Page 48 of Good at Being Alive
Man, I should deeply resent that he’s asking such intrusive questions rather than being turned on by them.
I raise a brow. “You’re pretty inquisitive for a guy who won’t answer a single question about MissComplicated.But no, at this precise moment I am not. Itriedto meet someone off a dating app, before the wedding, but it went poorly.”
He gives me a half smile. “This I need to hear. Ifyou’readmitting something went poorly, it must have been disastrous. What did you do?”
“I told him about my parents,” I admit, shrugging. “I didn’t mean to, but he asked if I got up to Jersey often to see my family, and I said, ‘No, not really, we don’t talk much.’ And obviously he then asked why, and I said, ‘Mostly because they’re dead.’ ”
He laughs. “Oh god, Bex, were you this bad at dating before or is this a recent development?”
“Well, I didn’t have dead parents to discuss before, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, that’s not exactly what I mean.” He grins and begins to jog slowly. “Here, let’s practice: Hi, you must be Bex. I’m Theo. Thanks for meeting on such short notice.”
“You’reTheo?” I ask, jogging along beside him, injecting my voice with as much disappointment as I can muster. “Your profile said you were six four.”
“My profile did not say I was six four. I’m six two, and at six two you don’t really have to add an inch.”
“Every man wishes he had an extra inch,” I say, elbowing him. “Most women wish he had an extra inch too, if you know what I mean.”
He gives me his sternest look. “Did you just make a joke about dick sizefive secondsinto meeting me?”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up. Men love a woman willing to talk about dicks right away. I mean, that’s what we’re both here for, isn’t it?”
“They might love a woman willing to talk about dicks, but they’re less a fan of a woman complaining about their size.”
I lick my lips. “I wouldn’t have made that joke to just anyone. But I’ve seen you in a swimsuit. As I recall, you had nothing to worry about.”
“Bex.”
“Sorry. Theo, it’s lovely to meet you, even if you lied about your height in your profile. So you live with your mom?”
His brow furrows. “What? No, of course—”
“You said in your profile that you’ve been living with your mom. Since you got that second DUI.”
He fights a smile. “I’m beginning to wonder why you swiped right on me, Bex.”
“It was mostly because youclaimedyou were six four,” I reply.
Bex
Theo and I do nothave to film a passionate scene when I arrive at the Naples airport because we have theoretically arrived here together for our honeymoon.
Not that Iwantto film a passionate scene, but I’m willing to sacrifice for my art. If that art is fake marriage.
He’s not getting in until later, so I take a car to Sorrento, a delightful little seaside town near the Amalfi Coast known mostly for its natural beauty and the fact that its residents only eat and drink things made of lemons. I may have made up that last fact, but itseemstrue. They even carry a bag of lemons during religious ceremonies…I guess in case someone’s hungry.
I collapse in my hotel bed and wake in the afternoon to shower and have my hair blown out. Giovanna speaks almost no English, so I do my best to make her teach me Italian as she works, and by the time she’s done, my hair is under control and I know how to say “Theo, it turns out your penis is not impressive after all” in a second language.
Hopefully she’s not friends with Kylie and Jasper.
When Giovanna’s gone, I open the garment bag that wasdelivered to my room before I arrived and pull out the list Mindy sent along.
Today, she says, is “classy casual,” which apparently means designer denim shorts, a crisp Saint James Breton tee, and Hermès sandals.
While I’m pretty sure I’d rather die than wear incredibly expensive sandals for a day of hardcore sightseeing and would definitely opt for a tank instead of a long-sleeved shirt, it could be worse. Given how many dresses are in this bag, I assume it’s going to get worse soon enough.
Theo stands near the hotel’s revolving door, typing something on his phone. He’s been in this country for a matter of hours yet is somehow already tan. He seems to get better looking every time we’re reunited—it has to be wizardry.
