We spend the greater part of the next hour sitting in the far corner of the air conditioned shop discussing things that absolutely will not help us pretend to be married. He tells me about his favourite colours and languages, and I tell him my favourite random and useless facts.

When my phone alarm goes off at four that afternoon, it startles both of us out of our conversation and back to reality. As I'm fumbling through my bag, looking for the offending noise and trying to ignore the looks I'm receiving from the other patrons, he cleans up our table and quickly disposes of our garbage.

"So, I have to go," I say when I manage to turn off the alarm. "I promised the girls I'd get ready with them before we go wine tasting or food tasting or honestly I forget what we're tasting. I'm just along for the ride."

"Is this more bachelorette party stuff?" he asks, eyes intent on my face despite the lady making strange noises near the door.

"Kinda." I'm still trying to find my sunglasses when I remember what I'm doing here in this small ice cream shop in the first place. "But I could maybe text the girls and see if you could tag along. Or maybe tomorrow? I'm not sure if they want bachelorette stuff or if they're more dying to meet you."

One look at my phone notifications tells me they're going to say yes if I ask them. So why don't I want to?

"I don't want to interrupt girls' time. I'm free this evening and tomorrow, though. I'm scheduled to check out of the hotel in the morning which is..."

"I can get you a room at our hotel," I offer, looking up at him before sliding my sunglasses over my eyes. "I'm sure I can make that happen."

"You don't have to. I can reserve my own room, I'm sure."

"Part of the deal, remember? I'll put you up and feed you and all that. You'll stay married to me. We had this conversation like two hours ago?"

"Right. And you'll come back home with me for a week so I can treat you like the amazing woman you are before you go off on your own."

"Exactly. That." Why can't I think of anything to say? Might as well run before the heat of embarrassment finds me again. "Well, I really do have to go, so I'll text you with times and places if the girls say yes?"

"Yes, go. I got this. I'll see you tonight. Or tomorrow."

"See you tonight," I say, chime of the door bell ringing as I step out of the shop and head back to my hotel.

* * *

I don't know what I was expecting to find when I got to the hotel. But this isn't it.

My friends are pacing my small hotel room waving their hands around like they're doing a 90s dance move.

"We don't even know him, Bianca!"

"He took the ring back?"

"I can't believe you went--"

"Hold on!" I cannot sit here and listen to this. "What happened to all of you wanting me to go get this guy and have a proper magical wedding or whatever?"

"Well, that was before you actually did it," Carla reasoned.

"And we never actually thought you'd have the guts," Lorena adds.

"And now that you met him and are planning an actual date with him, we need to strategize."

"We don't need to strategize. It's just two friends getting coffee to discuss wedding week expectations."

"Just this week?"

"Well, and next week. Then we'll get a divorce and BAM It's like it never happened. "

"And he agreed to that?"

"Sort of."

They all stop pacing at once and look at each other, then at me.

"Sort of? What does that mean?"

"It means. I don't know, we don't have a contract or anything but we have an agreement."

"What if he won't divorce you?"

"What? He's going to fall in love with me in a week? Are we in Cinderella?"

"He did marry you."

"And you did turn into a drunken pumpkin at midnight."

"And I don't need his permission to get a divorce?" I add, hoping one of them will realize the obvious. "There's literally no risk here."

"It's so stressful to go through that, though, B. Are you sure---"

"I'm going to stop you right there. I already did the wedding thing. What's a couple weeks going to change?"

The room freezes and her friends all refuse to speak. Finally Divya says "You're right. Of course you're right. But we would like to meet him before the wedding."

"You know, for authenticity. Your best friends should know your husband, you know?" Carla puts her hands on her hips and stares me down.

She's right. As much as I wish she weren't. "I already asked him to meet us this evening," I relent, letting my head fall into my hands and rubbing my temples.

"That's in three hours!" Carla shouts, tossing the book she was holding into the air. "What are we going to wear?"

"What are you going to wear?" Divya asks through a laugh. "We're meeting her husband. Who cares what we're wearing." She must catch my death glare because she looks at me and adds, "I'm just trying to use the proper phrasing. You want me calling him your friend or drunken buddy in front of Tyrone?"

"No. I don't."

"Exactly."

Lorena busies herself picking up some clothes off my floor. "You have anything that's still clean?"

"Please don't." I snatch the clothes from her and shove them into one of the empty dresser drawers that lives just below the ancient television. "I can dress myself, you know."

"We know," Lorena says, throwing a sock at my head. "But we also know it's fun to give people makeovers and also to do each other's hair-"

"And, if you'll recall, we had agreed that we were going to do nails together before we head out." Carla puts on her best puppy dog eyes to convince me to do something I already agreed to.

"I already agreed to nails. Why do you think I came back instead of meeting you down in the lobby after dinner?"

Divya, of course, answers logically. "But we're going out to dinner! You'd have missed the whole thing!"

Lorena goes for what they really want to know. "So you like him enough to have survived to dinner, then?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbows on my bed. "I mean, is he as nice as he is cute? Tell me all the details."

"There's nothing to tell."

"She's in denial," Carla says to Lorena. "It's time for some manicure therapy so we can convince her to give us all the gossip. I'm thinking peach."

"I'm thinking you don't own peach nail polish and I'm safe," I quip back.

"You willing to bet on that?"

"No." I spring up off the edge of my bed and race her to the bathroom where the pile of makeup and nail polish rests.

I get there moments before Carla does and fumble around with the options, hoping to ensure my safety.

Or, that's what I would have done if Carla hadn't come sliding into the bathroom, crashing into me and sending us both straight into the edge of the tub.

"Oww," I whine, holding the part of my shoulder that contacted the floor. "I think you killed my shoulder."

"I think you killed my head." Her hand presses gingerly in her hair, looking to make sure there are no goose eggs forming under her hair. "Okay, maybe not. I think I'm okay. You okay?"

"Can we call a truce on the peach nail polish?" I offer her my hand, a twinge of pain shooting through my left shoulder.

"We can call a truce on the peach. You going to admit you like him yet or?"

"I just met him. I don't even know if I can trust him."

"Do you trust anyone?" Carla whispers, earning herself a sligh smack on the side of her arm.

"But he's hot!" Lorena calls from my room. "You gotta admit that."

"If I admit it, will you leave me alone?"

Silence greets me, but it's worth a shot.

"Fine. He's hot."

The girls are abuzz in the bathroom, deciding what we should do with our hair and make up to look like we belong together in case one of us gets lost. My suggestion to wear matching family tee shirts is quickly shot down, but I can laugh by myself.

"So what were you girls up to while I was away?" I say once we've finally settled into our own work spaces with our makeup. "Anything fun go down without me?"

♤ ♥ ♤

Author's Note: Bianca's been spared from peach nail polish, but the girls are very interested in learning more about Enrique. So I'm excited to share the next part with you on Friday!