“Come on. What rule do you want to add?”
He clears his throat once. Then again. “I know this isn’t a real marriage, but …” Another throat clearing. “Commitment would be nice. For as long as this lasts.”
Ah. That.
A year of celibacy shouldn’t be hard. It’s been six months since I was last with someone, and the experience wasn’t worth repeating.
Then the image of Charlie entering the house some night with a strange woman wrapped around him appears in my mind. The thought has me queasy for a reason I don’t want to dwell on.
“Yes. Fine.” My words are terse. “We’ll both abstain from dating other people while we’re married.”
Charlie nods and writes some more words down. I move to stare over his shoulder, baffled by the short list of items.
Is this how easy it is to fake a relationship with another person?
I thought we’d have a whole scroll of stipulations. Multiple notebooks. That we’d need a table of contents and a glossary.
“I guess we don’t have to laminate this tonight. I kind of sprang it on you. You can take the next few days before we sign the marriage license to brainstorm whatever else you want.”
“Sure,” Charlie says, not sounding like he needs the time.
Is this why I gravitated toward him? Why I thought pitching this wild idea would have a chance?
The man is just so easygoing. It’s strange for me to be around someone who doesn’t seem even mildly anxious about what we’re setting out to do. I’m not normally a worrier. Not anymore. I spent the last decade honing myself into a person ready to take on most any challenge.
But that was all physical stuff. Now I have this, a requirement to simply coexist, and I’m checking my arms to see if hives have broken out.
“Luna.”
The way Charlie says my name—softly, with a hint of wariness, as if he’s concerned I’ll sprint toward the door—lets me know how much of my disquiet I’m showing on the surface.
Time to bury that shit.
“Yeah?”
“This can be a good thing.” A smile plumps his cheeks. “A fun thing. I don’t want you to approach this marriage as a job.” He nudges my hip with his elbow. “We’re becoming friends, in some of the strangest circumstances possible. But I’m being honest when I say, I’m looking forward to this next year. You know what …”
The way he trails off ratchets up my anxiety, but then he reaches for the paper, and I calm a bit. More rules. More clarity. This is good.
Then I read the five words he penned down.
Have fun with each other.
“What does that mean?”
“It means what I wrote.” In the face of my scowl, Charlie only laughs. “I want us to do fun things together. Show me what you love about Nashville. I’ll come up with stuff too. We’re partners. Let’s be partners in fun!”
“Oh God. You’re, like, super dorky, aren’t you?” The question comes out drier than I meant, and I want to stuff it back in my mouth, hating that I might have hurt Charlie’s feelings.
But he just stands from his chair, towering a good foot over me, and grins down at my upturned face.
“Hell yeah, I am. What do you say, Luna Lamont? Do you agree to my rule? Will you have fun with your dorky husband?”
There’s a whole range of sarcastic answers that pop into my mind. But every one of them borders on cruel. Even if I’m not a nice person, I don’t want Charlie thinking I’m an asshole.
Besides, there’s a simpler, easier answer.
“Yes. I’ll have fun with you. Not sure I’ll be any good at it.”
