Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“Yes, but she would also know to leave it alone.”
“And my husband would know that I wouldn’t marry someone who keeps enormous secrets,” she counters.
I turn, meeting her eyes. “My parents have never once talked about it, so trust me, they’ll have no problem believing that we don’t talk about it, either.” I blink away, fixing my gaze on the back of the seat in front of me.
I can feel her staring a beat longer before she turns away to hand her empty flute to the flight attendant. Anna returns her focus to me. “Okay, what else?”
“What else what?”
At this, she laughs. “What else do I need to know about you, West?”
“Just… make up whatever you want.”
“No way. If you don’t get paid, I don’t get paid. Tell me something. Some things. Hobbies? Favorite foods? Ticklish spots? Secret kinks? I should know you better than anyone if we’re married, right?” She jerks away, as if she’s just remembered something. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t I have a ring? I didn’t even think to buy one!”
“Oh, right.” I reach into my pocket and pull a ring box out, setting it onto the console between us. “There you go.”
Anna stares down at it. “This is so surreal.”
“What’s that?
“This just—even as a little girl,” she says breathily. “This is exactly how I dreamed it would happen.”
“Are you ever serious?”
Her smile straightens and she gapes at me. “You’ve told me I’m supposed to be a married medical student on the way back from Cambodia. I’m wearing actual Chanel and two days ago had my labia waxed by a woman with hands bigger than yours. My fake husband just dropped a ring box onto the console between us and said, ‘There you go.’ And you want me to be serious?”
I have no idea what to say to this. My brain is still stuck on the word labia.
“If you’re wishing you chose someone else,” she says, picking up the box, “I know the feeling. I made the same wish two days ago while having my upper lip threaded.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “The point is, we’re getting divorced in a few months anyway, so we don’t have to seem very close. The more distant we seem, the better.” I look at the velvet box between us. “Are you going to put the ring on?”
She creaks the box open and then immediately snaps it shut, dropping it on the console between us as if it burned her.
“I can’t wear that,” she says, voice shaking.
“Why not?”
“That diamond is like… the size of my nipple.”
I find myself fighting a laugh. “Jesus Christ.”
“I thought the necklace was bad, but this is obscene. Like, if we crashed into the ocean that thing would drag me straight to the bottom.”
“What if I told you it’s fake?”
She looks at me. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
She narrows her eyes, and I hear it, too, the way I paused a beat too long. “Are you lying?”
“Just put it on, Green.” I lift my chin to the box. “We’re taking off soon and it could slide into the interior of your seat. They’ll have to disassemble the entire thing to get the ring out.”
“Why would they bother if it’s a fake diamond?”
I exhale a laugh, sending a hand down my face. It’s going to be a long flight.
Eight
ANNA
I think, across my lifetime, I’ve now spent less time in school than I have on this plane. And yet the flight from LA to Singapore isn’t even the longest part of this journey. In fact, when we land in Singapore, we are met with a private escort who drives us from the airport to the ferry port, where we take a boat to Batam, Indonesia. Unbearable is a relative term, but I think it’s safe to say that it is unbearably hot and humid in Indonesia. I’m used to living by an ocean, but this is like nothing I’ve ever felt, and by the time we’ve boarded yet another flight there, which is on an amphibious plane that takes off from land but descends onto water, both I and my adorable Chanel shorts set are showing prominent wrinkles of defeat. I’d love to change but I have no idea where my robot luggage is. I assume it’s followed us of its own volition somehow.
I was worried that we’d have to scrounge for food during rushed layovers and random bus trips, so for all the dummies like me out there, know this: the rich don’t travel like the rest of us do. West and I were fed and liquored up every moment of the flight we weren’t sleeping in our fully flat, first-class beds. The car to the ferry was stocked with water, wine, beer, sandwiches, and an enormous platter of fresh fruit upon which I descended like a vampire on a pulsing, nubile throat. The amphibious plane looks like a rubber duck from the outside, but inside it’s all smooth cream leather couches; low, polished wood tables; and yet more booze to lock us firmly into vacation mode.