3 - Taste the Rainbow
Exhausted after day one at Paradise Key, Rick didn't remember falling asleep. He vaguely recalled a conversation with Michonne about the book he gifted Brandy, but he must've drifted off soon after. The night was full of hours of serene sleep, encouraged by the gentle lap of water at the shore. They'd cracked their windows open so that the ocean waves and summer breeze trickled into their room.
In fact, he slept so good that he smiled as he began to stir. He lay on his back against the goose feather pillows, limbs tangled in the luxury 1500-thread count sheets. The softest, silkiest something brushed his leg. The pleasant sensation only relaxed him that much more.
These sheets felt like what he imagined clouds to feel like.
His sleepy smile spread and he second-guessed waking after all. Maybe another hour or two would be okay. Lucidity faded away as he blindly reached for the sheet. That silky soft something touched him again, noticeably on its own, moving as if alive. The same sensation enveloped him, stronger now. Enough to fast forward his blood flow down below. The bulge in the tent of his boxers grew.
Rick's eyes popped open. Minutes into dawn, morning light bathed the suite-sized room in a dull white hue. He turned his head, realizing he wasn't as covered by the sheet as he'd assumed. His limbs were tangled in the sheets, but also twisted in that same 1500-thread count was Michonne.
Michonne, peacefully dozing, who was that unbelievably soft silk he'd felt against his skin. Her smooth legs had brushed his in her errant sleep. He should've known. She was a drifter when she slept, winding up somewhere different each time. Over the course of the night, she had crossed the border onto his side of the bed. He had learned what her long, dark stems felt like, and now he couldn't get the silky feeling off his mind.
Now he lay in bed hard as rebar. The fog of his erection rolled in with an arousing litany of follow-up questions. How was it possible to have skin that soft? What would it be like to run his hands up the smooth curves of her legs and thighs? If her bare legs merely brushing against his felt like the clouds in heaven, what could the rest of her possibly feel like?
His tent continued to rise, climbing to full-mast. Absolute guilt colored his skin splotchy red, trying to fight off the inappropriate reaction to his friend. Rick rolled away, his back to her, hiding his large bulge, but in a subtle shift so not to wake her. Eyes squeezed shut, he urged his heart rate to calm. If he thought about something else he would be okay. The work he missed out on at Vice. Tank and his behavior at Ford's home. Hell, what he'd eat for breakfast. Truly anything beyond the finest silk. His sail would lose wind and he could go back to sleep and pretend it never happened.
When seconds went by and the imagery of her and her silky skin only intensified, he knew he had to get out of bed and sort himself out in the bathroom. He had to be careful. If he rose too abruptly or made any noise, she'd probably notice. Harnessing the stealth of a ninja, he crept out of bed, readjusting his stiff member at an angle she wouldn't be able to see. Not if he walked fast and stayed closer to the shadowy corners of the room.
As suspected, Michonne called out to him in a drowsy murmur.
"Rick? What's—"
"Uh, gimme a second."
He promptly shut the bathroom door and exhaled.
It had been a seven-month drought for him. He hadn't noticed much after the first two, submerged deeply in his work at Vice as a major distraction. The months flew by from there. But he supposed he was more sensitive to female touch than he thought. To female touch from a woman like Michonne lying in bed next to him.
The truth was, objectively, Michonne was a beautiful woman. As a red-blooded male constantly in her orbit, it was impossible not to notice. There had been a time or two, while she wore her sleek workout leggings or donned a plunging cocktail dress, that he'd admired how good she looked. Times like last night, seeing her in her tank top and little shorts that he'd tried his hardest to ignore. He never wanted to be that pervy guy. They were friends. Platonic friends. Nothing more.
He was determined not to let natural physical reactions change that.
She was his friend.
For the next ten minutes, he waited it out, emerging only when certain he was good. Like him, Michonne had given up on sleep. She sat upright against the pillows, scrolling through her phone.
"Hey, morning. Sorry to wake you. Drank more than I thought last night."
"I didn't realize we took so many pictures last night."
"Huh?"
"InstaPic. Everyone's uploaded photos from last night."
Rick tilted his head, standing in front of the bed. "Didn't the dinner end eight hours ago?"
"People upload stuff from eight minutes ago. Eight hours is considered a whole lifetime later in the social media world."
"Sounds like you're talking about Gigi."
"Actually," said Michonne, lowering her phone and sighing, "Gigi hasn't posted anything since yesterday morning. She always posts on and off through the day. I'm talking about everyone else."
"She okay?"
"I don't know. She was acting weird last night."
"I saw her and Dom looking…kinda tense."
"Me too. I'm hoping it was a fluke. The girls are doing breakfast and our fittings today."
"Girls only, eh?" He grinned at her.
She teased one back. "Yes, girls only. No boys allowed."
"It's cool. I'll hang around here. Maybe go for a run on the beach."
"Rick! You will not spend the day alone. If I have to get Dad to drag you along to his doctor's appointment, I will."
"But—"
"Dom and the groomsmen are playing golf again today. Why don't you go with them?"
Rick struggled to find a valid counterargument other than, "I don't want to." He didn't say that though. He caved with a nod, agreeing to try hanging with the group for the day.
"I'll give it a shot. I can always ditch 'em if they get on my nerves."
