“Are you kidding me? Percussion, burning stuff, and audience participation are like his three favorite things. You should see him at Cirque du Soleil.” Hildy leaned in to Libby. “I also took the liberty of buying tickets to the dinner buffet. So you don’t have to worry about cooking.”
“I guess it makes sense, if we’re staying for the show.”
“Plus I picked up on it not really being your thing. The actual making of food.”
“Oh?” Libby said faintly.
“No shade,” Hildy assured her. “This is social media we’re talking about, not testifying in front of a grand jury. Everybody gives themselves a glow-up. You’re still you, underneath the filter.”
Libby’s smile was strained. “That’s one way of putting it.” She hesitated. “It seemed like something people would expect. From Lillibet.”
“Branding. Sure.” Hildy checked her phone. “Breaking news. Uncle Richard is drinking out of a coconut. Dreams do come true.”
“I need some men,” the emcee intoned, his mouth an inch from the mic. “Big guys, little guys, or in between. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re brave enough to come up here.” He angled a hand above his eyes as he peered at the packed tables.
At Hildy’s look of challenge, Uncle Richard stood, dropping his napkin next to his empty plate before marching toward the dance floor. Libby’s husband sprang out of his chair to jog after him, a terrier shadowing a Great Dane. They were joined by a dozen or so hapless husbands and young kids.
“What about you, JJ?” Hildy asked as the performers tied grass skirts around the waists of their volunteers.
“I don’t want to show anyone up,” he replied, as the group on the dance floor began swiveling their hips in time with the instructions from the stage.
“Whatever you say, Shakira.”
They both looked up at the sound of Libby’s laughter. She was shaking with it, that first choking burst giving way to silent spasms. Jefferson suspected it had something to do with seeing her husband and Uncle Richard do pelvic thrusts.
A pair of young, shirtless dancers flanked Hildy. Earlier in the evening, she’d watched with vocal appreciation as they scaled palm trees in nothing but a loincloth. It appeared they’d both oiled their muscular chests since then, smooth pectorals glistening under the lights.
“Fine. You talked me into it,” she said as they led her away. “Let’s show the old folks how it’s done.”
Every day with Hildy was an education.
“Jefferson.”
How many times had Libby said his name? Not enough for the effect to wear off.
“Can I ask you something?” Her warm brown eyes were fixed on his face.
He nodded, embarrassingly eager to be of service—even if it was just passing the salt.
“Do you think we could pretend, for tonight, that we’re not ourselves?”
Jefferson’s confusion must have shown on his face.
“Forget everything you know about me.” She leaned toward him. “No past, no complications. I’m just a girl you met on the beach.”
“Libby—”
“I’m not really married.”
She might as well have dumped the pitcher of ice water over his head. “You mean you want me to pretend you’re not married?”
“I mean I’m really not. He only asked me because he needed a green card. It’s a temporary arrangement. There was never any kind of… personal relationship.”
That explained a lot. And yet, however easy it was to accept that Mr. L was only her husband on paper, Jefferson was struggling to grasp what it meant forhim.
“It’s a secret,” she said into the silence. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” Libby frowned at the spoon she was flipping over and back again. “I guess that’s what secret means.”
“And you’re telling me because?” Jefferson wanted to be sure he understood. And if part of him hoped she would say,Because I trust you and want you to know me,he was also braced for disappointment. The answer could just as easily be,You’re leaving town in two days, and we’ll never see each other again.
