The True Love Experiment

He tucks my head under his chin. “Get over yourself.”

I laugh into his shirt and close my eyes. Fuck, he’s perfect. This is awful.





thirty-four CONNOR




Slow dancing with Fizzy is the last moment of quiet we have for the next four hours, because what follows is the most luxurious and impeccably planned event I have ever attended. There is an opulent eight-course meal, surprisingly tender speeches, riotous dancing, cake cutting, and woven throughout are endless people wanting to see Fizzy, hug her, take photos with her. Fizzy has jokingly described herself as the family disappointment, but it always felt like there was a kernel of truth there, and tonight, the internalized disconnect astounds me. It is clear from watching her that everyone in this room adores her beyond measure, and even though it isn’t her wedding day, the attention she receives makes it seem that a soft beam of light follows her through the room.

Or maybe that’s just my gaze.

Truly, I cannot take my eyes off her. And when she approaches me later, holding an unopened bottle of champagne and gesturing with a tilt of her head that she wants to escape, my heart does an aching dive in my chest. I didn’t realize until the opportunity was before me how much I wanted to be alone with her again before the night ends.

“Do you have to head out or can you come up and watch tonight’s episode with me?”

I know the right answer is that I should head home. I know, too, that when it comes down to it with this woman, it’s always up to me to set boundaries, and my feelings for her are contained behind a very thin, very fragile wall. I should do a better job protecting my heart.

But with two glasses of wine in my blood and feeling drugged from her proximity on my arm all night, the wrong answer comes easily: “I don’t have anywhere I need to be. Stevie is with Nat.”

The crowd is still going strong in our wake, and the evening hush of the lobby wraps us in an echoing bubble. Fizzy reaches forward, pressing the call button for the lift, and we look up together, watching for the Up arrow to illuminate.

“Your family is amazing.”

She laughs. “The funny thing is I think you really mean that.”

“I do.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a wife, my auntie Cindy is here for you, in case the three hundred times she mentioned it wasn’t enough.”

Remembering, I pull from my pocket a cocktail napkin with a number I think is written in lip pencil and drop it into the bin. “I’m good.”

“Was that Ashley’s number?”

“It was.”

Fizzy beams at me as the lift arrives, and we step in. “You’re my favorite.”

“I’d better be.”

“Have you already seen tonight’s episode?” she asks.

I stare quizzically down at her. “I edited most of it.”

“Is it good?”

“Please.”

“I’m gonna need you to unbutton me,” she says, gesturing casually to her dress like she’s informed me she’ll need me to pluck a piece of lint away or pick up her dry cleaning.

My mouth goes dry. “I figured.”

“I’ll behave myself.”

“No, you won’t,” I say, laughing.

“I promise to try, how’s that sound?”

“Empty and foolish, but I appreciate the gesture.”

The doors open and, still smiling, she leads me down the hall to her room, swiping the card at the door. Silence swallows us up as she drops her clutch and key on the table, and I’m consumed with a flushing panic. I’m not an idiot; I know this is exactly how sex starts. I’ve had sex with her already, am half in love with her at this point, and we’re both high on party vibes and champagne. Coming up here was a bloody terrible idea.

Fizzy walks over, turning her back to me. “Get to work.”

Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how you look at it—unbuttoning her gown goes infinitely faster than buttoning it did. But to my relief and true to her word, she does not immediately let it fall to the floor and face me in whatever complicated lacy underwear situation she’s hiding under there. She steps away with a hand holding it up at the front, smiling over her shoulder at me. “I’m gonna change in the bathroom; you get the episode pulled up.”

I find the remote, connect to the right app, and get it ready to play. With Fizzy still changing, I duck out onto the balcony to call Stevie. The cool sea air washes over my flushed skin, and I draw in a steadying breath before pulling my phone from my pocket.

When Nat answers, I can hear another breathless, adrenaline-fueled voice chattering in an excited stream in the background.

“Greetings from fangirl central,” Nat says.

“Again?” I ask, laughing. I wasn’t sure Stevie would still be awake but should have known better. The Wonderland concert DVD has been viewed no fewer than ten times in the week since Fizzy gave it to my kid.

“She’s watching with Insu and giving him a blow-by-blow of the concert with you and Fizzy. You’re a shoo-in for parent of the year, you jackass. How’s the wedding?”

“Gorgeous.”

“How’s Fizzy?”

Ahh, the real question. “Equally gorgeous,” I say on a pained exhale.

“I see.”

“We’re in her hotel room to watch the show. She’s changing.”

I can almost hear Nat’s brows lift through the line. “I seeeeee.”

I push away the image of Fizzy’s bare back before she turned to grab her pajamas from the drawer and duck into the loo.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. What I don’t tell Nat is that I slipped a couple of condoms into my wallet this morning. I’m not having sex with Fizzy. I’m not. But my lesson in being unprepared for this kind of thing turns eleven in January. You don’t have to tell me twice.

I move to the railing on the balcony. During the day, Fizzy’s room would have a stunning view of the ocean. I can see it now, but only as a dark mass of churning movement in the distance. The proximity is underscored by the loud tumble of waves as they crash. The unremitting turbulence mirrors what’s happening in my chest. “Anyway, I called to tell Stevie good night, but if she’s busy, I’ll just catch her in the morning.”

“You sure? I can grab her.”

“No, let her educate Insu. He must learn exactly what he’s in for.” I turn at the sound of Fizzy moving around in the room behind me. “I should go anyway. Make sure you watch tonight. Give me those ratings.”

“Don’t I always?”

I smile because, yeah, she does. “Tell the squirt I love her, and have a good night, Nat.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I step inside and come to a stop with one foot in, one foot out. Fizzy said she was changing into something comfy. I foolishly hoped that meant long-sleeved flannel pajamas, not tiny shorts and a soft cropped sweatshirt. There’s just… so much skin.

“What the fuck ’ave you got on?” I ask, accent turning coarse.

“They’re my jammies. You want me sleeping in a snowsuit?”

“Yes.”

She lifts her chin to indicate the balcony. “Everything okay?”

I get my head back on straight. “Yeah. Just telling Stevie good night.”

“I bet she misses not getting her Saturday with you.”

“Not really.” I set my phone on the dresser, undo my tie, and unbutton my collar, hearing how that sounded. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we have a blast together, but she’s not suffering alone. She’s watching Wonderland with Insu tonight.”

“A girl’s dream.”

“Right.” Tossing the tie to the chair, I admit, “We’ve all had to learn how to roll with it when my schedule gets nuts. I’m lucky that Nat is so flexible about all of it, especially lately.”

Fizzy grabs the bottle of champagne, twists it open with a pressurized pop, and climbs onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. “You two are the most well-adjusted divorced people I’ve ever met.” She takes a swig. “I have a friend who only talks to her ex through her lawyer.”

“It’s something we’ve had to grow into.” I glance around the room. Other than a bed and a dresser, there’s only the fancy and very uninviting chair in the corner. I’m really going to have to sit on the bed with her. Fuck.