"Riiiick," Michonne half-moaned, half-laughed.
He walked over to the dresser drawer and collected a new pair of boxers, socks and an undershirt. "Calm down. I'm kidding. Mostly."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
That morning the women ate a late breakfast in the sunroom. The house staff on shift festooned the main table with fresh flowers, baked goods like croissants and pastries, an assortment of fruits, and heavier options like breakfast sausages, roasted potatoes and seasoned eggs. The ladies gathered at various seats around the room and breakfast began.
"Sasha, darling, can I have a Bloody Mary?" Mom asked, rubbing her temples.
Michonne raised her brows. "And you talk about Dad. It's 10 A.M.."
"I had more rum last night than I've had since spring break at college. That was 33 years ago. How do you think I'm feeling, honey?"
Gram Babes cackled. "Shoot, I'm feeling good. Had me some Pina Colada's with extra chunks of pineapple. Sasha, make that two Bloody Mary's."
The curly-haired staff member gave a beleaguered smile and then disappeared out the room to fulfill their requests. Michonne moved on from the trio of Mom, Gram and Mrs. Brosman, and joined Gigi on the other end of the room. Her baby sister was talking about men with Rosita, Maggie and Tara.
"And he had the balls to be on Cupid's Arrow, messaging me like he wasn't hiding a wife and kid at home," Maggie finished her rant. "I told him to fuck off and then I blocked him."
"I don't have those problems." Tara shrugged, sipping on her orange juice.
"Congratulations. Not all of us are so lucky," snapped Maggie.
"Same thing's happened to me," Rosita said. "'Cept he had two kids."
Gigi rolled her eyes, drink and food largely untouched. "Like Gram Babes says: most men ain't shit."
"At least you and Michonne have good guys. I'm still stuck in the sea looking for those fish everybody says there's plenty of." Rosita folded her arms on the table and peered at Michonne. "So about that brother I was hoping Rick would have…"
Michonne offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry. No brothers."
"Damn."
"Imagine walking at work and bumping into the love of your life," said Maggie.
"I walk at work everyday and nothing happens." Rosita's glum add-on brought a few laughs from the other girls.
"Maybe it's time to branch out," Gigi suggested to her friends. "Follow Michie's lead."
Michonne glanced at her sister. "What does that mean?"
Rosita said, smirking, "I think she means taste the rainbow. Try something new. Maggie's stuck on her vanilla farmer boys."
"That's who asks me out!"
Their chatter continued in animated fashion until Gigi suddenly interrupted to flag Sasha over. She wrapped up her delivery, setting down the Bloody Mary's Mom and Gram ordered, and then she walked over to ask Gigi if she needed anything. Gigi patted the empty chair next to her.
"You've been working all morning. Pretty sure you worked last night too. Sit and chat with us. Have some breakfast."
Sasha looked taken aback for a second, glancing between the women.
"Go ahead," encouraged Michonne. "There's too much food. We're not going to eat all of it."
"Plus, we're talking shit about guys." Rosita winked, mid-chew of a sugared pastry.
Sasha slid into the chair between the sisters. Michonne wanted to make her feel comfortable, so she tried to include the staff member in the conversation, explaining their dating woes. The thought was that Sasha would jump in and participate on the bonding. Instead she chose to focus on her food. Michonne's mouth pressed into a vague frown. Maybe she was just shy?
"My boss is scummy," Tara was saying to everyone. "He's engaged, but he's still on all those app's—Dates and Mates, Cupid's Arrow, Love Link—you name it. He's on it.
Gigi growled in disgust. "That's foul!"
"Why bother being engaged?" Maggie asked.
"Legally," said Sasha suddenly, in a tone low compared to the rest, "You're single until you say that 'I do'."
An uncertain second passed by, where none of the others knew what to say. Michonne checked on Gigi first and saw her sister's eyes narrow. Knowing her and how her temper tended to spiral in two seconds flat, she swooped in to ease tensions.
"Well, yes, in the eyes of the law, you're single until you're married," Michonne said levelly. "But that's not what we're talking about. We're talking about social conventions—romantic relationships are more nuanced than just single or married."
It was hard to miss the way Rosita and Maggie nodded avidly along, as if rooting for their favorite sports team. Sasha was unfazed. She buttered her toast without much eye contact.
"I guess I see things differently. There's nothing tying anybody to anyone until the law's involved."
"This ring is," said Gigi, holding up her hand.
Sasha shrugged and bit into her toast. "Not 'til the wedding. We're people at the end of the day—we're fickle and we're going to do what we want. Ring or no ring."
Another beat of silence wore on. One glance around the table told Michonne the ladies were more agitated than ever. Sasha looked bored, ready to return to work. Thankfully, she scooted back her chair and excused herself. If she stayed any longer and said anything else offensive, Michonne would've been stuck playing mediator. Gigi was a second away from going off full-throttle.
"I'm a nice chick. I like to share the wealth. I was gonna tell her she can come to our beach party tomorrow, but nah. She's not invited to anything else," groused Gigi.
Rosita readily cosigned. "Good call. She's kinda weird."
"She might want to watch how she talks to people. Dom's family keeps a roof over her head sooo…"
"Gigi," Michonne said, touching her arm, "no use letting it ruin your morning. This whole week is yours. You're the bride. Talk to Dom and let him know what happened. I'm sure he'll handle it."
