“Please call me Prime. Everyone does.”
“Very well. And this must be your lovely wife, Deanna. It’s a pleasure. Sit, let me pour your wine, get something to eat.”
“We appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Carbone.”
He makes humming noises as he bustles around us like waitstaff. Prime engages him in small talk, asking about the place, and they fall into an easy conversation about the restaurant business. I didn’t know Prime had ever owned a food service establishment before, but he sounds very familiar with the industry.
I listen and watch Marco Carbone closely. He’s the total opposite of Ricardo: knife thin with graying hair, light blue eyes, pale skin, and a serious demeanor. His smiles are pained and his laughter is like straining rocks for oil. He moves with confidence, but always under complete control. More than once I catch him returning my scrutiny with a curious angle of his head and I have to resist the urge to show him how uncomfortable it makes me.
“I was surprised when Ricardo mentioned you were interested in doing business, Mr. Carbone.” Prime leans back, swirling his glass of wine. No bourbon, but close. The exchange lurched away from niceties. Carbone’s shoulders tense, the only outward sign that he’s paying more attention. “We’re always looking for new investors.”
Carbone fiddles with a lighter. He flicks it open, lights the flame, snaps the top shut. He does this a few times before puffing on his cigar. “I’ll admit, I haven’t been as aggressive in my business practices as I should be for some time now. It’s easy, in our line of work, to find a successful vein and to keep mining it forever. One can get complacent, do you understand what I mean?”
“Of course. I’ve seen it before.”
“Comfort breeds softness.” Carbone’s watching me as he says it. “And in my trade, softness is a liability. Would you agree with that, Mrs. Spadaro?”
“I’ve found the opposite can be true. Softness is necessary sometimes. Too brittle, too hard, and you can snap or shatter.”
Carbone grunts but clearly doesn’t like my answer. “How long have you two known each other?”
I glance at Prime. He doesn’t seem bothered by the question. “Deanna’s been my personal assistant for a few years.”
“You worked together before getting married? And you still work together now?”
“That’s right,” Prime confirms.
“It’s an interesting arrangement, this marriage of yours. From what I understand—“ He flicks the lighter and taps ash into a tray. “Your lovely wife here was not your first choice.”
Prime drinks his wine. Sweat dribbles down my arms. It’s common knowledge that I was swapped in as Prime’s wife last minute, but I was assured it wouldn’t be an issue. Normal, in his world, is how Prime described it, and I believed him even if that seems bat shit insane.
I don’t like the way Carbone’s bringing it up now though.
“Deanna and I have always had a mutually beneficial relationship. I fully admit I was prepared to marry another woman that day, but my original fiancée backed out and Deanna stepped in to take her place.”
“Not a marriage of love then, I take it.” Carbone’s smile makes me squirm.
“Love can surprise you sometimes.” Prime’s voice is quiet. He’s looking at me with a strange fondness and my stomach lurches when he touches my hand. He’s acting, playing a role just like I am, going through the predetermined motions. This room is a cliche, our words are cliches, everything about what we’re doing is cliche, words banged out on a typewriter by some cheap Hollywood hack. I do my best to gaze lovingly back at my husband, which is what’s expected of me. While inwardly, I want to scream.
“Is it surprising you, Mrs. Spadaro?”
I know the proper forms. The correct response. But suddenly, for a reason I can’t really understand, I get the feeling that’s not the right play here. Maybe it’s the way Carbone’s watching with that ferret-like intensity, a sharpness to him, ready to slice apart our pretty fiction.
I shake my head happily. “Not in the least.”
Carbone’s eyebrows raise. “What do you mean?”
“If you’re asking if I’m in love with Prime, I’m telling you I’m not.”
Prime’s grip on my hand tightens. “Surely you’re joking, my darling. My heart’s bleeding here.”
“I’m not joking in the slightest, darling.” I bat my eyes at him and smirk. “Why should we pretend? We’re not married because we’re head over heels.”
“Then whyareyou married?” Carbone’s leaning forward now. He’s interested, I can tell. I bet he expected me to play along and act like the smitten bride, but I’m flipping the scene on its head and going in a new direction.
“Prime’s got money. I have needs.” I gesture in the air like Carbone can figure out the rest.
Carbone’s cigar puffs and smoke rolls into the air. “Is this true, Prime? A marriage of convenience?”
