts of Eloise Thibodeaux
and Makena DeWitt
Makena: Where are you? What happened? Are you still alive? I stopped by your place with a surprise pastry this morning to boost your job-searching spirits, and there were EXTERMINATORS EVERYWHERE. It looked like your building was ground zero for the zombie apocalypse. The entire east side of your floor was closed off, and a scary man in an oxygen mask aggressively shooed me back onto the elevator.
AFTER TAKINGMY PASTRIES!!
I was mad about it at first, but then I started to wonder if the air in the building was so poisonous that my pastries had instantly become death pastries the moment I stepped inside. If so, if I’d managed to hold onto them and get them to you wherever you are now, could I have potentially MURDERED YOU WITH SUGAR? Completely by accident?!
WTAF?!
Also, WHERE ARE YOU?
Please text me ASAP, babes, I am so worried about you and Mimi.
Elly: Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! We’re fine. Don’t worry. But wow, that’s crazy! I mean, I knew we had rats in our walls, but they must have found something else after Mimi and I left last night. When our movers showed up this morning, they said they had to fight the guy in the scary mask, too. And they warned us to destroy our furniture “just in case.”
Whatever that means?
Thankfully, we were just moving our belongings, anyway, but God, what a shit show. I’m going to touch base with the gossips in the building later and see what I can figure out. Myrtle on the seventh floor has been there FOREVER. If she doesn’t know the tea, no one will.
But anyway, yes, we’re okay. Great, actually. Mimi is at school, I’m working on some more applications, and all is well.
I’m sorry your sweet pastry treat was confiscated, though. That was so thoughtful of you.
Mimi wants to hit Sweet Magnolias for fresh brioche on Sunday. Want to come with us? We could walk around the quarter for a while after. It’s supposed to be the first cool day in a while. Could be nice.