Tara and Maggie broke out into a sing-song chorus, "Aww big sis to the rescue!"
The tension diminished into good feels like earlier. Even Gigi's features slackened and she blew a breath to cool down, looking sheepish.
"Yeah, that's how it always goes. Big sis solves everything. Exactly why I need her."
Happiness floated in Michonne's chest sharing a smile with her baby sister.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Several times Rick almost quit golf and hitchhiked back to the beach house. Dominic Brosman and his groomsmen were nice in theory. The men didn't exhibit any real character traits that ground Rick's gears. Him piling on as a fifth wheel was a welcomed addition. The problem though? Just that. He was the fifth wheel. The odd man out. The new guy.
Nobody wanted to share inside jokes with the new guy.
The others didn't even realize they fell into their own conversations and paired off with each other, but Rick did. He understood, as he was some guy who decided to suddenly tagalong. That didn't mean it was any less awkward. In his head he could hear Michonne's soft encouragement, egging him on to try and connect. Once or twice he tried engaging Ezekiel or Theodore in conversation. His attempts quickly fizzled.
On the green, he fared even worse. He'd never been any good the few times he played in the past. His athletic repertoire consisted of mostly of track and field and baseball. His golf swing was dismal and the pants were uncomfortable and the sun burned with little reprieve.
He wore his shades and baseball hat to conceal the dissatisfaction contorting his features, standing off to the side. Dominic and Glenn shared an exchange about their latest score on the fifth hole. So far Dominic was in the lead with Ezekiel a close second. Rick hardly paid attention to the exact scores, but it wouldn't surprise him if he were dead last.
"Not a golf guy, eh?" Glenn Rhee walked over with a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. If anyone else performed as bad as him, it was Glenn. He gleaned that even as an amateur watching the other four men's technique.
Rick shook his head. "That obvious?"
"Yep. At least you wore the right shoes. First time I played, I came in loafers like a jackass."
"I'm betting you got some looks walking around like that."
"Oh, yeah. Big time! But Dom loves teaching technique if you ever wanted to improve."
"I plan on this being my only time playing."
"Tomorrow we're switching things up," Glenn pacified. "There's the beach party Dom and Gigi are throwing. And then we're doing a bachelor's brewery tour the day after that."
"Good. In that case, I think I'll call it," said Rick. He handed Glenn his club, already planning his exit. "Mind telling the guys I'm heading back? I've got a headache."
"Alright, man. See you back at the house!"
Paradise Key was only five miles long in any given direction, but the walk seemed longer in the sticky heat. At one point, Rick gave up and flagged down a pedicab. On his ride back to the beach house, he second guessed if he should've stayed. Michonne would say he hadn't given the guys a fair chance.
That was probably true, in hindsight. Glenn wasn't so bad. When he wasn't stuck under the shadow of Dom as his best friend, he showed off a sense of humor Rick could get used to. Theodore wasn't too bad either, even if he liked to hear himself talk too much.
Sooner or later, he needed to give people the benefit of the doubt. If he'd never done so with Michonne outside that courthouse, he would've missed out on a good friend. Maybe it was time to try again making more friends…
Busy with the thoughts in his head, he entered the beach house paying less mind to his surroundings than usual. The door shut behind him, the quiet white noise of the beach as the filler in the house, and he started for the staircase.
"You're back early."
Startled, Rick stammered in his step. Sasha watched him from halfway up the staircase, dust rag and chemical cleaner in hand. Since the LeBlanc's, the Brosman's and their guests were out for the day, she'd taken to chores around the house. She smirked at his surprise, wiping down the banister.
"I thought you were out playing golf with the guys."
Rick couldn't explain the churn of discomfort in his stomach. "Not anymore. Decided to come back."
"You're not a people person, are you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
A low snicker vibrated from her throat, spraying more cleaner. "It means you don't usually do people. You're a loner. I can tell."
"I'm lost on why it matters."
"It doesn't. Just saying I know because I'm one too." Sasha slid the rag down the banister, descending another couple steps. The gap between them lessened until only a couple stairs stood between them. "Everybody loves my brother Ty. He's always been the popular one. I usually do my own thing."
Rick didn't want to admit they shared that in common. He tended to follow his own path too. Keep to himself and prefer things that way. It had been the story of his life, orphaned at a young age, under the care of emotionally distant relatives.
Still, he'd never tell her. He couldn't put his finger on it, but Sasha carried a naturally insincere vibe. Like someone liable to betray you any given second…
"You don't fit in with Dominic and his crew anyway. Just like I don't fit in with Gigi and her girls," Sasha explained, finally on the last step. She stopped in front of him, dark eyes twinkling. "They invited me to breakfast this morning, and it was a disaster. You should've seen the looks they gave me. All because I don't live in some fairytale world like they do."
"Maybe you should spend more time doing your job then. Like right now." Rick walked around her, starting for the staircase.
But Sasha wasn't done. She kept talking as if their conversation was an engaging one. "I told them human beings change their mind. There's no use trying to keep a tiger in a cage that doesn't want to be kept. Nobody owns anyone."
"Who said anything about owning anybody?" Rick snapped unable to resist.
Sasha's smile spread. "All of them. Giselle. Maggie. Michonne. That's what they think. Like some magical ring is going to make their lives perfect."
