Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
He nods in agreement, glancing down at me before opening the door. I feel a moment of panic—a moment of something—and reach out and grab his hand. He squeezes my fingers briefly, his gaze holding mine before dropping my hand and opening the door.
Chapter 32
Thursday, October 29
“We did it,” I say, dropping into the new chair in the home office in a daze. “Holy crap, I think we actually did it.”
“Well, I’m sure your descriptive accounts about our sexual proclivities helped,” Colin says, handing me a glass of Champagne.
“It wasn’t that pornographic. He just asked if you were a neat freak in all areas, and I said, no, not always. That in the more intimate areas of your life, you were actually quite—”
“Yeah,” he interrupts. “I was there. I remember.”
“This is good,” I say, looking at the glass of Champagne in surprise. “What is it?”
“Expensive,” he says, dropping into the chair beside me. “Think that bottle I bought for the halfway mark, and double it.”
“Well, it was worth it. And we have plenty to celebrate,” I say, lifting my glass. “Gordon Price all but told us that the third and final interview would just be a formality.”
“Thanks to you,” he says, watching me. “I’m fairly certain you saved the day yet again this afternoon by mentioning Rebecca’s ex.”
“I did, didn’t I?” I say smugly, pulling my legs beneath me. “I figured if he knew we knew who’d tipped him off about our marriage and knew that the person had a personal vendetta, it might diffuse some of his interest.”
“He didn’t seem all that interested to begin with,” Colin says, studying his Champagne.
“No, not really,” I agree.
As nerve-racking as today had been, Gordon Price had seemed more like bored government employee than shark out to expose us for the frauds we were. His questions had been rote, his demeanor indifferent. Either he’d been trying to lull us into complacency so that we’d relax too much and slip up and spill the beans, or he’d been truly disinterested.
Mostly he’d wandered from room to room, checking boxes, asking the exact same questions I’d found on the Internet, with no follow-up. Who cooked? Me. Did I know how Colin took his coffee? Black. Who was the messy one? Me. What side of the bed did we sleep on? Left, him; right, me. Did my messiness bother Colin? “Most assuredly, yes.”
On that, at least, he’d been able to answer quite honestly.
Just like I had quite honestly “let it slip” that Colin’s lover had an ex with a vendetta who’d love nothing more than to see Colin deported. Gordon Price, God bless him, had eaten it up.
“Two down, one to go,” I say, lifting my hand for a high five.
He stares at my hand. “Must we?”
“I saved our ass, remember?” I say. “You owe me.”
He obliges me, slapping my palm. “Guess you were right about the hair.”
I make a primping motion. “Don’t get used to it. Tomorrow it goes back to tousled waves.”
“The hairstyle has a name?”
I shake my head. “Of course it has a name. Jeez. You know—Rebecca owes me. I’m like your wife training wheels, teaching all the things you need to know about living with a woman, starting with the importance of our hair.”
He gives a distracted nod and sips his bubbly. “I didn’t realize the third and final interviews would take place with us separated.”
“Me neither,” I say. “But I guess it makes sense, separating the couples so we don’t know what the other said. Come to think of it, you’d better bring your A-game.” I point my drink at him. “I won’t be there to save you that time, so don’t screw it up.”
He scrunches up his face in concentration. “Just so I’m clear, I should or should not mention that you and I had exchanged fewer than a hundred words prior to saying I do, and that I really wanted that green card …”
“Another joke!” I say, delighted. “I’m rubbing off on you.”
“God save me.” But he’s smiling as he says it, and I can’t help but think how far we’ve come in two short months, from two strangers literally counting down the days until this hell was over to …
Well, whatever we are now. I don’t know that there’s a name for it.
“Want to order in?” he asks.
I look up in surprise. “You’re not having dinner with Rebecca?”
“She has a client meeting,” he says, flipping through his phone. “Thai or pizza?”
I stifle disappointment that he’s only doing dinner with me because she’s not available, which I know is ridiculous. Rebecca is someone he chose. I’m someone he’s stuck with. But selfishly, I’ll take whatever time I can get with him, so I push the glum aside.
“How about Thai?” I say. “No, pizza. No! What about tacos? Ooh, or that Indian we ordered last week was super yummy. Or maybe—”