I shake my head and look down at her again. “You’re nuts. When you asked me to marry you last New Year’s Eve, this wasn’t what I was picturing.”
“Hold on.” She holds up a finger and resituates herself so she can look me in the eyes. “I didn’t actually ask you to marry me.”
I laugh again. “You literally said—”
“I said prove it. And you said, ‘How?’ And I said, ‘Marry me.’”
“And then I said, ‘Let’s do it.’”
“No. You said, ‘Right fuckin’ now, Wendy. I’ll marry you right fuckin’ now. How do we do this?’ And your voice was all growly and shit.”
I roll my eyes. “And then you said Branson, Missouri.”
She snorts. “What? What’s wrong with Branson? It’s a halfway mark between your farm and my cabin. I thought it was a stroke of genius. We can meet up there every anniversary.”
“Beautiful, Wendy.” I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. “Once this Donovan bullshit is over, we won’t be meeting up anywhere because we’re never gonna be apart again. And for the record, we’re done with Mount Pleasant too. No more Mount Pleasant.”
“No. Wendell will miss the fuck out of us if we stop meeting there. Our crazy love story is like the highlight of his life.”
“You know we’re gonna have to kill Wendell if he really does write that tell-all book about us.”
Wendy snorts again and I hug her tighter. God, I love her happy. There have been so many bad years, but this one—this year right here—this has been the best year of my life. Even though we haven’t seen or talked to each other since the end of our six-hour honeymoon in Branson, just knowing she’s mine now, mine for good, is enough.
“You are not the kind of man you marry, Nick Tate. You are not even the kind of man you date.”
I smirk. Because she’s remembering it too. Standing in that little chapel, empty except for us and the reverend, as we said our vows.
“You’re not best-friend material. You’re not boyfriend material, that’s for sure. And regardless of what you think, you’re never going to be husband material.”
I shake my head and laugh. “The look on that reverend’s face when you started talking—I died.”
She laughs too. “He was like… ‘What the fuck is going on here?’”
“But we did the whole thing with a straight face. I fucking loved that we did that.
Wendy reaches up and places a hand on my cheek and when I look down at her, the expression on her face is one of adoration. “We are like…” She pauses to think. “We’re like the world’s greatest liars. In fact, from now on this should be our title. Like our noble title. May I present to you, the World’s Greatest Liars, Nicholas and Gwendolyn Tate. It’s catchy, don’t you think?”
“Without a fucking doubt.” I point my finger at her, serious now. “But we never lie to each other.”
“Not if we can help it.”
I can’t stop the smile. Because, of course, if you’re married you should not lie to your partner. But everything has a caveat and we both know that. Sometime I worry about the lies she’s telling me, but then again, I’m not really worried. Because I only lie to her for her own good and she only lies to me for my own good. And we’ve accepted the fact that she knows what’s best for me and I know what’s best for her—so… in our sick Company assassin minds… this works. But I feel the need to remind her of the caveat. “Not if it’s for the greater good, you mean.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Then her smile drops. “Oh, shit. Cameras?”
I shrug. “Meh. I would love to see Merc’s face if he’s recording this. Let him try to figure us out, Wendy. He’ll never understand us.”
“No one understands us.”
“Just us,” I say.
She nods and snuggles up against me. Then she sighs. “I really am OK.”
I sigh too. Because I’m trying not to think about Merc’s fucked-up trip into her mind and this reassurance is a signal that while she isn’t OK yet, she will be. So I redirect her thoughts back to our crazy, impromptu, desperate clinging-to-each-other-before-we-had-to-separate wedding.
“Wendy Gale, you’re not the kind of girl you marry. You’re not even the kind of girl you date. You’re not a friend with benefits, you’re not a one-night-stand, and regardless of what you think, you have never been a rebound. You are the kind of girl I want to kidnap. You are the kind of girl I want to lock in a basement so you can’t ever escape. You’re the kind of girl I want to tie up. I want to put a collar on you. A leash. Handcuffs. I want to gag your mouth. A blindfold isn’t a bad idea either. Because Wendy Gale, you are the kind of girl I grab on to—any way I can—and I never let go. You are that special to me.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment. I love those speckles. She knows this little speech by heart. I’ve been saying this to her for years now, long before we ended up standing in front of an altar in Missouri. She knows what comes next. She is as sure of it now as I was back then.
“Wendy, you only need to know one thing about me, babe. Just one. No matter what happens, I will never let go.”
And I won’t.
Last Christmas was a tipping point for us. We had been playing the old how-do-we-move-on-after-that-shit-happened game for almost seven years. And you know what they say about the definition of insanity. You can’t do the same thing over and over again and expect different results.
So why were we still playing the insanity game?
It was time to end it.
And by end it I mean begin it.
It was time for drastic measures.
It was time I gave her that perfect present.
It was time I told her about the cure.
I don’t care what happens next.
We’re seeing this through to the end.
PART THREE - THE WISE
“Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”
― Aristotle
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - MERC
“OK,” Harrison says once we’re outside. “What are we doing?”
“You’re going back to Fort Collins.”
“Why?”
“Pick up Sasha. Bring her here.”
Harrison stops walking. “Are you sure that’s the right move? I mean… it’s been nearly ten years, Merc. She doesn’t need this.”
I agree with him. Up to a point. And I know Sasha doesn’t want this, but something is happening here and Nick is at the center of it. “Doesn’t she?” I ask Harrison. “It’s one thing to pretend we don’t know the truth, it’s quite another to turn a blind eye.”
“You think she knows Nick is alive?”
“She knows. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she knows. It’s better to get it over with. Confront it. Because I need her help here.”
“For what?”
“Keep walking,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “I don’t want to talk too close to the house.”