"It's not about perfect. It's about a symbol you love someone."
"I guess I don't do my relationships that way," sighed Sasha, shrugging. The baiting undercurrent to her words and behavior dawned on him. She wanted to antagonize him. Keep the conversation going. The longer she did, the longer he stood there alone with her. "If you're going to want me, you're going to want me. No ring. No circumstance. No one body is going to stop that."
"Good luck with that."
Rick left her in the dust. He strode up the staircase at double his usual speed. Her eyes certainly watched him climb every step, but he didn't give a shit. He was done entertaining Sasha's strange behavior. He hoped she had enough sense to realize that and be smart enough to stay the hell away from him.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
At the bridal shop, Michonne sat on an ottoman in wait to try on her maid of honor gown. Her phone lay in her lap, largely untouched except for when she checked and sent emails. Andrea had called her twice, urging her to give her a call back, but whatever crisis she was experiencing would have to wait. The wedding came first. Drea should've known that…
Michonne's phone buzzed again. She glanced down and saw the notification window for InstaPic. It read: "you have 1 unread message." Curiosity got the best of her and she tapped to expand the window and open the app. Her groan was loud enough to disturb the nearby women shopping for gowns.
The direct message was from BeLikMike321, and it said in the plainest, most aggravating simplicity: "Mich we need to talk. Call me…"
Michonne wanted to scream cuss words at the top of her lungs. She had blocked Mike's phone number and InstaPic account for this reason. When they broke up, she didn't want contact with him outside of a professional setting, but he believed the window between them to be open for so-called backslides. Now he'd created a dummy account just to send her a message and ruin her morning.
"Michie!"
The call was from Gigi inside her dressing room. In sisterly mode at once, Michonne abandoned any thoughts about Mike. Her sister needed her and that mattered more. She slipped behind the purple velvet curtain to the sight of a distressed Gigi half-zipped up in her reception outfit. The strapless floor-length sheath dress hugged curves in enviable fashion, bust, hip and beyond. The zipper had caught mid-back on Gigi.
"It doesn't fit anymore."
"Are you sure? Hold on, suck in a little."
Michonne gently held the zipper and guided it further up the track. The dress still looked amazing on her sister, fitted against her pear-shaped curves in the right places, but Gigi was right—the fabric strained along the small bloat on her stomach.
"We'll get the seamstress in here," soothed Michonne. "She can let the fabric out another inch or two. That's standard. I'm sure she does it all the time."
"This is a six, Michie. I've never been bigger than that. Never."
"Shhh. It's okay. It doesn't matter. You look beautiful."
Gigi inhaled a shaky breath. Though Michonne stood behind her, in the mirror's reflection, she could see the tears glossed in Gigi's eyes. Her sister was on the verge of one of her infamous meltdowns. Michonne stayed cool, often the calming force to balance her out. Mom was right; she was needed to make sure everything was okay.
"Why are you crying? Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it." She spoke in her softest tone, holding Gigi's hand and easing her around to face her. "Gigi, you know I hate when you cry. Even when we were little and you used to fall off your bike and skin your knee."
"You'd give up your favorite candy just to get me to stop."
"That's right. Because you're my little sis and I'm going to look out for you. So tell me what it is. This is more than the dress."
Gigi admitted as much with another quaking breath drawn. "How did you know it was the right thing to do to say yes to Rick?"
The question surprised Michonne. She liked to think she had an answer to most questions Gigi asked through the years. From the time they were kids and Gigi needed help tying her shoelaces to their teenage years when she'd come to her about boys. But meeting the watery gaze of her baby sister, now asking for marital advice, she froze.
How could she in good conscience advise Giselle if she lived a lie herself?
Michonne dodged answering about her engagement to Rick. "Is this about the wedding? Are you having cold feet about marrying Dom?"
"What if I'm making a mistake?"
"You're in love with him, aren't you?"
Gigi sniffled and then gave a feeble nod.
"Then if you really love him and he makes you happy, I don't see how it can be a mistake."
"Michie."
"Hmmm?"
"Things between Dom and I haven't been the same lately."
Michonne frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…Dom's been acting weird. And then I act weird. And then next thing you know we're arguing over the stupidest shit."
"Oh. Well…do you know why he's been acting weird?"
"Every time I ask him what's wrong, he insists it's nothing. But…But what if he's having doubts? What if he doesn't want to marry me anymore?"
"I'm sure that's not it—"
"What if there's another woman? I can't get that thought outta my head. Then listening to that chick Sasha talk about marriage like that earlier…" more tears rolled down Gigi's cheeks. "What if this whole thing is a mistake?"
Michonne tried to keep her head. Never mind the fact that, for once, if someone ever hurt her sister she would be done with rationale. She would make good use of the kickboxing classes she'd been taking the past few weeks…
"Here I am gaining weight like a whale too," Gigi continued in a sniffle.
"We need to talk to him about it. First thing when we get back to the beach house. Sit him down and confront him about how you're feeling."
"No! I don't wanna make a scene. Last thing I need is for everybody else—Mom and Dad especially—to find out we're having problems. This wedding is supposed to be perfect."
"Who cares about perfect if he's up to something?"
"I'll address it with him myself. In my own way."
"Before Thursday?"
