I see him fighting to breathe normally, how he isn’t really there, and if this agony stretches on for three more seconds I’m going to shatter the dissonance with a scream.
Dad saves me.
He looks at James, then points to the chips, which the table worker is counting.
“Those are for you.”
James frowns.
“What?”
Dad shoves the stack of chips, upsetting the neat piles, all toward James.
“Take it.”
“WHAT?” Mom screams. “JASON! ARE YOU ILL?”
“I was,” he says slowly, his smile glorious. “But now I feel so much better.” He looks at James and holds out his hand for another shake. James returns the gesture.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Payment,” Dad says. “I’m paying for my daughter’s wedding.”
“But the free publicity more than covers it,” James assures him.
“No. Not the same.” Dad’s eyes bore into James’ own. “Street code. I owe you. Debt is now paid.”
A long few seconds go by, James holding Dad’s gaze.
“That’s how this all works,” Dad adds with a clench of his jaw.
“THAT IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS, JASON!”
There’s a Wifezilla version of Mom’s voice. Who knew?
James and Dad stare at each other, their chests rising and falling with each breath, the skin under their eyes tight with tension and study. Each is trying to read the other, and it’s anyone’s call who will win.
An imperceptible nod from James ends the standoff. “You sure?” He’s alluding to the chips.
“Sure as anything I know.”
“I AM NOT SURE! I AM NOT!” Mom screams.
James looks at the pile of chips, and I watch it all in slow motion. He separates them, the eighty-grand original bet in a pile of its own.
He takes the rest and gives my dad the eighty.
Dad scowls. Mom makes a series of moans that make her sound like a professional mourner at an Italian funeral.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” she finally wails.
Jed appears suddenly with two more beefy security guards. “Need help, Mrs. McCormick?” he asks me.
James startles at the sound of my new title, his eyes widening, then watering just slightly. He’s in a zone of ultra-focus, unreadable and unreachable within seconds, his attention entirely on my dad.
Whose face relaxes as he offers his hand to James.
The two pump furiously, sly grins spreading across their faces.
“Deal.”
When James motions for one of the guards to start taking the larger stack of chips, Mom lets out a bloodcurdling scream aimed at James that includes the words “seven,” “mine,” “crazy,” and “you were such a bad kisser.”
Dad walks over to her, his pockets bulging with chips from his win, slings Mom over his shoulder, and marches out of the casino like a caveman.
To the sound of raucous, enthusiastic applause from a bunch of strangers who have no idea what he’s doing.
And a bunch of loved ones who do.
* * *
It’s our true honeymoon night. Finally. We left the gaggle of friends and family downstairs, Chuckles safely managed by the pet concierge (yes, it’s a real job), our bodies burning to join together what our hearts combined today.
“I am sleeping with someone’s wife,” Declan says, his toe lifting up out of the thick layers of bubbles in the bath, teasing my shoulder.
“You’re sleeping with your wife.”
“You’re the first wife I’ve ever made love to.”
“And I’ll be your last.”
“You’d better be.” Haunted eyes meet mine, and the implications of what he’s saying make me half-mad with sorrow.
“Amanda says there are new allergy approaches to the anaphylactic risk,” I whisper, putting words to the emotions flowing between us like currents. In any other setting, with any other man, I wouldn’t talk like this.
But Declan isn’t any other man.
“Good. But I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Me neither.” I smile, holding my wet left hand up for the bathroom glow to highlight. “Married. We’re married.”
“Finally.”
“I can’t believe my father gambled away my wedding fund, turned it into eight hundred thousand, and gave most of it to your father.”
“That’s one hell of a dowry,” Declan says, deadpan. Then: “Ow! You poked me in the thigh with your foot!”
“You deserved that.”
“Watch the balls! Jesus, Shannon. We need those. For later.” I know he means for sex, but I also know he’s hinting at the future, a time when we’ll actively try for children, and the pregnant promise of the rest of our lives together fills me with a warmth the water can’t match.
A low, tired laugh makes my chest ripple the hot water. “My mother has a new target now. I was worried she’d never forgive me for escaping the wedding, but now she’ll really never forgive Dad for handing all that money to James.”
“She will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Declan’s eyes are closed, his body relaxed again in the water, the white foam covering his chest just under his pecs. “Because they love each other so much.”
“Does that mean you forgive me for resort-cheating on you?”
“I do.”
I’m skeptical. “You sure?”
“It’s not cheating if we own the place.”
For that he gets a face full of foam.