Page 5
Before
Y ou screwed up, Noel.”
Noel has just emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he lets the towel drop to the floor before rifling around in the top drawer of our dresser for underwear. From where I am lying on our queen-size bed, I avert my eyes, trying not to allow Noel’s body to distract me from my irritation with him.
“Oh yeah?” he says. “How did I screw up?”
“Did you call to reserve the Vineyard for June first?”
Noel steps into a pair of boxer shorts, nearly losing his balance in the process. “Not yet. But I will. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“We don’t have plenty of time.” I let out a tortured sigh. “Noel, I told you that wedding venues book out a year in advance. I told you that you needed to book it right away. And now it’s too late.”
When his head peeks back out of the shirt he’s thrown on over his head, his lips are turned down. “Are you serious? Someone booked it?”
“I’m serious. We lost it to ...” I pick up the crumpled paper on the nightstand. “Marie Machudo and Albert Swecker.”
“Shit.” He sinks down onto our bed, his head hanging. “I’m so sorry, Talia. I know you had your heart set on getting married there.”
He looks so guilty that I start to feel guilty. Yes, I did want to get married at the Vineyard. But the thing I’m really looking forward to is marrying Noel Kemper. Over the last two years, we have been inseparable. When he got down on one knee and told me that he couldn’t imagine life without me, I felt the same way. It doesn’t matter where we get married, only that we’re getting married.
That said . . .
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I have a feeling that the Vineyard is going to get an unexpected cancellation for June first ...”
I hold up my phone, where the website with the Vineyard’s phone number is on the screen. I am not above playing dirty to get my dream wedding location.
Noel’s mouth drops out. “Hang on ...”
“What?”
“Are you ...” He squints at me. “Are you saying that you’re going to call the Vineyard and pretend to be Marie Machudo to cancel their reservation?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, it’s your fault,” I say defensively. “ You screwed up and didn’t make the reservation.”
“So you’re going to lie to fix it?”
“Maybe I am.” I lift my chin, meeting his eyes. “Is that really so wrong?”
“Lying is objectively wrong, yeah.”
“Well, I don’t care then.”
I turn my attention back to my phone. I start to press the button that will make the call to the Vineyard, but before I can, Noel reaches over and snatches the phone right out of my hand.
“Hey!” I cry. “Give that back.”
“Nuh uh.” He stands up, holding it out of reach. He is, frustratingly, about eight inches taller than I am. “I’m not going to let you do this.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—he looks me straight in the eyes—“you are an absolutely horrendous actor. You will blow our cover in like five seconds.”
“I won’t . . .”
“You will,” he insists. “Let me call. I’ll be Albert. I’m a much better liar than you are.”
That impish smile is playing on his lips, which annoyed me the first time I saw it, but later it became one of the things that made me fall in love with him. I could look at that smile all day long. Except ...
I suddenly get an uneasy feeling in my chest as my world goes on tilt. Something about this interaction feels “off,” although it’s hard to explain how. It’s almost like ... it’s not really happening. Like I’m replaying a reel in my brain, and if I reached out to touch Noel, he’d disappear into thin air.
But that’s ridiculous. Noel is real, obviously .
I’m just upset about losing my dream venue. But that’s about to be remedied. Noel will call, and he will pretend to be Albert Swecker, and he will secure our reservation at the Vineyard for our wedding.
He is, as he pointed out, a very good liar.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that.”
He grins wider as he drops the phone and pulls me closer to him. His lips are close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath. He leans in to kiss me, but before his lips can touch mine, I wake up in a prison cell.