"Before the end of the night."
Michonne reached up and cleared the tears off either of Gigi's cheeks with her thumbs. "Yes, please talk to Dom. You need to know either way. Even if there's nothing going on and it's a misunderstanding. You deserve the best and that includes the truth."
The sisters emerged from the dressing room to find the bridesmaids gathered in the waiting area. They had finished being fitted for their gowns and savored the mimosas and chocolate strawberries the bridal attendants set out as complimentary treats. Tara rose with her thick eyebrows knitted into a line.
"You guys good? Took a while."
Michonne saw it on Gigi's face that she expected the chat to be kept in confidence. She covered for her sister by explaining they'd changed their minds on the reception gown. Rosita groaned in disappointment.
"Aw, I liked the skintight strapless one. You were all booty in that thing!"
The spirits amongst the women high again, they left the shop for the island's afternoon sunshine.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
In the couple hours it took for Michonne to return, Rick occupied his time by going for a run on the beach. He returned red and sweaty and hopped in the shower. He washed under the hot spray when the bedroom door clicked open and Michonne walked through. Over the streaming water, he called out to her.
"You're back!"
"We finished the fitting," she answered, voice muffled through the bathroom door. "Do you want to go for a walk on the beach? I need some fresh air."
Whatever would cause her to say that, he vowed to find out. He quickly wrapped up his shower, dialing down the knobs. He opened the door to Michonne's weary smile and he put his arm around her, sensing it's what she needed.
In less than sixty seconds they headed out to the white dunes by way of the Brosman's back entrance. Side-by-side they walked the beach, headed toward the swirling blue surf. Dusk around the corner, the crowds had dimmed some. Soon the tiki torches would light up, commencing whatever nightly celebration thrown.
Michonne was quiet. He let her be without interruption. She'd speak when ready. Right now, she gathered her thoughts. He was the same way after a long day. That's what he appreciated about her—she got him like that. Shoe on the other foot, she always gave him the time he needed too.
"Please don't tell anyone."
"Anything you say is between me and you. Nobody else."
"Gigi thinks something is off with Dom. She says he's been acting different these last couple of days." Michonne stopped walking to peer at him. Her brow furrowed, she resembled anytime she'd been lead prosecutor on a case. "You were with the guys today. Did you hear anything?"
"No," he said. "Nothing at all. Dom talked about Gigi and the wedding. He seemed excited. Said he couldn't wait for their honeymoon."
"Gigi says they've been arguing more than usual."
"About what?"
"She didn't say, but she even wondered if maybe he's…he's cheating."
"Wow. Has she confronted him about it?"
Michonne sighed, shifting so that she faced the clear blue waves and the orangish sky at dusk. "She says she wants to do it her way."
"I dunno, I only met him a day ago, but Dom doesn't strike me as that guy. My read on him is that he's pretty crazy about your sister."
"I thought so too."
"How can I help?"
"I'm not even sure I can help," said Michonne, folding her arms. "Gigi said she's going to talk to him about it tonight. I guess we have to wait and see. I don't want my sister's heart broken. I really hope he loves her as much as he says he does."
Rick eased her into his arms, again offering comfort with his touch. Michonne fit against him as a puzzle piece would, pressing her cheek to his chest. His hands acted on their own and naturally fell to cradle her head, stroking the long locs down her back. They stood there like that for who knows how many minutes, the cool waters sweeping across their feet.
"You smell really good," Michonne mumbled into his chest.
Rick tossed out a husky laugh. "Wasn't expecting that."
"It's whatever soap you use. I've never told you before, but it smells amazing on you." Michonne wasn't bashful about inhaling another whiff. After she chanced a look up at him with a scant smile. She had that playful gleam flickering in her brown eyes, like whenever she teased him about his beard when it grew too long and she wanted him to trim it.
"Thanks. Don't think I've ever enjoyed anybody smelling me before."
"First time for everything. How was your day? You haven't told me."
They picked up walking again, exploring the length of the endless shoreline. Rick told her about his poor golfing attempt and then his encounter with Sasha. He ended with his impromptu run on the beach and shower.
"That's when you showed up."
Michonne zeroed in on his talk with Sasha. She said nothing for a second or two, but her posture stiffened and she raked her teeth over her bottom lip.
"She's probably interested in you," she deduced candidly.
"Uh, yeah. I get that impression too."
"I can't be mad."
Rick tilted his head, unsure of what Michonne meant. She clarified.
"We're not really together," she explained with a half-shrug. She traced her toes in the sand, eyes intent on the pattern she drew. "You're a great guy. Other women are going to notice. A part of me knew you might meet a woman like that on vacation. If you want to—"
"I don't. She's not my type."
"Do you have a type?"
Rick saw the trap Michonne was setting up for him. That sneaky fallacy she was luring him into to point out he never had much of a pattern when it came to what women he dated. Did she want him to give Sasha a chance? Or was she about to encourage him because it's what she thought he wanted? His gut told him the latter…
"Yeah, I do. Not her."
"Okay. But don't hold yourself back for me. You've made a lot of sacrifices with this fake engagement. If that's what you want, tell me. Of course, I'd prefer…you don't. This is a small island and it could get back to my family. That kind of scandal could ruin Gigi's wedding. And my parents would be crushed. Especially my Dad."
