The ice in Trina’s voice is scathing, and if I didn’t already know that this was a fuck-up unlike anything I’ve pulled in the past, I do now.
“Trina, we?—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Trina cuts Mabel off with a hand in the air, her razor-sharp claws painted red just adding to the menacing air of it all. “No excuses, no bullshit. We’re moving on to the fix-it phase. I have very little time to spin this, so the two of you need to hush up and do as I say.”
“There’s no need for a spin, Trina. We made a mistake, but we’re going to take care of it. We’re going to get dressed, put our wigs back on and head down to the courthouse. We’ll get this thing annulled, we’ll show up fashionably late to cheer the dads on at the golf course, and then we’ll all be on our way to Milan. No harm, no foul.”
I squeeze Mabel’s knee, and even though my brain is still swimming in hangover molasses, there is no missing the way she leans just half a millimeter closer at this moment. She smells like apples—well, she actually smells like stale liquor, but the apple scent is there, too—and I want to press my nose to her hair. But Mom is pressing two fingers to her temples and rubbing smallcircles, so it probably isn’t the time to start sniffing my wife.
“You’re going to get an annulment? Just like that?” Mom says in that low, hissing tone she used to instill fear in me as a child.
“I mean, yeah?” I say, though it sounds more like a question. “We haven’t had time to look into the logistics, what with all the banging down the door and puking nonsense, but I’ve seen plenty of accidentally married in Vegas movies. I’m pretty sure they let you get a marriage annulled if you can prove that one or both parties were too drunk to consent. And trust me, we were both too drunk. I can’t speak for Mabel, but I probably still couldn’t pass a breathalyzer test. And we were wearing wigs and giving everyone fake names last night. Who’s to say we even signed the certificate with our real names? This is probably all a moot point.”
The room goes eerily silent as Mom, Melanie, and Trina all stare at me with blank expressions.
“Ryder,” Trina says cooly. “How do you think the three of us knew to find you and Mabel naked in bed this morning, hungover and married?”
I comb through my brain, searching for the right answer.
“A woman’s intuition?” I guess, and Trina rolls her eyes so far back in her head, I’m sure she couldsee out the window behind her if her skull and the curtains weren’t in the way. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she pulls a phone out of the pocket of her wide-leg trousers, and after a second of swiping, she holds the screen up for Mabel and me to see.
The video is shaky, loud, and completely unsteady, but it only takes a second for everything to come into focus. Me and Mabel are on the tiny screen, the violet contacts she purchased earlier in the evening missing and her brilliant browns glazed over from the liquor and a little bloodshot. I’ve got one arm slung over Mabel’s shoulder, our two wigs bunched up like forgotten trash in my fist, and my other arm is extended to hold the camera. Mabel has two arms wrapped around my waist as she plants sloppy kisses to my neck. I’m a little ashamed to say that my dick perks up at the sight, but he quickly deflates when on-screen Ryder opens his mouth.
“Can you believe this shit? We got married! Mabel Quinn is my wife. I finally locked down the girl of my dreams. The hottest woman in the mother fucking world is my mother fucking wife! Can you believe that? We’re fucking married, Marshmallow! Married!”
Screen Mabel grabs Screen Ryder’s chin and pulls his lips to hers, and as Screen Ryder drops the phonein favor of taking Screen Mabel in his arms, Real Life Ryder’s stomach drops out of his ass.
Mabel and I kissed. We kissed a lot, if the flashes of memories flickering in my mind serve me right. Mabel Scout Quinn kissedme, enthusiastically and on purpose, and I fucking missed it.
Oh god, I think it’s my turn to be sick.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” Mabel grumbles into her hands.
“Oh fuck is right. Not only did you two get shit-your-pants drunk, you got married and you livestreamed the goddamn afterparty!”
Trina slams a manicured hand down on the table, and Mabel and I both wince, the sound rattling my skull.
“This is all my fault,” I mutter to no one. I just had to loop Mabel in on my poker plans. I had to fall for her beautiful, sad eyes when she was moping about being photographed. I had to let her keep drinking well after we’d both reached our limit, and even though I can’t remember it, if I had to venture a guess, I’d say walking down the aisle was my brilliant idea, too.
“Okay. Okay. Okay. This is fine. It’s fine. It’s all good. It’s all gravy, baby,” Mabel babbles. “Coffee. We need coffee. Let’s make some coffee, and then we can fix this. Quickly, discreetly, and hopefully whilemaintaining what’s left of my dignity. We can fix this right Mom?”
I watch as Melanie and my mom exchange words without speaking, conveying something I can’t decipher to each other before turning their attention back to Mabel and me. Trina crosses her arms over her chest.
“Yes, Mabel. We can fix this. But there won’t be anything quick or discreet about it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my confidence betrayed by the rasp in my voice.
“I mean, say hello to your wife, Ryder. You and Mabel are going to stay married. I’ve already drafted a press release stating that the two of you have been secretly dating for a year, and with the excitement of the impending Games and the seduction of Vegas, you decided to elope. You will attend today’s golf tournament and support your fathers as husband and wife. Ryder, you’re moving into Mabel’s place. I’ve got my guys packing your sad bachelor pad up as we speak. You’ll attend all public outings I arrange, and you’ll smile like you love each other. And when we all fly to Milan, we’ll be presenting a united front. The Finchs, the Quinns, and their darling children. American athletic royalty now joined by marriage. The great prophecy of Melanie’s daughter and Ramona’s son is fulfilled at last.”
“No…”
“Yes, Mabel. The International Games Committee does not take scandals lightly, and I’m not risking either of you losing your place on Team USA Ryder has been on thin ice since the damn Sochi fire in 2014 and Mabel, you know as well as I do that the unfortunate circumstances of you being a successful woman means that the powers that be are foaming at the mouth for a reason to tear you down. We are not going to give them one.”
If not for the increasing sound of Mabel’s heavy breathing beside me, I might be able to hear a pin drop in the room.
“I have to stay married to him?”
“You have to stay married to him.”
