“Seriously, spill it, Marie! I’m dying here!!”
I shake my head and press my lips together. I’m about to kill her dreams. “Listen, Gianna, there's nothing to tell. We haven't, um...”
“Haven't what?”
I finish wiping the counter and then spray it again and start wiping the exact same spot.
“We haven't… You know.”
She just shakes her head for a second, then her eyes open wide.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You mean you haven't… Oh my God, Marie. But you've been married for like two weeks already!”
I shrug. Honestly, I'm a little surprised too.
“Why not?” she says, actually sounding a little angry.
“Well, I barely know the guy!” I say convincingly. I mean, as far she knows anyway. “It's just… I don't know. It will happen. I'm sure.”
She lowers her voice to a confidential whisper. “Is it because he's ugly?”
“Gianna…”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” she scowls. “You know, I didn’t want to be rude or anything. But you must have noticed. I mean, what was it like when you first saw him? Were you, like, mortified or whatever?”
“No, I was not mortified.”
“Because I don't even know what I would do if my dad set me up with somebody like that. I mean, he's terrifying to look at. I can see why you're waiting.”
Weirdly, this really gets on my nerves. He's not ugly. He's just… Well, I still do not know what he is. Or maybe he is ugly, but I don't seem to like Gianna saying it very much.
“And with his brother right there, you know, like for comparison or whatever…”
I shake my head. I really do not want to talk about this anymore. I feel bad too, because Gianna and I promised to tell each other everything. We have spent many a night sitting around talking about our first chances at being slutty. It was supposed to be awesome. I was supposed to go from Virgin to Whore under those sacred bonds of matrimony in the blink of an eye. Somehow I screwed this all up. What the hell was I thinking?
“So, like, what is the story with Alek?”
I shake my head. Story? Who knows.
“He’s sort of a jerk.” I say, feeling more than a little bit naughty about talking about him behind his back. Not like he doesn't deserve it. He totally does.
“And he’s living with you too?” she says innocently, spraying glass cleaner on the large door that leads to the cigar room.
“Yeah,” I shrug, trying to keep it light, “just one big happy family I guess.”
“So... you can set us up?”
It takes a full twenty seconds for what she just said to sink into my head, and when it does, I don't even know what to say. My mouth falls open.
“Well, I mean it's just that… Like, how perfect would that be? If we were with brothers? You know?”
I shake my head numbly.
“Like you could have me over for dinner or something?? I could just get to know him a little bit?”
“Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea,” I say hoarsely. Something is tightening up in my shoulders, like a screw being turned. I'm not sure why, but I sort of want to pinch her, hard.
“Why not? I mean I know it's not some noble sacrifice for the good of the whole family or something like that…” she says, and though I'm not even looking at her I can feel her rolling her eyes.
“It's not like that, Gianna.”
She spins toward me, letting her hands slap helplessly against her thighs. “What's it like then?”
I search for something to say that doesn't sound completely insane and come up with absolutely nothing.
“Come on, Gianna, you know.”
“No, I really don't know!” she spits in frustration. “It's not like you can keep them both to yourself, you know!”
My breath does this thing where it sort of turns into a solid and I feel like I'm choking for just a second. I know that she doesn't know, but still I automatically feel defensive.
And I think she can see it too. Her eyes go stony as though there's a certain distance I put between us. She may not understand it yet, but I know she can feel it too.
The front door swings open with a whoosh of air that makes us both flinch. Startled, I turn to the door and see Roman or maybe Alek, I can't tell which. The light is behind him and it takes a second to realize whose face I'm looking at even though my heart started pounding anyway. But my heart doesn't seem to care which one it was at all.
“Get your purse. Come on,” he says. With that kind of poetry, I assume it must be Roman.
“No,” I say automatically.
Roman crosses his arms over his chest and just stands there. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Gianna staring at us both with her eyebrows raised.