"Michonne," said Rick firmly, grabbing her hands to bring her face-to-face with him. "I'm not seeing any other woman while I'm here. I made a promise to you and you alone. For this week you are my woman. You know I wouldn't do that to you."
She gave him a small, relieved smile. "Thanks, Rick. I'll try not to feel bad you're missing out on meeting other women."
"Really don't. I'm not interested."
"Should we head back to the house? It's almost dinner."
Rick nodded and linked his fingers with hers.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"How'd the doc go, Tom?" Dominic asked over sangria.
Everybody was gathered around the table on the terrace for a second night. Tonight, Tyrese and his crew served a plethora of seafood dishes. Almost everyone wore bibs for their lobster tail and crab legs, cracking open the shells between conversation.
"The ticker's still ticking along," answered Dad brightly. "He gave me some meds for the pain. He warned me not to take any with alcohol. I guess tonight's out of the question."
"Daddy!" Gigi shot him a scolding look.
"I'm kidding. I'm kidding. My glass is non-alcoholic sangria. So basically juice. Your big sis already got to me. She's a prosecutor for a reason." Dad chuckled, raising his glass across the table at Michonne.
It was true. Earlier Michonne sat down with Dad and made the case why he needed to cut back on the cocktails and liquor. Vacation or no vacation. Wedding or no wedding. Last hurrah or no last hurrah. He needed to take his health seriously. He'd pouted for a second, his brain on the many delicious drinks and foods he'd miss out on, but in the end, he agreed she was right.
"I'm glad you girls got through to him," Mom chimed in. She also aimed a chiding look Dad's way. "He never listens to his poor worrying wife."
"Brandy baby, I do listen to you. All the time."
Gram Babes snorted loud enough to interrupt and get her point across without a word. Several others around the table grinned and snickered at Gram's moxie.
Dad waved the white flag there, under attack from the LeBlanc women on all fronts. He admitted his defeat with a wise lesson to teach Rick and Dominic. Shaking his head at both engaged men, he gave his warning.
"You fellas take note. This is your future. They stick together too. All four of 'em. You can't win so just shut up and color."
"That's my son. I raised him right," Gram added, winking.
Laughter erupted around the table, lasting for the rest of the dinner as the topic of discussion changed course. The older folks called it a night much earlier, still worn out from the late-night feast yesterday. At around 8 P.M., Mom and Dad and Mr. and Mrs. Brosman bid everyone else goodnight.
Dad helped Gram out of her chair. "You too, Ma. C'mon."
"Dagnabbit, I wanted to hang with the young folks."
"Perry Mason comes on in fifteen minutes."
"Never mind! See ya!"
Michonne laughed alongside Rick as they watched Gram hustle inside. Dad trailed in her wake, shaking his head.
"Your family is every sitcom I've ever watched as a kid," Rick told her, shooting her a grin. "It's kinda the one I always wanted. You're lucky to have 'em."
A bubbly sensation filled Michonne's chest. "I know."
Dominic suggested a game night in the den. The groomsmen and the bridesmaids agreed, the two groups heading to the room and staking their spot around the furniture. Rick and Michonne followed, last in the room. The good spots were taken, leaving a solitary space on the last sofa cushion. Michonne thought to forego seats altogether and sit on the floor, but then the instinctual answer overrode the silly suggestion.
Her hand slipped in Rick's and she smiled up at him as she led the way to the sofa. Rick understood playing off her body language. He sat down first and she slid into his lap. She wanted to say that sitting in Rick's lap was awkward or uncomfortable—something to draw the line and distinguish it as part of their ruse—but it wasn't. In fact, it felt nice. Balanced on his lap, his hand snaked around to her hip, his touch sent a distracting tingle down her spine.
"I was thinking since we have an even number of guys and gals," spoke Dom to the room, "it would be fun to play couple's trivia. We can pair up and square off. The alcohol will obviously make it even more interesting."
The groomsmen paired off with the bridesmaids. In the end, as everyone nursed their drinks and prepared themselves for the game to begin, Rosita sat beside Ezekiel as a newly matched duo. Tara was partnered off with Theodore. Lastly, were Maggie and Glenn, averting each other's direct gaze.
"Hey, Ty…come in here!" Dom called out suddenly. "You're off shift, right? Why don't you and Sasha join us?"
Tyrese had walked by the open den door in passing. The burly chef backtracked and stuck his head in the room, surveying the arranged couples curiously. He was a lot livelier than his sister. That much was obvious. His thunderous voice rumbled out in agreement, but first he asked if he could make himself a fruity cocktail with one of those tiny umbrellas.
"I've been serving 'em all day! They look delicious."
From feet away, Michonne overheard Gigi's murmured exchange with Dom.
"Maybe we should let them relax on their own. It's already full in here."
"Two more can't hurt. We have enough room for everyone," Dom dismissed.
Gigi stewed on the spot, looking as agitated as last night. Michonne understood. The soon-to-be-married couple hadn't talked yet and the day's breakfast was also on Gigi's mind. She didn't want Sasha around. Taking a look at the other ladies in the room, none of them did either. They each strained hard not to roll their eyes the second the springy haired woman walked in with Tyrese to join them.
