I bristle. "You don't have to sound angry. You're not the one who's heading out on a road trip with the family from hell."
He whirls on me, hand poised on the correct handle. "I'm not?"
My eyes narrow. "Why would you?"
He releases the handle, turning the full force of his blue-eyed gaze on me. "Why wouldn't I? Better yet, how could I not? Sherequested the entire family, includingyour husband." His voice drops low on those last two words, his tone caustic.
Pinching the shell of my ear, I wiggle it and say, "Did a bug crawl in your ear and eat your brain cells? We. Are. Not. Married. For. Real."
"No, we're not. But you know what is real? An old woman is dying"—I wince at the bluntness of his words—"and her dying wish is for her family to go on a three-week road trip to repair their relationship with one another so she feels more comfortable leaving the physical earth behind. And guess who she thinks is family now? Me."
I cross my arms. Stare him down. "So, what, you're planning to be my husband? Pretend to love me? Go on a road trip with my family?"
He turns back to the fridge, peering in. "You didn't manage to tell your family about us when you had the chance. Are you planning on telling a dying woman who is clearly thrilled and relieved you'vefound your other halfthat it is really one great, big lie?"
I wrench my gaze away. Damn him.Damn Dominic. Damn Paisley and Klein for getting married, and having joint parties in Vegas, and who was it that suggested tequila shots? Paloma! Damn her, too.
I lean my lower back against the kitchen island. Arms still crossed. Gaze pointed out at the valley. From here, the cars look like ants marching through their day. Is Dominic serious about going on this road trip with me? Am I seriously considering allowing Dominic to be my husband for a three-week road trip?
I look at him now, rummaging through the fridge as he tries to locate the bottle of riesling my grandma said was "in there somewhere".
"It might be harder to be granted an annulment if we don't request one right away." I worry my bottom lip as he pulls away from the fridge, hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle.
He makes a motion with his hands, silently asking for a wine opener. "We could go this afternoon like we planned, and I'll still go on the road trip with you."
I retrieve one from a drawer, and hand it over. "Why would you agree to do this? Don't tell me it's out of the goodness of your heart, because I'm pretty sure you don't have one."
That's not true. Aside from the fact Dom's a living, breathing human, I know he has a heart in every sense of the word. The fact that he's standing here right now, in my grandma's kitchen, weathering the hellacious storm that is my family, proves it.
"Granting a dying woman's wish is important." He pauses for a beat as he opens the wine, releasing the cork with apop. "Ignoring it because I simply don't want to isn't something I'd like to have on my conscience. I guess in a way, I'm being"—he shrugs—"selfish."
I eye him until he becomes uncomfortable and smoothes the front of his shirt, then say, "I smell bullshit."
He balks, eyebrows tugging in the center. "Are you kidding? I think that's a very good reason."
I'm not buying it. The man has a job. Not just a job,a career. Across the country, I might add. I don't know much about the responsibilities of a literary agent, but I'm sure he has deadlines. Authors with needs. Foreign translation rights to negotiate. He's going to put all that aside to accommodate the grandmother of the woman he accidentally married in Vegas? Whose request is, let's be honest, difficult and unpleasant. All because he doesn't want to have his refusal on his conscience? And then he's going to claim he's doing something selfless out of his own selfishness?
"I think there's more to the story." I poke the center of his chest. Hard. "You don't know my grandma. What if I toldyou her most prized possession is a fur coat made from sad puppies?"
"Is it?"
"No."
Dom sighs. Stuffs his hands in his pockets. He's weighing something in his mind. "I don't have a grandma. My mom doesn't have a relationship with her mom, and my dad's mom died when he was young."
A pang of sadness creeps over me. My grandma is the stuff grandma dreams are made of, and I can't imagine not having her. Though I will have to imagine it, something I haven't begun to process yet.
I don't like the shred of softness I feel toward Dom, so I say, "Despite how moving your sob story is, you cannot glom onto my grandma." There. That should do it. No more soft feelings now. Balance has been restored.
Dom, to his credit, doesn't blink at my unkind words. "Something tells me Savage Grandma doesn't get glommed onto unless she decides she wants it to happen."
Ugh. Why does he have to take my meanness in stride? Moreover, why does he have to be right? He's known my grandma for one measly, albeit eventful, family meeting and he's already picked up on her fierce personality.
I cross my arms, ready to try a different tack. "Let's say, hypothetically speaking, I agree to allow you on this road trip. What's to stop you from leaving halfway through?"
Most men would deny they would do such a thing, but not Dom. He says, very practically, "I could leave halfway through, married or not.Anybodycould leaveanywhereatanypoint foranyreason." I like his acknowledgment of the possibility. He adds, "I wouldn't, though." I like that, too.
"You're asking me to trust you?"
