Page 43 of Fake Dark Vows
Not many women can say they had two Weiss men fighting over them.
Was he talking about Harry or Brandon when he realized his mistake?
“How are the retirement plans going, Ron?” Brandon asks.
That’s what he’s leading with?
Most of the friction between us today has evolved from Brandon’s determination to be the first one back to Ruby Island having completed all five challenges, and now he wants to sit back and discuss retirement plans? Is it because he knows he has already lost to his father and Ron? Or is the inbuilt habit of operating behind this façade he has constructed around himself too tough to crack, even in the name of victory?
“Slowly,” Ron says, setting his cup down now that the moment has passed and he’s safe to speak again. “Sumaira’s idea of retirement appears to be somewhat misaligned with mine, so we’re still trying to find a middle ground. It’s like being newlyweds forty years down the line.”
“Good for you,” I say, and not content with taking Ron’s comment completely out of context, I add, “so long as you’ve still got the romance side of it alive too.”
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire as a wide grin spreads across Ron’s face. “Oh, you’ll make someone a lovely wife someday.”
I dip my fork into my pie and allow the flavors to explode on my tongue—Ron isn’t the only one who knows how to hide behind his food. “Not sure about that,” I say, realizing too late that I still have food in my mouth. “I can’t cook.”
“Neither can Sumaira. She can barely grill a cheese sandwich without turning it to cinders.” Ron chuckles to himself. “But I didn’t marry her for her culinary skills.”
How to drag a conversation into the gutter in five minutes, I think. I hope Brandon isn’t keeping a tally of reasons to present to his mom as to why I’m not a suitable housekeeper. Lack of discretion probably beats hijacking a boat out of the ballgame.
Brandon, clearly confused by the direction this is going, intervenes to bring us back to a level he can participate in. “Are you still buying the property in Hawaii?”
“It’s a moot point,” Ron says. “Let’s just say that Sumaira has her sights set further afield.”
“And you don’t?” I ask.
Ron’s eyes linger on mine as if weighing up how much he can reveal to his host’s housekeeper. Eventually, he says, “Selling the business means that we’ll have to tighten our belts, something my wife hasn’t had to think about in a long while. Most of our marriage in fact. The proceeds won’t last indefinitely, but my wife’s accounting skills are almost on a par with her cooking ability.”
I glance at Brandon. He hasn’t touched his pie. Instead, he’s sitting back looking as relaxed as his father did when we arrived, but from Ron’s refusal to make eye contact with him, I sense there’s a whole lot more to this conversation than I’m aware of.
Before I can mention how expensive and overpriced Hawaii can be, Harry returns with Georgie in his arms—the child is wearing a Blond Giraffe cap and clutching a paper bag containing matching caps in different colors for her sisters.
He sits down, keeping the child on his lap and says, “You’re either discussing Sumaira or Ruby.”
I scoop more pie into my mouth—it really is something else; where has it been all my life? —and try to remind myself that this is real life. These people aren’t fictional characters from a romance novel, these men can discuss relocating to Hawaii and their wives’ lack of cooking skills with a smile because they have money as a safety blanket. They can afford the luxury home on Maui and a full time live-in cook, while their wives are in the salon getting their hair styled and the occasional Botox injection.
And just look at their smiles, and their even tans, and their unlined foreheads.
It breaks my heart to think that my dad already looks older than these men because vacations are a luxury he can barely afford, and sunlight is what he gets at the end of the day when he finishes work. If he’s lucky.
“Has anyone else from the treasure hunt collected their pie?” I blurt out during a natural lull in the conversation. Because the question has been uppermost in Brandon’s head all day, and the lack of interrogation is bothering me way more than it should.
Harry’s grin is wide. “One day in my son’s company, and he’s already rubbing off on you, Rose.”
“Maybe she should finish the last stretch with us,” Ron says. “Save her while we can.”
Brandon laughs and reaches for his coffee. He doesn’t make eye contact with me as if he’s embarrassed, only I can’t figure out if he’s embarrassed for me or for himself.
“Did my son put you up to the question?” Harry asks.
“I… No,” I say, reverting to my usual tongue-tied self in the presence of these over-confident men.
“Because I have to say, I’m surprised he agreed to slow down long enough to grab a coffee and a slice of pie to eat in the garden.” Harry watches me, not his son.
“Must be your influence, Rose,” Ron adds with a knowing smile at his lifelong friend. “How’s the pie?”
“I-it’s delicious.”