The partners switched up to make room for Tyrese and Sasha. Ty partnered with Tara while Theodore volunteered to couple up with Sasha, much to her visible dismay. The game began shortly after. The questions started off easy, the rules like something of the newlywed's gameshow. The clear advantage was in Rick, Michonne, Giselle and Dominic's corner. That was the fun part though, watching the others get to know each other.
Michonne forgot about one common trait she and Rick had in common. They'd realized this a while back before they even became friends. Michonne was a competitive woman and Rick was a competitive man, these sides to them most coming out during their line of work. Together they were a force to be reckoned with. Tonight, was no different as they breezed through the trivia rounds.
"Alright, Rick, for another fifteen points. This is a tough one," Dominic said, reading the card. "What was the name of Michonne's first pet?"
During one of their many Sunday walks in the park, guiding Tank along as he sniffed grass and peed on trees, they had talked about childhood pets. Rick told her he'd dreamt of having a dog as a kid. Cue Tank, who he'd chosen fresh out the liter as a puppy when he was twenty-two. They'd been best buds since. Michonne had shared hers too. Over fifteen years later from his demise, she still mourned her precious pet turtle.
"Piece of cake. Her first pet was a little turtle named Blue. Her parents got him for her when she was three, so she was still a little confused on her colors," answered Rick cockily.
The others laughed at the answer, waiting for Michonne to turn her whiteboard over and show them the answer she'd scribbled. Her heartbeat hummed a mile a minute, thrilled to reveal that her first pet was indeed a spunky little turtle named Blue. Some clapped, impressed by Rick's thorough knowledge of his fiancé. The more competitive partners like Rosita and Ezekiel groaned at another point jump for Rick and Michonne.
Rick's hand squeezed her hip. When she glanced at him, he winked at her and she giggled. How could she doubt him? So far, he'd gotten every question right. Rick knew her better than most.
"Okay, Dom, you're turn to answer for Gigi." Tara plucked a card off the top of the stack and sat back to read the question. "Oooh, this is another one for fifteen points. What is one thing Gigi cannot live without?"
Curious silence settled across the room as Dom stroked his chin in thought. Gigi's agitation had gone nowhere. Michonne had kept her eye on her baby sister throughout the game. Nothing seemed to pacify Gigi's bad mood. Even as she and Dom scored points and he reached to caress her hand or kiss her cheek, she either pulled away or sat still as a statue. Everyone around them avoided addressing the tension between the main couple, minding their business.
Michonne knew better. Dom was left baffled while Gigi's scowl deepened. Things wouldn't get any better until the couple talked about Gigi's suspicions.
"I would hope it'd be me?" Dom finally offered uncertainly. He smiled weakly at Gigi to no return effort.
"AIHRRRR!" Tara blared like a buzzard. "Wrong! She answered her cell phone."
"Oh."
"That's fifteen points off."
"No surprise there," Gigi mumbled. She no longer cared about what the others witnessed, too incensed by Dom's cluelessness and Sasha's presence. "That's how many questions that you've missed?"
"Gigi—" Dom began.
"I don't wanna hear it, Dom. We shouldn't have played anyway. I'm going upstairs." Gigi popped to her feet and beelined for the door, her tailbone length braids swaying along. At the threshold, she paused for a heavy hint. "You should probably be over playing too."
Then she was gone.
Dominic sat wide-eyed and flat faced in her absence. Again, everyone kept silent, uncertain what to say or do. Finally, Michonne half-rose to go after her sister. Dominic held up his hand to stop her.
"No, I'll talk to her. It's clearly me she's upset with. You guys and gals keep playing. Please. Gigi and I'll be down soon."
Another stretch of awkward silence passed. At last Ezekiel shrugged and picked up another card. The game continued, but with a quarter of the heart and fun air as before. By the end, Rick and Michonne won by a landslide. It didn't matter though. The more important outcome was that a couple of the pairs between the groomsmen and bridesmaids had hit it off. Rosita and Ezekiel flirted openly with each other while Maggie kept rolling her eyes at Glenn's jokes, but she listened to each one just the same.
Rick and Michonne watched the others like proud parents. She sat draped on his lap so naturally now that it didn't occur to her, they'd relaxed in the position. Rick's arms were slung on her hips and she leaned against his chest, trading off smiles and laughs and private chatter. Eventually, the possibility she wore out her welcome came to mind, and she apologized for taking too long to get off him.
"Your legs have to be numb. I should probably stop sitting on you now."
"Sit on me anytime you'd like."
The line was unabashed flirtation. Michonne's cheeks rounded in an enchanted smile and she quirked an eyebrow at him. The liquor in them was talking, giving them the bold beat of courage to say things they otherwise would've censored. She surrendered much like he had. Her inhibitions loosened thanks to the several glasses of sangria.
"Are you flirting with me, Detective?" she asked softly, eyes on his.
Rick's signature crooked grin arrived right on time. "And if I was, Miss Prosecutor?"
"I'd be shocked. I don't think I've ever seen you flirt with a woman."
"Maybe I haven't met a woman I wanted to flirt with," he said and her stomach clenched with nerves as his hands traveled across the curve of her hips. All the while his eyes remained intensely on hers like a trance of their own. "'Til now, that is."
"Then I'm going to have to ask you to prove it." The challenge tumbled out her mouth before she understood the gravity of where it could lead. The nerves continued, setting her on an exhilarating edge in wait for him to up the ante.
