“We really did have a marriage license made up?” Amanda squeaks, pointing between us.
“Yes.”
Marie’s not the one-word-answer type. I approach her slowly, chin down, eyes up, sending every intimidating signal I can.
“Start from the beginning.”
“What?”
“Tell us exactly what happened last night, from beginning to end.”
“I don’t have time! Jason’s waiting for me back in our room. Our flight leaves in less than an hour. Carol and the boys are already boarding!”
“Are you taking the Anterdec jet?”
“Yes.”
I reach for the phone. “Easy. I’ll have them hold it.”
“But Jason needs to get to work tonight! So does Carol! And Jeffrey and Tyler have missed school.”
I smile.
Leverage. Ah. That’s so much better.
She sees it, too, her shoulders slumping, her breath let go in a long sigh. “Fine. I confess.”
“You did file the marriage licenses?” Amanda says with a groan.
Tears fill Marie’s overdone eyes. She palms away one rolling drop. “I’m so sorry.”
“Are we married to each other?” I ask, pointing to Amanda.
Marie shakes her head.
“Shit!” The word’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Am I married to Josh?” Amanda asks.
Marie shakes her head.
Amanda fist bumps me, then freezes. “Is Andrew married to...Josh?”
Marie shakes her head. She’s being way, way too quiet.
“Am I married to Rainbow Brite?” I ask.
Marie shakes her head.
“Marie, who is married to whom?” I ask tightly.
Her hands cover her eyes and she says, “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” over and over, rocking against the bamboo-covered wall.
Amanda and I exchange a look. I convey, through a single glare and a sudden eye tic, the message that dragging the truth out of Marie is Amanda’s territory.
“Marie, what did you do?” she asks.
“It’s what I didn’t do! You clearly wanted me to file those marriage licenses, but it was late and I was tired, and I’m so sorry!” She reaches into her enormous purse and pulls out a sheaf of thick papers, mangled and stained with reddish-purple wine rings.
I snatch them up, rifling through them. I learn something new.
When drunk on entheogenic wine, I spell my name Ayndrough. That’s my handwriting. No denying it.
Amanda correctly spelled her entire name, but saw fit to draw pictures of butterflies with enormous, anatomically-correct penises and balls attached.
“The state of Nevada issued these?”
We have licenses for:
Amanda and Ayndrough
Josh and Geordi
Amanda and Charles Kulls
Josh and Ayndrough
Geordi and Josh
Josh and David Gandy
“Pfft. Right. Like David Gandy would ever marry him,” Amanda says.
I laugh.
“Because if anyone’s marrying David Gandy, it’s me.”
I stop laughing.
“I’m so sorry!” Marie cries.
“Why are you sorry?” Amanda asks.
“Because I didn’t file any of these!”
I frown at her, completely stymied. “You think we’re upset at you for not filing these marriage licenses?”
She grabs them back. “If I rush, I can get there in time for—”
Amanda yanks them out of her hands and flings them into the hot spring.
“You’re our hero, Marie!” she shouts, pulling Marie into a tight hug.
I blink over and over, staring at the papers on the water as the saltwater soaks in, turning them to wet, sopping messes.
Which one is ours?
Not that it matters.
I wade in, mop up the useless pieces of paper, and wade back out, marching to a trash can and throwing them in. Staring at the clump of paper, I sigh.
We’re not married.
I’m not married to anyone.
Great.
My eyes land on an animated Amanda, who smiles and frowns in alternating patterns as Marie chatters away. My right index finger finds my left hand, the metal of my wedding band warm from the room’s ambient temperature. The ring is smooth and unyielding, an infinite loop.
Amanda hugs Marie again, who looks at me with a shaky smile.
“I didn’t mess up? You didn’t want me to file the marriage licenses?”
“Did you really think Amanda wanted to marry Chuckles?”
“No. But I’m getting the feeling you really wanted to marry her, Andrew.”
Laughter rips through the room as Amanda reacts.
I just run my finger around the ring, over and over, silent.
Chapter Seven
“So no one’s married to anyone?” Josh asks, his voice peaking on a high note, turning to give Geordi a pouty look. Geordi seems to have fewer facial muscles than the rest of us, because he just broods.
“Nope,” Amanda says with a grin, taking a sip of her mango cucumber kale monstrosity that someone in the casino made for her. We’re sitting on purple velvet couches in a sunken pit near the High Value baccarat room where Jason won all that money yesterday.
And gave it right back to my casino.
I like Jason. Men who give back that kind of money after winning are guaranteed a comped room for the rest of their lives.
After interrupting us back at the spa, Marie needed concierge service to shoo her and her crew out of the state, which meant Brona intervened and sent a message to my admin, Gina.
Who urged me to answer the three hundred texts queued up in my phone.
Instead of having luscious sex with my once-maybe-wife in a rainforest hot spring, I’ve spent the last ninety minutes perusing spreadsheets, giving one-sentence up-or-down decisions, and listening to a very pissed off Sultan rant in my ear.