And Vice Detective Rick Grimes did. He proved to her yet again his dedication to keep true to his word. His gaze dipped to her lips in a last tempting second, and he kissed her. Michonne's arms slipped around his neck and she opened her mouth wider, letting out the soft purr of a moan. Rick pulled her deeper into his lap and kissed her harder. His tongue slicked against her own, hot, wet and searching.
Everything else fell away. The world around them ceased to exist. The room with the few stragglers crumbled, and it was suddenly just she and him, seated cozily on a sofa in each other's arms, kissing fiercely.
Michonne floated on cloud nine kissing Rick, tasting the fruit of sangria on his lips and tongue. The euphoric weightless sensation enveloped her as other feelings jumpstarted too. Redder feelings that tempted her into another moan. Lustier feelings that coaxed her core into throbbing as its own separate heartbeat. Before she could control herself, she ground in his lap against what was most certainly a hard bulge in his pants.
"Rick," she breathed. At last a lick of sense hit her, sobering her up in a flash. She pulled away, completely dizzied as to what to do next.
The room was almost empty save for Glenn and Maggie, who chatted by the window. The others had headed up to bed sometime since they abandoned boundary and started openly flirting. She almost cringed still perched in his lap, still feeling the extent of his desire, large and hard. How could she ever look him in the eye again? How had things tumbled so out of hand?
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Just like that, it was over. The bliss and the lust and the affection screeched to an inevitable halt. Michonne slid out of his lap and stood. Distraction came in smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt. Rick didn't need a mirror to know his skin burned various tones of red. His ears in particular were hot to the touch out of guilt. Out of embarrassment. He'd tried so hard not to be that guy. Now he'd taken advantage…
"That was on me." Rick cleared his throat. He glanced at Glenn and Maggie to check if they'd noticed anything, but the two were too locked into their own talk. He rose from the sofa and tried to catch Michonne's eye. She wouldn't look at him, still invested in the nonexistent wrinkles of her skirt. "Do you, uh, wanna go upstairs and talk about it?"
"I can't. I have to check on Gigi. Why don't you go up without me?"
"Michonne—"
"Don't wait up. You're…You're probably tired. It's been another long day."
Rick rubbed his neck, bewildered as she took her exit. He had no idea how to explain what had happened. What he knew was that kissing Michonne felt better than he imagined the two or three times he'd let his imagination go there. Her grinding in his lap, clinging to him by the neck, soft lips on his as he earned each and every moan out of her—it was indescribable bliss.
He wanted more. And more after that. And still more because he'd never be satisfied now that he'd tasted her lips.
And that was a problem.
Swallowing thickly with his hands on his waist, his eyes trained on the door as if in fruitless hope she'd somehow return. She never did, but his mind lingered on the moment between them anyway. The last effects of the sangria had him stubbornly holding onto the idea that the good outweighed the bad. Right? Because, otherwise, how could something that felt so right be so wrong?
But it was.
Michonne was his friend and he'd taken liberty with her at a time when he was supposed to help her. He needed to do better than blaming a couple glasses of fruit juice for his behavior. She deserved a full-fledged apology in the light of day by a sober tongue. The future of their friendship depended on it, and he wouldn't let that slip through his fingers.
"You two teenagers done sucking face?"
Rick looked up, thoughts interrupted.
Maggie and Glenn had walked over. In their hands hour-old sangria now closer to water thanks to the melting chunks of ice. The trivia partners grinned knowingly at him, goading him to play along with the light ribbing. He mustered up the energy to give off a lone, forced chuckle and shake of his head.
"Yeah, sorry about that. We get kinda carried away sometimes."
"Y'all really are cute," Maggie said. "There's no topping you."
Glenn saw an in. "Maybe we can try. That's why you should give me a chance."
"Glenn! I told you. I don't do long-distance."
"C'mon, we have five whole days to get to know each other."
"And after?"
"We're a flight away from each other," Glenn replied. "One date at least. And if you never wanna see me again, fine. I'll back off."
Maggie sighed, smiling. "Alright. Fine. One date."
"I'll leave you two alone," said Rick, backing away. The way the two focused on each other regardless of who was around reminded him of what he had with Michonne. Exactly what he stood to lose if he failed to make amends for his misstep.
Rick walked out of the den and through the quiet beach house for the staircase. Repeatedly in his head he created a mantra that told him above all else he needed to right things. He needed to know Michonne wouldn't distance herself from him now. That they were okay. Their friendship would survive the temporary lapse in judgment. But as much as he focused on their friendship and what it meant to him, an undeniable truth floated to the surface.
Later, lying next to her in bed, he would tell himself it was just pretend. In the beginning, he'd believed that. But now? The jumping beat of his heart faster than ever, he wasn't so sure…
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Author's Note: Chapter 4 will center on Dom and Gigi's pre-wedding beach party. Rick and Michonne have no choice but to address their kiss. Will they blame the sangria or will they open their eyes to the possibility that maybe JUST MAYBE they're not pretending anymore? I mean, it's 2 days into the ruse and they're hanging on by a thread, LOL...what will day 3 bring?! ;P
Thank you for reading! I always appreciate any time taken to write a review. I hope you are still enjoying this story as much I am enjoying writing it. :)